SUR LE PONT D'AVIGNON ON Y DANSE, ON Y DANSE.
It was, perhaps, because she was conscience-stricken that Mrs. Joe
essayed to make atonement to Natalie by being especially confiding with
her. We know, also, that she saw an opportunity of strengthening those
bonds between Stormpoint and the White House, which Mr. Hacket insisted
it was advisable to make as close as possible; for it became day by day
more evident that Miss Achsah had taken her new inmate into her heart of
hearts; other motives there may have been; certain it is that next to
her yellow adviser, whom she loathed with a deeper loathing each time
that she saw him anew, she opened her heart to Natalie in regard to
those cherished projects which concerned Mark.
"I want to see him famous," she said. "It will be harder for him than
for others, because of this wretched money."
"He has more talent than most, and, I think, sincerity," replied
Natalie, pausing on the last word.
The elder lady looked sharply at the speaker. The two were alone
together; occasionally they could hear the strains of Paula's organ from
the distant music-room. "You saw much of him after he left the
University?" she questioned.
"Yes, he was with us constantly for a time." The widow had a fine sense
of hearing, which she strained to the utmost to note what might be told
in the tone that remained untold by the words. She was quite aware that
Mark had been for weeks a daily visitor, if not an actual inmate, of the
household of Beverley Claghorn. She had herself arranged that it should
be so; but she had not then feared possibilities, which had engaged her
thoughts a good deal since she had heard of the rupture between the
Marquise and Natalie. The tone of the girl's voice told her nothing, and
the eyes that met her own were serene.
"I wished Mark to remain abroad until Stormpoint was complete. I wished
to surprise him, and impress him with the fact that I am in earnest,
that this place is but a means to an end."
"It is a beautiful and a fitting home for what he is and aspires to be."
"It will help. What has he said to you about Stormpoint?"
"You forget that I have not seen him since he made its acquaintance."
"Surely he was not so neglectful as not to write!"
"He wrote to my father. I don't recall what he said about Stormpoint."
The eyes bent upon the girl, who looked steadily out of the window at
the sea, were keen and questioning. "Pardon me, Natalie, I hope the
breach between you and the Marquise is not irreparable," said the lady
softly.
Natalie looked up smiling. "Indeed, I hope not. I am not angry with her,
though she is with me."
"I can hardly be sorry that you disappointed her--I never fancied her
lieutenant--but I was surprised. I had supposed the matter settled with
your consent."
"My dear father, it seems, did so arrange it. I quite appreciate her
standpoint and know that she has much to forgive. Naturally, she
approves of the customs of her country. Unfortunately, I was not trained
strictly _a la mode Francaise_."
"The French custom as regards betrothal is repulsive; but I supposed you
were French--and----"
"I must have inherited independent views. I might have acquiesced had I
not seen too much of Adolphe. You are not to think badly of him--only
that he is unendurable."
"That is more damning than faint praise," laughed Mrs. Joe; "but I
understand. Well, my dear, since you decline to become a 'female
Markis,' as Mr. Weller has it, we must do as well for you as possible in
a republic that offers no nobles."
"I am quite content with things as they are."
"That, of course, is eminently proper; but we are all slaves of destiny
and there is one always possible to maidens. We shall select a permanent
city home as soon as I can consult Mark; meanwhile we shall not spend
our winters here; and in the winter Miss Achsah must reward our
forbearance by surrendering you to us."
"I shall be glad to be with you and Paula sometimes; but, Mrs. Joe, you
know I am only visiting my aunt. I intend to have a home of my own."
"That will come. Perhaps it will be with me for a time, if you can bear
with another old woman. Mark and Paula will want their own
establishment. Of course, they'll have Stormpoint."
She had sped her bolt. If it had been needless, it was harmless; if it
had wounded, so much the more was it needed. But she felt mean--in the
proper frame to meet Mr. Hacket, who was announced, to the relief of
both.
The distant organ notes must have been pleasing to the ear, for, after
Mrs. Joe had gone, Natalie sat long, listening and motionless; they must
have been tender, for tears glistened in her eyes. When they ceased she
rose and left the room and the house. In the grounds she found Paula,
who said, "I came out at this moment, and saw that," pointing to the
buggy; "then I knew that you would soon be here."
They strolled to a sheltered nook of the cliffside, and thence looked
out upon the silver sea, peaceful under the summer sky.
"One could hardly believe that it could ever be angry," said Paula, "but
you shall see it in fury; then it will be awful."
"It is awful now."
"Now!" exclaimed Paula. "Why, it is as serene as the sky above it."
"But think what it hides. Listen to the moan; see the swell of its heavy
sighs."
"Natalie, I have discovered something!"
"Like Columbus," laughed Natalie.
"You are like the sea to-day. The surface wavelets laugh in the glint of
the sun; but sadness is beneath. The sea hides sorrow; and you are so.
You and Mark----"
And there she stopped. The other knew why. Paula was looking straight at
her face, and she knew that her face had suddenly told a story.
"Does the sea remind you of Mark?" she asked in even tones, guarding her
secret in her manner of utterance.
"Of both of you," answered Paula, who had quickly turned a somewhat
troubled gaze upon the water. "Natalie," she added, rather hurriedly,
"there is a balm for every sorrow, a sure one. _That_"--she slightly
emphasized the word--"is why I thought of you in connection with Mark.
Ah, if he were only religious!"
"Then he would be perfect, you think." She laughed, and Paula laughed,
but the merriment seemed hollow.
"Nobody can be perfect," said Paula, after the pause which had followed
the unmeaning mirth. She spoke in a low tone and timidly, but for that
reason all the more engagingly; "but so far as perfection can be
attained, it can only be with the aid of religion."
It was one of the words in season, which Natalie had become accustomed
to hear from those about her, and which from this exhorter she always
liked to hear. There was an atmosphere of calm about Paula and a
serenity in her face which fascinated the unbeliever. And her
admonitions, if timidly uttered, were sincere. It was as though the
young preacher, though longing for a convert, feared to frighten the
disciple away.
Natalie bent over and kissed the girl's cheek. "Is he unhappy? Mark, I
mean."
"His life is evidence that he is not happy. He wanders aimlessly. Cousin
Alice built Stormpoint for him, yet he leaves it."
"His large interests compel his wanderings."
"He has agents who make them unnecessary. Cousin Alice needs him."
"You would be glad to have him home?"
Paula looked up; her sparkling eyes answered the question. There was a
pause.
"I hope he will come," said Natalie, after awhile, "and that you will
have your wish."
"That he will become religious? I pray for it, so it must come."
Natalie took her hand and held it. "And you believe that religion
insures happiness?" She was willing to hold on to this topic.
"I know it. The peace of God which passeth understanding. Do not turn
from it, Natalie."
"I do not. I am not a scoffer. I think that I, too, could love God, only
I am densely ignorant."
"But you can be enlightened. Father Cameril----"
Natalie smiled. "I hardly think he would be the teacher I would choose.
I would prefer you."
"To enlighten your ignorance! I am myself ignorant. I believe--I know no
more." This sounded prettily from pretty lips, and Paula was honest;
but, as a matter of fact, she had some theological pretensions, a truth
which she for the moment forgot.
"How is that possible?" asked the infidel. "I could believe, if I knew."
"We cannot understand everything."
"No--almost nothing, therefore----"
"We have a revelation."
"Which reveals nothing to me. I wish it did."
"Natalie, you demand too much. We are not permitted to know everything.
We cannot be divine."
"And yet we can speak very positively; as if, indeed, we knew it
all--some of us. But if nobody knows, nobody can be sure."
"I cannot argue; but I can tell you who tells me. God Himself. God
speaks to the heart."
"Paula," cried the other, with startling earnestness, "I, too, have a
heart. Teach me how to believe, and of all the wise you will be the
wisest. Do I not know that life is barren? that the love of man cannot
fill the heart? Ah! Paula, if that can do it, teach me the love of God!"
The tone rose almost to a cry. Paula was awed as a perception of the
truth came upon her that here was a skeptic with religious longings
greater than her own. "Natalie," she murmured, hiding her face on the
shoulder of her companion, "we are told to ask. Pray, Natalie, to the
One that knows it all."
"And will you pray for me?"
"I do."
"And do you pray for Mark?"
"Surely."
"And you know that my prayers will be answered?"
"I know it--in God's good time."
"I will pray, Paula."
They kissed one another, as though sealing a compact. No doubt Paula
breathed a petition for her who, still in darkness, craved for light.
Natalie prayed for the happiness of Mark Claghorn, and that she might
forget him and resign him to the saint whose lips she pressed.
Then she went home. In the hall of the White House she met Tabitha.
"Come!" she exclaimed, seizing that elderly damsel about the waist.
"_Dansons_, Tabitha; hop, skip! _Sur le pont d'Avignon on y danse, on y
danse!_" and she trilled her lay and whirled the astonished spinster
around until both were breathless.
"My sakes! Have you gone crazy?" exclaimed Tabitha.
"Come to my senses!" replied Natalie, laughing merrily.
"I never saw you so French before," was Tabitha's comment.