Mr. Burleigh was one of those fortunate men who when the weather
is rough outside--as was often the case in his calling--can always
find smooth water in the domestic haven of a wife's apartment. Thus
Mrs. Burleigh soon learned the cause of his perturbation; and as
she knew Jennie Burton would hear the story from some one else,
could not deny herself the feminine enjoyment of being the first
to tell it, and of congratulating her on the knightly defender she
had secured; for the quarrel had come before Mr. Burleigh in such
a form as to make Van Berg the principal in the affair.
Miss Burton's cheek flushed deeply and resentfully as she heard
the circumstances in which her name had been spoken, and she said
with emphasis:
"Mr. Van Berg impressed me as a chivalric man from the first day of
our meeting. But I wish he had paid no heed to the words of such
a creature as Mr. Sibley. That his life was endangered on my
account pains me more than I can tell you;" and she soon grew so
white and faint that Mrs. Burleigh made her take a glass of wine.
"Death seems such a terrible thing to a young, strong man," she
added, shudderingly, after a moment, and she pressed her hands
against her eyes as if to shut out a vision from which she shrank.
"May he not still be in danger from this ruffian's revenge?" she
asked, looking up in sudden alarm.
"I'm afraid that he will be," said Mrs. Burleigh, catching the
infection of her fears. "I will have Mr. Burleigh see that he is
kept away from this place."
Soon after, as Miss Burton was passing through the main hall-way,
she met the artist, and stepping into one of the small parlors that
was unoccupied, she said:
"Mr. Van Berg, I wish to speak with you. I wish both to thank you,
and to ask a favor."
"Please do the latter only," he replied, smiling.
"Mr. Van Berg," she resumed, looking into his face with an expression
that made his heart beat more quickly, "your life was endangered
on my account this afternoon."
"That's a pleasant thought to me," he said, taking her hand, "that
is if you are not offended that I presumed to be your knight."
"It is a dreadful thought to me," she answered, earnestly; then in
a strange and excited manner she added: "You cannot know--death
to some is a horrible thing--it prevents so much--I've known--let
it come to the old and sad--I could welcome it--but to such as
you--O merciful Heaven! Grant me, please grant me, the favor I
would ask," she continued, clinging to his hand. "They say this
man Sibley is very passionate and revengeful. He may still try
to carry out his dreadful purpose. Please shun him, please avoid
him--in mercy do. I've more than I can bear now; and if--if--"
and she buried her face in her hands.
"And can my poor life be of such value to you, Miss Burton?" he
asked, in a deep low tone.
"Ah! you cannot understand," she said, with a sudden and passionate
gesture, "and I entreat you not to ask me to explain. From the
first you have been kind to me. I have felt from the day we met
that I had found a friend in you; and your risk, your care for me
to-day, gives you a peculiar claim as a friend, but in mercy do
not ask me to explain why I am so urgent in my request. I cannot,
indeed I cannot--at least not now, in this place. Something
happened--Sudden death in one young, strong, and full of hope, like
you, seems to me horrible--horrible. In mercy promise to incur no
risk on my account," she said passionately, and almost wildly.
"My poor little friend, how needlessly frightened you are!" he
said, soothingly and gently. "There, I will promise you anything
that a man of honor can. But a word against you, Jennie Burton,
touches me close, very close. As said the Earl of Kent, 'It invades
the region of my heart.'"
She looked up swiftly and questioningly, and then a sudden crimson
suffused her face. With a strong and uncontrollable instinct she
appeared to shrink from him.
"Kent served one who had lost the power to make return," she said,
shaking her head sadly as she turned away.
"Let me reply with Kent again," he earnestly responded. "'You
have that in your countenance'--in your character--'which I would
fain call master'; and I am mastered, nor can I be shaken from my
allegiance. I can at least imitate Kent's faithfulness, if not
his obtrusiveness, in the service of his king. You have already
claimed me as a friend, and so much at least I shall ever be. Let
me win more if I can."
She became very quiet now, and looked steadily into his flushed,
eager face with an expression of sorrowful regret and pain that
would have restrained him had a ten-fold stronger and more impetuous
love been seeking utterance, and by a gesture, simple yet eloquently
impressive, she put her finger to her lips. Then giving him her
hand she said, with strong emphasis:
"Mr. Van Berg, I would value such a FRIEND as you could be to me
more than I can tell you."
"I shall be to you all that you will permit," he said, gently yet
firmly. "As you now appear I could as soon think of urging my
clamorous human love on a sad-eyed saint that had suffered some
cruel form of martyrdom for her faith, and then, as the legends
teach, had been sent from heaven among us mortals upon some errand
of mercy."
"Your words are truer than you think," she replied, the pallor
deepening in her face. "I have suffered a strange, cruel form of
martyrdom. But I am not a saint, only a weak woman. I would value
such a friend as you could be exceedingly. Indeed--indeed," she
continued hesitatingly, "there are peculiar reasons why I wish
we might meet as friends occasionally. If you knew--if you knew
all--you would not ask to be more. Can you trust one who is clouded
by sadness and mystery?"
He took her hand in both of his and answered, "Jennie Burton,
there could no greater misfortune befall me than to lose my faith
in you. I associate you with all that is most sacred to me. Every
instinct of my heart assures me that although the mystery that
enshrouds your life may be as cold as death, it is, as far as you
are concerned, as white as snow."
"Yes, and as far as another is concerned also," she said
solemnly. "Your trust is generous, and I am very, very grateful.
Perhaps--possibly I may--some time--tell you, for you risked your
life for me; and--and--there is another reason. But I have never
spoken of it yet. Good-night."
"Stay," he said, "I cannot begin being a true friend to you by
being a false friend to another. I am ashamed that I have been so
preoccupied with myself that I have not spoken of it before. Mr.
Stanton resented Sibley's insulting language more promptly than I
did. I have been basely accepting a gratitude that rightly belongs
to him, and I assure you he is in far more danger from Sibley than
I am."
Her brow contracted in a sudden frown, and there was something like
irritation in her tones as she said:
"Danger again! and to another, for my sake! Must I be tortured
with fear and anxiety, because a low fellow, true to his nature,
will be scurrilous? Mr. Van Berg," she continued, with a sudden
flash of her eyes, "are you and Mr. Stanton quarrelling with Mr.
Sibley on your own account, or on mine? From henceforth I refuse
to have the remotest relation to such a quarrel. No remarks of
a man like Sibley can insult me, and hereafter any friend of mine
who lowers himself to resent them, or has aught to do with the
fellow, will both wound and humiliate me."
"After such words, Miss Burton," Van Berg answered with a smile,
"rest assured I shall avoid him as I would a pestilence. But
remember, I have been as guilty as Stanton, yes, more so; for
Stanton received the first provocation, and he is naturally more
impetuous than I am. But I have been thanked, as well as warned
and justly rebuked. I think," he added, as if the words cost him
an effort, " that if you will kindly ask Stanton to have nothing
more to do with Sibley, he will accede to your wishes; and whatever
he promises, he will perform."
"Is your friend, then, so honorable a man?" she asked.
"He is, indeed," replied Van Berg, earnestly, while a generous
flush suffused his face, "a true, noble-hearted fellow. He shows
his worst side at once, but you would discover new and good traits
hin him every day."
She turned away with a low laugh. "Since you are so loyal to your
old friend," she said, "I think you will prove true to your new
one. I shall put Mr. Stanton to the test, and discover whether he
will give up his quarrel with Mr. Sibley for the sake of such poor
thanks as I can give. Once more, good-night."
She was hastening away, when he seized her hand and said:
"Why do you go with averted face? Have I offended you?"
She trembled violently. "Please do not look at me so," she said,
falteringly. "I cannot endure it. Pity my weakness."
His hand tightened in its warm grasp, and the expression of his
face grew more ardent.
She looked up with a sudden flash in her eyes, and said, almost
sternly:
"You must not look at me in that way, or else even friendship will
be impossible and we must become strangers. Perhaps, after all,
this will be the wisest course for us both," she added, in a gentler
tone.
He dropped her hand, but said firmly, "No, Miss Jennie, you have
given me the right to call you my friend, and I have seen friendship
in your eyes, and friends at least we shall be till the end of time.
I shall not say good-night. I shall not let you go away and brood
by yourself. I have learned that cheering others is the very elixir
of your life; so, come into the parlor. I will find Stanton and
our friend with the soprano voice, and the guests of the house
shall again bless the stars that sent you to us, as I do daily."
She smiled faintly and said:
"I'll join you there after a little while," and she flitted out
into the darkening hall-way, and sought her room by a side stair.
A few moments later Stanton, finding the object of his thoughts did
not appear among the guests who sought to escape the sultriness of
the evening on the wide piazzas or in the large, spacious parlor,
began to wander restlessly in a half-unconscious search. A servant
was just lighting the gas in the small and remote reception-room
as he glanced in. The apartment was empty, and no echoes of the
words just spoken were lingering.
A little later Miss Burton came down the main stair-way in her
breezy, cheery manner, and his jealous fears were quieted.
He joined her at once, saying that it was the unanimous wish that
she should give them some music again that evening.
She would join with him and others, she said; and her manner was
so perfectly frank and cordial, so like her bearing towards a lady
friend to whom she next spoke, that he fairly groaned in despair
of touching a heart that seemed to overflow with kindness toward
all.
Van Berg soon appeared, but Miss Burton, on this occasion, managed
that the singing should be maintained by quite a large group about
the piano, and on account of the sultriness of the evening the
service of song was brief.
While Van Berg was leading a hymn that had been asked for by one
of the guests, Miss Burton found the opportunity of saying, "Mr.
Stanton, I wish to thank you for your chivalric defence to-day of
one who is poor and orphaned. Mr. Van Berg told me of your generous
and friendly course. Thus far I can believe that your conduct has
been inspired by the truest and most manly impulses. But if in
any way you again have aught to do with Mr. Sibley, I shall feel
deeply wounded and humiliated. I refuse to be associated with that
man, even in the remotest degree. Your delicate sense of honor will
teach you that if any further trouble grows out of this affair no
effort on your part can separate my name from it. The world rarely
distinguishes between a gentlemanly quarrel and a vulgar brawl,
especially where one of the parties is essentially vulgar. As a
gentleman you will surely shield me from any such associations."
Stanton, remembering his appointment with Sibley, bowed low to hide
his confusion.
"I would gladly shield you with my life from anything that could
cause you pain," he said, earnestly.
"I do not make any such vast and tragic demands," she replied,
smilingly, and holding out her hand; "only simple and prosaic
self-control, when tipsy, vulgar men act according to their nature.
Good-night."
He was about to kiss her hand, when she gently withdrew it, remarking:
"We plain people of New England are not descended from the Cavaliers,
remember."
He watched until in despair of her appearing again that evening,
and then strolled out into the night, feeling in his despondency
that no star in the summer sky was more unattainable than the poor
and orphaned girl, the impress of whose warm clasp still seemed
within his hand.