her cheeks and the dewiness of it upon her eyelids. She looked most
adorable with the long red slant of sunset from the open door at her
feet and the wonder of his coming in her face. Their eyes met, and told
the story, before brain had time to give warning of danger and need of
self-control.
"Oh, my darling!" the man said and took a step towards her, his arms
outstretched as if he would clasp her, yet daring hardly to believe that
it was really herself in the flesh.
"My darling! Have you really come to me?" He breathed the question as
though its answer meant life or death to him.
She arose and stood before him, trembling with joy, abashed now that
she was in his presence, in his home, unbidden. Her tongue seemed tied.
She had no word with which to explain. But because he saw the love in
her eyes and because his own need of her was great, he became bolder,
and coming closer he began to tell her earnestly how he had longed and
prayed that God would make a way for him to find her again; how he had
fancied her here in this room, his own dear companion--his wife!
He breathed the word tenderly, reverently and she felt the blessing and
the wonder of the love of this great simple-hearted man.
Then because he saw his answer in her eyes, he came near and took her
reverently in his arms, laid his lips upon hers, and thus they stood for
a moment together, knowing that after all the sorrow, the longing, the
separation, each had come into his own.
It was some time before Hazel could get opportunity to explain how she
came all unknowingly to be in his house, and even then he could not
understand what joyful circumstance had set her face fortward and
dropped her at his door. So she had to go back to the letter, the letter
which was the cause of it all, and yet for the moment had been
forgotten. She brought it forth now, and his face, all tender with the
joy of her presence, grew almost glorified when he knew that it was she
who had been his mother's tender nurse and beloved friend through the
last days of her life.
With clasped hands they talked together of his mother. Hazel told him
all: how she had come upon her that summer's day, and her heart had
yearned to know her for his sake; and how she had gone back again, and
yet again; all the story of her own struggles for a better life. When
she told of her cooking lessons he kissed the little white hands he
held, and when she spoke of her hospital work he touched his lips to
eyes and brow in reverent worshipfulness.
"And you did all that because----?" he asked and looked deep into her
eyes, demanding hungrily his answer.
"Because I wanted to be worthy of your love!" she breathed softly, her
eyes down-drooped, her face rosy with her confession.
"Oh, my darling!" he said, and clasped her close once more. Almost the
letter itself was forgotten, until it slipped softly to the floor and
called attention to itself. There was really after all no need for the
letter. It had done its intended work without being read. But they read
it together, his arm about her shoulders, and their heads close, each
feeling the need of the comforting love of the other because of the
bereavement each had suffered.
And thus they read:
"MY DEAR SON:
"I am writing this letter in what I believe to be
the last few days of my life. Long ago I made our
dear doctor tell me just what would be the signs
that preceded the probable culmination of my
disease. He knew I would be happier so, for I had
some things I wished to accomplish before I went
away. I did not tell you, dear son, because I knew
it could but distress you and turn your thoughts
away from the work to which you belong. I knew
when you came home to me for that dear last visit
that I had only a little while longer left here,
and I need not tell you what those blessed days of
your stay were to me. You know without my telling.
You perhaps will blame yourself that you did not
see how near the end it was and stay beside me;
but John, beloved, I would not have been happy to
have had it so. It would have brought before you
with intensity the parting side of death, and this
I wished to avoid. I want you to think of me as
gone to be with Jesus and with your dear father.
Besides, I wanted the pleasure of giving you back
again to your work before I went away.
"It was because I knew the end was near that I
dared do a lot of things that I would have been
careful about otherwise. It was in the strength of
the happiness of your presence that I forced
myself to walk again that you might remember your
mother once more on her feet. Remember now when
you are reading this I shall be walking the golden
streets with as strong and free a gait as you walk
your desert, dear. So don't regret anything of the
good time we had, nor wish you had stayed longer.
It was perfect, and the good times are not over
for us. We shall have them again on the other side
some day when there are no more partings forever.
"But there is just one thing that has troubled me
ever since you first went away, and that is that
you are alone. God knew it was not good for man to
be alone, and He has a helpmeet for my boy
somewhere in the world, I am sure. I would be glad
if I might go knowing that you had found her and
that she loved you as I loved your father when I
married him. I have never talked much about these
things to you because I do not think mothers
should try to influence their children to marry
until God sends the right one, and then it is not
the mother who should be the judge, of course. But
once I spoke to you in a letter. You remember? It
was after I had met a sweet girl whose life seemed
so fitted to belong to yours. You opened your
heart to me then and told me you had found the one
you loved and would never love another--but she
was not for you. My heart ached for you, laddie,
and I prayed much for you then, for it was a sore
trial to come to my boy away out there alone with
his trouble. I had much ado not to hate that girl
to whom you had given your love, and not to fancy
her a most disagreeable creature with airs, and no
sense, not to recognize the man in my son, and not
to know his beautiful soul and the worth of his
love. But then I thought perhaps she couldn't help
it, poor child, that she didn't know enough to
appreciate you; and likely it was God's good
leading that kept you from her. But I have kept
hoping that some time He would bring you to love
another who was more worthy than she could have
been.
"Dear, you have never said anything more about
that girl, and I hope you have forgotten her,
though sometimes when you were at home I noticed
that deep, far-away look in your eyes, and a
sadness about your lips that made me tremble lest
her memory was just as bright as ever. I have
wanted you to know the sweet girl Hazel Radcliffe
who has been my dear friend and almost
daughter--for no daughter could have been dearer
than she has been to me, and I believe she loves
me too as I love her. If you had been nearer I
would have tried to bring you two together, at
least for once, that you might judge for
yourselves; but I found out that she was shy as a
bird about meeting any one--though she has hosts
of young men friends in her New York home--and
that she would have run away if you had come.
Besides, I could not have given you any reason but
the truth for sending for you, and I knew God
would bring you two together if it was His will.
But I could not go happy from this earth without
doing something towards helping you just to see
her once, and so I have asked her to give you this
letter with her own hand, if possible, and she has
promised to do so. You will come home when I am
gone and she will have to see you, and when you
look on her sweet face if you do not feel as your
mother does about her, it is all right, dear son;
only I wanted you just to see her once because I
love her so much, and because I love you. If you
could forget the other and love this one it seems
as though I should be glad even in heaven, but if
you do not feel that way when you see her, John,
don't mind my writing this letter, for it pleased
me much to play this little trick upon you before
I left; and the dear girl must never know--unless
indeed you love her--and then I do not care--for I
know she will forgive me for writing this silly
letter, and love me just the same.
"Dear boy, just as we never liked to say good-bye
when you went away to college, but only 'Au
revoir,' so there won't be any good-bye now, only
I love you.
"YOUR MOTHER."
Hazel was weeping softly when they finished the letter, and there were
tears in the eyes of the son, though they were glorified by the smile
that shone upon the girl as he folded the letter and said:
"Wasn't that a mother for a fellow to have? And could I do anything else
than give myself when she gave all she had? And to think she picked out
the very one for me that I loved of all the world, and sent her out to
me because I was too set in my way to come back after her. It is just as
if my mother sent you down as a gift from heaven to me, dear!" and
their lips met once more in deep love and understanding.
The sun was almost setting now, and suddenly the two became aware that
night was coming on. The Indian would be returning and they must plan
what to do.
Brownleigh rose and went to the door to see if the Indian were in sight.
He was thinking hard and fast. Then he came back and stood before the
girl.
"Dear!" he said, and the tone of his voice brought the quick colour to
her cheeks; it was so wonderful, so disconcerting to be looked at and
spoken to in that way. She caught her breath and wondered if it were not
a dream after all. "Dear," another of those deep, searching looks, "this
is a big, primitive country and we do things in a most summary way out
here sometimes. You must tell me if I go too fast; but could--_would_
you--do you think you love me enough to marry me at once--to-night?"
"Oh!" she breathed, lifting her happy eyes. "It would be beautiful to
never have to leave you again--but--you hardly know me. I am not fitted,
you know. You are a great, wonderful missionary, and I--I am only a
foolish girl who has fallen in love with you and can't ever be happy
again without you."
She buried her face in the arm of the chair and cried happy, shamed
tears, and he gathered her up in his arms and comforted her, his face
shining with a glorified expression.
"Dear," he said when he could speak again, "dear, don't you know that is
all I want? And don't ever talk that way again about me. I am no saint,
as you'll very well find out, but I'll promise to love and cherish you
as long as we both shall live. Will you marry me to-night?"
There was a silence in the little room broken only by the low crackling
of the dying fire.
She lifted shy glad eyes to his, and then came and laid her two hands in
his.
"If you are quite sure you want me," she breathed softly.
The rapture of his face and the tenderness of his arms assured her on
that point.
"There is just one great regret I have," said the young man, lifting his
eyes towards his mother's picture. "If she only could have known it was
you that I loved. Why didn't I tell her your name? But then---- Why, my
dear, I didn't know your name. Do you realize that? I haven't known your
name until now."
"I certainly did realize it," said Hazel with rosy cheeks. "It used to
hurt dreadfully sometimes to think that even if you wanted to find me
you wouldn't know how to go about it."
"You dear! Did you care so much?" His voice was deep and tender and his
eyes were upon her.
"So much!" she breathed softly.
But the splash of red light on the floor at their feet warned them of
the lateness of the hour and they turned to the immediate business of
the moment.
"It is wonderful that things are just as they are to-night," said
Brownleigh in his full, joyous tones. "It certainly seems providential.
Bishop Vail, my father's old college chum, has been travelling through
the West on missionary work for his church, and he is now at the
stopping place where you spent last night. He leaves on the midnight
train to-night, but we can get there long before that time, and he will
marry us. There is no one I would rather have had, though the choice
should have been yours. Are you going to mind very much being married in
this brief and primitive manner?"
"If I minded those things I should not be worthy of your love," said
Hazel softly. "No, I don't mind in the least. Only I've really nothing
along to get married in--nothing suitable for a wedding gown. You won't
be able to remember me in bridal attire--and there won't be even Amelia
Ellen for bridesmaid." She smiled at him mischievously.
"You darling!" he said laying his lips upon hers again. "You need no
bridal attire to make you the sweetest bride that ever came to Arizona,
and I shall always remember you as you are now, as the most beautiful
sight my eyes ever saw. If there was time to get word to some of my
colleagues off at their stations we should have a wedding reception that
would outrival your New York affairs so far as enthusiasm and genuine
hearty good will is concerned, but they are all from forty to a hundred
miles away from here and it will be impossible. Are you sure you are not
too tired to ride back to the stopping place to-night?" He looked at her
anxiously. "We will hitch Billy to the wagon, and the seat has good
springs. I will put in plenty of cushions and you can rest on the way,
and we will not attempt to come back to-night. It would be too much for
you."
She began to protest but he went on:
"No, dear, I don't mean we'll stay in that little hole where you spent
last night. That would be awful! But what would you say to camping in
the same spot where we had our last talk? I have been there many times
since and often spend the night there because of its sweet association
with you. It is not far, you know, from the railroad--a matter of a few
minutes' ride--and there is good water. We can carry my little tent and
trappings, and then take as much of a wedding trip afterwards as you
feel you have strength for before we return, though we shall have the
rest of our lives to make one dear long wedding trip of, I hope. Will
that plan suit you?"
"Oh, it will be beautiful," said Hazel with shining eyes.
"Very well, then. I will get everything ready for our start and you must
rest until I call you." With that he stooped and before she realized
what he was doing gently lifted her from her feet and laid her down upon
his couch over in the corner, spreading a many-coloured Indian blanket
over her. Then he deftly stirred up the fire, filled up the kettle,
swung it back over the blaze, and with a smile went out to prepare Billy
and the wagon.
Hazel lay there looking about her new home with happy eyes, noting each
little touch of refinement and beauty that showed the character of the
man who had lived his life alone there for three long years, and
wondering if it were really herself, the lonely little struggling nurse
with the bitter ache in her heart, who was feeling so happy here
to-day--Hazel Radcliffe, the former New York society girl, rejoicing
ecstatically because she was going to marry a poor home missionary and
live in a shanty! How her friends would laugh and sneer, and how Aunt
Maria would lift her hands in horror and say the family was disgraced!
But it did not matter about Aunt Maria. Poor Aunt Maria! She had never
approved of anything that Hazel wanted to do all her life. As for her
brother--and here her face took on a shade of sadness--her brother was
of another world than hers and always had been. People said he was like
his dead mother. Perhaps the grand man of the desert could help her
brother to better things. Perhaps he would come out here to visit them
and catch a vision of another kind of life and take a longing for it as
she had done. He could not fail at least to see the greatness of the man
she had chosen.
There was great comfort to her in this hour to remember that her father
had been interested in her missionary, and had expressed a hope that
she might meet him again some day. She thought her father would have
been pleased at the choice she had made, for he had surely seen the
vision of what was really worth while in life before he died.
Suddenly her eyes turned to the little square table over by the
cupboard. What if she should set it?
She sprang up and suited the action to the thought.
Almost as a child might handle her first pewter set Hazel took the
dishes from the shelves and arranged them on the table. They were pretty
china dishes, with a fine old sprigged pattern of delicate flowers. She
recognized them as belonging to his mother's set, and handled them
reverently. It almost seemed as if that mother's presence was with her
in the room as she prepared the table for her first meal with the
beloved son.
She found a large white towel in the cupboard drawer that she spread on
the rough little table, and set the delicate dishes upon it: two plates,
two cups and saucers, knives and forks--two of everything! How it
thrilled her to think that in a little while she would belong here in
this dear house, a part of it, and that they two would have a right to
sit together at this table through the years. There might come hardships
and disappointments--of course there would. She was no fool! Life was
full of disappointments for everybody, as well as of beautiful
surprises! But come what would she knew by the thrill in her heart that
she would never be sorry for this day in which she had promised to
become the wife of the man of the desert, and she would always cherish
the memory of this her first setting of the little table, and let it
make all future settings of that table a holy ordinance.
She found a can of soup in the cupboard, and made it hot in a small
saucepan on the fire, and set forth on the table crackers and cheese, a
glass of jelly, a small bottle of stuffed olives and some little cakes
she had brought with her in her suit-case. She had thought she might
need something of the sort when she landed in Arizona, for there was no
telling but she might have to ride across the desert to find her
missionary; and sure enough that had been the case.
It looked very cozy when Brownleigh came in to say that the wagon was
ready and he thought he saw the Indian in the dusk coming across the
plain, but he stopped short without speech, for here before him was the
picture which his mind and heart had painted for him many a time: this
girl, the one girl in all the earth for him, kneeling beside his hearth
and dishing up the steaming soup into the hot dishes, the firelight
playing on her sweet face and golden hair, and every line and motion of
her graceful body calling for his adoration! So he stood for one long
minute and feasted his hungry eyes upon the sight, until she turned and
saw his heart in his eyes, and her own face grew rosy with the joy and
the meaning of it all.
And so they sat down to their first meal in the little house together,
and then having sent the Indian back to the fort with a message, they
took their way forth in the starlight together to begin their wedding
journey.
XVII
DEDICATION
Billy made good time in spite of the fact that he had been out all day
on parishional work, but he knew who he was hauling, and seemed to take
deep satisfaction in having Hazel back again, for now and again he would
turn back towards the wagon when they stopped for water and whinny
happily.
They reached the stopping place about nine o'clock, and the news that
the missionary was going to be married spread like wildfire among the
men and out to the neighbouring shacks. In no time a small crowd had
collected about the place, peering out of the starlit darkness.
Hazel retired to the forlorn little chamber where she had spent the
night before and rummaged in her trunk for bridal apparel. In a few
minutes she emerged into the long dining-room where the table had been
hastily cleared and moved aside, and upon which the boarders were now
seated in long rows, watching the proceedings curiously.
She was dressed in a simple white muslin, touched here and there with
exquisite hand embroidery and tiny cobwebby edges of real lace. The
missionary caught his breath as he saw her come out to him, and the
rough faces of the men softened as they watched her.
The white-haired bishop arose to meet her and welcomed her in a fatherly
way he had, and the woman who kept the stopping place came following in
Hazel's wake, hastily wiping her hands on her apron, and casting it
behind her as she entered. She had been preparing an impromptu supper
out of any materials that happened to be at hand, but she could not miss
the ceremony if the coffee did burn. Weddings did not come her way every
day.
In the doorway, his stolid face shining in the glare of many candles,
stood the Indian from the fort. He had followed silently behind the
couple to witness the proceedings, well knowing he would be forgiven by
his mistress at the fort when he told his news. The missionary was well
beloved--and the missionary was going to be married!
What would the four hundred of her own select New York circle have said
could they have seen Hazel Radcliffe standing serene, in her simple
gown, with her undecked golden hair, in the midst of that motley
company of men, with only three curious slatternly women in the
background to keep her company, giving herself away to a man who had
dedicated his life to work in the desert? But Hazel's happy heart was
serenely unconscious of the incongruity of her surroundings, and she
answered with a clear ring to her voice as the bishop asked her the
questions: "I will." She was coming gladly to her new home.
It was her own ring, the ring she had given him, that John Brownleigh
put upon her hand in token of his loyalty and love for her, the ring
that for a whole year had lain next his own heart and comforted its
loneliness because she had given it, and now he gave it back because she
had given him herself.
Graciously she placed her small white hand in the rough awkward ones of
the men who came to offer her congratulations, half stumbling over their
own feet in their awe and wonder at her beauty. It was to them as if an
angel from heaven had suddenly dropped down and condescended to walk
their daily path in sight of them all.
Cheerfully she swallowed the stale cake and muddy coffee that the
slatternly landlady produced, and afterwards, as she was being helped
to get back into her riding dress, bestowed upon her a little lilac wool
frock from her trunk that the woman admired greatly. From that moment
the landlady of the stopping place was a new creature. Missions and
missionaries had been nothing to her through the years, but she believed
in them forever after, and donned her new lilac gown in token of her
faith in Christianity. Thus Hazel won her first convert, who afterwards
proved her fidelity in time of great trial, and showed that even a lilac
gown may be an instrument of good.
Out into the starlight together again they rode, with the blessing of
the bishop upon them, and the cheers of the men still sounding in their
ears.
"I wish mother could have known," said the bridegroom as he drew his
bride close within his arm and looked down upon her nestling by his
side.
"Oh, I think she does!" said Hazel as she dropped a thankful, weary head
against his shoulder. Then the missionary stooped and gave his wife a
long, tender kiss, and raising his head and lifting his eyes to the
starlit sky he said reverently:
"Oh, my Father, I thank Thee for this wonderful gift. Make me worthy of
her. Help her never to regret that she has come to me."
Hazel crept her hand into his free one, and laid her lips upon his
fingers, and prayed all quietly by herself for gladness. So they rode
out to their camp beneath God's sky.
Three days later an Indian on the way to the fort turned aside with a
message for Hazel--a telegram. It read:
"Arrived safe. Married Burley to once so I could
see to him. Do come home right away. Burley says
come and live with us. Answer right away. I can't
enjoy my new home worrying about you.
"Yours respectful,
"AMELIA ELLEN STOUT BURLEY."
With laughter and tears Hazel read the telegram whose price must have
cost the frugal New England conscience a twinge, and after a moment's
thought wrote an answer to send back by the messenger.
"DEAR AMELIA ELLEN: Love and congratulations for
you both. I was married to John Brownleigh the
night you left. Come out and see us when your
husband gets well, and perhaps we'll visit you
when we come East. I am very happy.
"HAZEL RADCLIFFE BROWNLEIGH."