and the doctor had somewhat contemptuously overlooked the building and
its capabilities, and had compared those students whom he saw with his
remembrance of his own class, and triumphantly picked out a face and
figure that looked hopeful here and there; he told himself that like
all new growths it was feeble yet, and needed girls like his Nan, with
high moral purpose and excellent capacity, who would make the college
strong and to be respected. Not such doctors as several of whom he
reminded himself, who were disgracing their sex, but those whose
lives were ruled by a pettiness of detail, a lack of power, and an
absence of high aim. Somehow both our friends lost much of the feeling
that Nan was doing a peculiar thing, when they saw so many others
following the same path. And having seen Nan more than half-settled in
her winter quarters, and knowing that one or two of her former school
friends had given her a delighted and most friendly welcome, and
having made a few visits to the people whom he fancied would help her
in one way or another, Dr. Leslie said good-by, and turned his face
homeward, feeling more lonely than he had felt in a great many years
before. He thought about Nan a great deal on the journey, though he
had provided himself with some most desirable new books. He was
thankful he had been able to do a kind turn for one of the most
influential doctors, who had cheerfully promised to put some special
advantages in Nan's way; but when he reached home the house seemed
very empty, and he missed his gay companion as he drove along the
country roads. After the days began to grow longer, and the sun
brighter, such pleasant letters came from the absent scholar, that the
doctor took heart more and more, and went over to Mrs. Graham with
almost every fresh bit of news. She smiled, and listened, and
applauded, and one day said with delightful cordiality that she wished
there were more girls who cared whether their lives really amounted to
anything. But not every one had a talent which was such a stimulus as
Nan's.
"Nothing succeeds like success," rejoined the doctor cheerfully, "I
always knew the child would do the best she could."
XIV
MISS PRINCE OF DUNPORT
While all these years were passing, Miss Anna Prince the elder was
living quietly in Dunport, and she had changed so little that her
friends frequently complimented her upon such continued youthfulness.
She had by no means forgotten the two greatest among the many losses
and sorrows of her life, but the first sharp pain of them was long
since over with. The lover from whom she had parted for the sake of a
petty misunderstanding had married afterward and died early; but he
had left a son of whom Miss Prince was very proud and fond; and she
had given him the place in her heart which should have belonged to her
own niece. When she thought of the other trial, she believed herself,
still, more sinned against than sinning, and gave herself frequent
assurances that it had been impossible to act otherwise at the time of
her brother's death and his wife's strange behavior afterward. And she
had persuaded her conscience to be quiet, until at last, with the
ideal of a suspicious, uncongenial, disagreeable group of rustics in
her mind, she thought it was well ordered by Heaven that she had been
spared any closer intercourse.
Miss Prince was a proud and stately woman of the old New England type:
more colonial than American perhaps, and quite provincial in her
traditions and prejudices. She was highly respected in her native
town, where she was a prominent figure in society. Nobody was more
generous and kind or public spirited, as her friends often said, and
young George Gerry was well-rewarded, though he gave her great
pleasure by his evident affection and interest. He liked to pay
frequent visits to his old friend, and to talk with her. She had been
a very attractive girl long ago, and the best of her charms had not
faded yet; the young man was always welcomed warmly, and had more than
once been helped in his projects. His mother was a feeble woman, who
took little interest in anything outside her own doors; and he liked
himself better as he sat in Miss Prince's parlor than anywhere else.
We are always fond of the society of our best selves, and though he
was popular with the rest of his townspeople, he somehow could not
help trying always to be especially agreeable to Miss Prince.
Although she was apparently free from regrets, and very well satisfied
with life, even her best friends did not know how lonely her life had
seemed to her, or how sadly hurt she had been by the shame and sorrow
of her only brother's marriage. The thought of his child and of the
impossibility of taking her to her heart and home had been like a
nightmare at first, and yet Miss Prince lacked courage to break down
the barriers, and to at least know the worst. She kept the two ideas
of the actual niece and the ideal one whom she might have loved so
much distinct and separate in her mind, and was divided between a
longing to see the girl and a fierce dread of her sudden appearance.
She had forbidden any allusion to the subject years and years before,
and so had prevented herself from hearing good news as well as bad;
though she had always been careful that the small yearly remittance
should be promptly sent, and was impatient to receive the formal
acknowledgment of it, which she instantly took pains to destroy. She
sometimes in these days thought about making her will; there was no
hurry about it, but it would be only fair to provide for her nearest
of kin, while she was always certain that she should not let all her
money and the old house with its handsome furnishings go into such
unworthy hands. It was a very hard question to settle, and she thought
of it as little as possible, and was sure there was nothing to prevent
her living a great many years yet. She loved her old home dearly, and
was even proud of it, and had always taken great care of the details
of its government. She never had been foolish enough to make away with
her handsome mahogany furniture, and to replace it with cheaper and
less comfortable chairs and tables, as many of her neighbors had done,
and had taken an obstinate satisfaction all through the years when it
seemed quite out of date, in insisting upon the polishing of the fine
wood and the many brass handles, and of late she had been reaping a
reward for her constancy. It had been a marvel to certain progressive
people that a person of her comfortable estate should be willing to
reflect that there was not a marble-topped table in her house, until
it slowly dawned upon them at last that she was mistress of the finest
house in town. Outwardly, it was painted white and stood close upon
the street, with a few steep front steps coming abruptly down into the
middle of the narrow sidewalk; its interior was spacious and very
imposing, not only for the time it was built in the last century, but
for any other time. Miss Prince's ancestors had belonged to some of
the most distinguished among the colonial families, which fact she
neither appeared to remember nor consented to forget; and, as often
happened in the seaport towns of New England, there had been one or
two men in every generation who had followed the sea. Her own father
had been among the number, and the closets of the old house were well
provided with rare china and fine old English crockery that would
drive an enthusiastic collector to distraction. The carved woodwork of
the railings and wainscotings and cornices had been devised by
ingenious and patient craftsmen, and the same portraits and old
engravings hung upon the walls that had been there when its mistress
could first remember. She had always been so well suited with her home
that she had never desired to change it in any particular. Her maids
were well drilled to their duties, and Priscilla, who was chief of the
staff, had been in that dignified position for many years. If Miss
Prince's grandmother could return to Dunport from another world, she
would hardly believe that she had left her earthly home for a day, it
presented so nearly the same appearance.
But however conscientiously the effort had been made to keep up the
old reputation for hospitality, it had somehow been a failure, and
Miss Prince had given fewer entertainments every year. Long ago, while
she was still a young woman, she had begun to wear a certain quaint
and elderly manner, which might have come from association with such
antiquated household gods and a desire to match well with her beloved
surroundings. A great many of her early friends had died, and she was
not the sort of person who can easily form new ties of intimate
friendship. She was very loyal to those who were still left, and, as
has been said, her interest in George Gerry, who was his father's
namesake and likeness, was a very great pleasure to her. Some persons
liked to whisper together now and then about the mysterious niece, who
was never mentioned otherwise. But though curiosity had led to a
partial knowledge of our heroine's not unfavorable aspect and
circumstances, nobody ever dared to give such information to the
person who should have been most interested.
This was one of the standard long stories of Dunport with which old
residents liked to regale newcomers, and handsome Jack Prince was the
hero of a most edifying romance, being represented as a victim of the
Prince pride, as his sister had been before him. His life had been
ruined, and he had begged his wretched wife at the last to bring him
home to Dunport, alive or dead. The woman had treated Miss Prince with
shameful impudence and had disappeared afterward. The child had been
brought up with her own people, and it was understood that Miss
Prince's efforts to have any connection with them were all thwarted.
Lately it had become known that the girl's guardian was a very fine
man and was taking a great interest in her. But the reader will
imagine how this story grew and changed in different people's minds.
Some persons insisted that Miss Prince had declined to see her
brother's child, and others that it was denied her. It was often said
in these days that Nan must be free to do as she chose, but it was
more than likely that she had assumed the prejudices against her aunt
with which she must have become most familiar.
As for Miss Prince herself, she had long ago become convinced that
there was nothing to be done in this matter. After one has followed a
certain course for some time, everything seems to persuade one that no
other is possible. Sometimes she feared that an excitement and danger
lurked in her future, but, after all, her days went by so calmly, and
nearer things seemed so much more important than this vague sorrow and
dread, that she went to and fro in the Dunport streets, and was
courteous and kind in her own house, and read a sensible book now and
then, and spent her time as benevolently and respectably as possible.
She was indeed an admirable member of society, who had suffered very
much in her youth, and those who knew her well could not be too glad
that her later years were passing far less unhappily than most
people's.
In the days when her niece had lately finished her first winter at the
medical school, Miss Prince had just freed herself from the
responsibility of some slight repairs which the house had needed. She
had been in many ways much more occupied than usual, and had given
hardly a thought to more remote affairs. At last there had come an
evening when she felt at leisure, and happily Miss Fraley, one of her
earliest friends, had come to pay her a visit. The two ladies sat at
the front windows of the west parlor looking out upon the street,
while the hostess expressed her gratitude that the overturning of her
household affairs was at an end, and that she was all in order for
summer. They talked about the damage and discomfort inflicted by
masons, and the general havoc which follows a small piece of fallen
ceiling. Miss Prince, having made a final round of inspection just
after tea, had ascertained that the last of the white dimity curtains
and coverings were in their places upstairs in the bedrooms, and her
love of order was satisfied. She had complimented Priscilla, and made
her and the maids the customary spring present, and had returned to
her evening post of observation at the parlor window just as Miss
Fraley came in. She was not in the mood for receiving guests, being a
trifle tired, but Eunice Fraley was a mild little creature, with a
gentle, deprecatory manner which had always appealed to Miss Prince's
more chivalrous nature. Besides, she knew this to be a most true and
affectionate friend, who had also the gift of appearing when
everything was ready for her, as the bluebirds come, and the robins,
in the early days of spring.
"I wish I could say that our house was all in order but one closet,"
said the guest, in a more melancholy tone than usual. "I believe we
are more behind-hand than ever this year. You know we have Susan's
children with us for a fortnight while she goes away for a rest, and
they have been a good deal of care. I think mother is getting tired of
them now, though she was very eager to have a visit from them at
first. She said this morning that the little girl was worse than a
kitten in a fit, and she did hope that Susan wouldn't think it best to
pass another week away."
Miss Prince laughed a little, and so did Miss Fraley after a moment's
hesitation. She seemed to be in a somewhat sentimental and
introspective mood as she looked out of the window in the May
twilight.
"I so often feel as if I were not accomplishing anything," she said
sadly. "It came over me to-day that here I am, really an old woman,
and I am just about where I first started,--doing the same things over
and over and no better than ever. I haven't the gift of style; anybody
else might have done my work just as well, I am afraid; I am sure the
world would have got along just as well without me. Mother has been
so active, and has reached such a great age, that perhaps it hasn't
been much advantage to me. I have only learned to depend upon her
instead of myself. I begin to see that I should have amounted to a
great deal more if I had had a home of my own. I sometimes wish that I
were as free to go and come as you are, Nancy."
But Miss Prince's thoughts were pleased to take a severely practical
turn: "I'm not in the least free," she answered cheerfully. "I believe
you need something to strengthen you, Eunice. I haven't seen you so
out of spirits for a great while. Free! why I'm tied to this house as
if I were the knocker on the front door; and I certainly have a great
deal of care. I put the utmost confidence in Priscilla, but those
nieces of hers would be going wherever they chose, from garret to
cellar, before I was ten miles away from Dunport. I have let the cook
go away for a week, and Phoebe and Priscilla are alone. Phoebe is a
good little creature; I only hope she won't be married within six
months, for I don't know when I have liked a young girl so well.
Priscilla was anxious I should take that black-eyed daughter of her
brother's, and was quite hurt because I refused."
"I dare say you were right," acknowledged Miss Fraley, though she
could not exactly see the obstacles to her friend's freedom in such
strong light as was expected.
"I know that it must be difficult for you sometimes," resumed the
hostess presently, in a more sympathetic tone. "Your mother naturally
finds it hard to give up the rule. We can't expect her to look at life
as younger persons do."
"I don't expect it," said poor Miss Fraley appealingly, "and I am sure
I try to be considerate; but how would you like it, to be treated as
if you were sixteen instead of nearly sixty? I know it says in the
Bible that children should obey their parents, but there is no such
commandment, that I can see, to women who are old enough to be
grandmothers themselves. It does make me perfectly miserable to have
everything questioned and talked over that I do; but I know I ought
not to say such things. I suppose I shall lie awake half the night
grieving over it. You know I have the greatest respect for mother's
judgment; I'm sure I don't know what in the world I should do without
her."
"You are too yielding, Eunice," said Miss Prince kindly. "You try to
please everybody, and that's your way of pleasing yourself; but, after
all, I believe we give everybody more satisfaction when we hold fast
to our own ideas of right and wrong. There have been a great many
friends who were more than willing to give me their advice in all
these years that I have been living alone; but I have always made up
my mind and gone straight ahead. I have no doubt I should be very
impatient now of much comment and talking over; and yet there are so
many times when I would give anything to see father or mother for a
little while. I haven't suffered from living alone as much as some
persons do, but I often feel very sad and lonely when I sit here and
think about the past. Dear me! here is Phoebe with the lights, and I
dare say it is just as well. I am going to ask you to go up stairs and
see the fresh paint, and how ship-shape we are at last, as father used
to say."
Miss Fraley rose at once, with an expression of pleasure, and the two
friends made a leisurely tour of the old house which seemed all ready
for a large family, and though its owner apparently enjoyed her
freedom and dominion, it all looked deserted and empty to her guest.
They lingered together in the wide lower hall, and parted with unusual
affection. This was by no means the first hint that had been given of
a somewhat fettered and disappointing home life, though Miss Fraley
would have shuddered at the thought of any such report's being sent
abroad.
"Send the children round to see me," said Miss Prince, by way of
parting benediction. "They can play in the garden an hour or two, and
it will be a change for them and for you;" which invitation was
gratefully accepted, though Miss Eunice smiled at the idea of their
needing a change, when they were sure to be on every wharf in town in
the course of the day, and already knew more people in Dunport than
she did.
The next morning Miss Prince's sense of general well-being seemed to
have deserted her altogether. She was overshadowed by a fear of
impending disaster and felt strangely tired and dissatisfied. But she
did not believe in moping, and only assured herself that she must make
the day an easy one. So, being strong against tides, as some old poet
says of the whale, Miss Prince descended the stairs calmly, and
advised Priscilla to put off the special work that had been planned
until still later in the week. "You had better ask your sister to come
and spend the day with you and have a good, quiet visit," which
permission Priscilla received without comment, being a person of few
words; but she looked pleased, and while her mistress went down the
garden walk to breathe the fresh morning air, she concocted a small
omelet as an unexpected addition to the breakfast. Miss Prince was
very fond of an omelet, but Priscilla, in spite of all her good
qualities, was liable to occasional fits of offishness and depression,
and in those seasons kept her employer, in one way or another, on
short commons.
The day began serenely. It was the morning for the Dunport weekly
paper, which Miss Prince sat down at once to read, making her
invariable reproachful remark that there was nothing in it, after
having devoted herself to this duty for an hour or more. Then she
mounted to the upper floor of her house to put away a blanket which
had been overlooked in the spring packing of the camphor-wood chests
which stood in a solemn row in the north corner of the garret. There
were three dormer windows in the front of the garret-roof, and one of
these had been a favorite abiding-place in her youth. She had played
with her prim Dutch dolls there in her childhood, and she could
remember spending hour after hour watching for her father's ship when
the family had begun to expect him home at the end of a long voyage.
She remembered with a smile how grieved she had been because once he
came into port late in the night and surprised them all early in the
morning, but he had made amends by taking her back with him when he
hurried on board again after a hasty greeting. Miss Prince lived that
morning over again as she stood there, old and gray and alone in the
world. She could see again the great weather-beaten and tar-darkened
ship, and even the wizened monkey which belonged to one of the
sailors. She lingered at her father's side admiringly, and felt the
tears come into her eyes once more when he gave her a taste of the
fiery contents of his tumbler. They were all in his cabin; old Captain
Dunn and Captain Denny and Captain Peterbeck were sitting round the
little table, also provided with tumblers, as they listened eagerly to
the story of the voyage. The sailors came now and then for orders;
Nancy thought her handsome father, with his bronzed cheeks and white
forehead and curly hair, was every inch a king. He was her hero, and
nothing could please her so much to the end of her days as to have
somebody announce, whether from actual knowledge or hearsay, that
Captain Jack Prince was the best shipmaster that ever sailed out of
Dunport.... She always was sure there were some presents stored away
for herself and young Jack, her brother, in one of the lockers of the
little cabin. Poor Jack! how he used to frighten her by climbing the
shrouds and waving his cap from almost inaccessible heights. Poor
Jack! and Miss Prince climbed the step to look down the harbor again,
as if the ship were more than thirty days out from Amsterdam, and
might be expected at any time if the voyage had been favorable.
The house was at no great distance from the water side, though the
crowded buildings obscured the view from the lower stories. There was
nothing coming in from sea but a steam-tug, which did not harmonize
with these pleasant reminiscences, though as Miss Prince raised the
window a fine salt breeze entered, well warmed with the May sunshine.
It had the flavor of tar and the spirit of the high seas, and for a
wonder there could be heard the knocking of shipwrights' hammers,
which in old times were never silent in the town. As she sat there for
a few minutes in the window seat, there came to her other
recollections of her later girlhood, when she had stolen to this
corner for the sake of being alone with her pleasant thoughts, though
she had cried there many an hour after Jack's behavior had given them
the sorrow they hardly would own to each other. She remembered hearing
her father's angry voice down stairs. No! she would not think of that
again, why should she? and she shut the window and went back to be
sure that she had locked the camphor chest, and hung its key on the
flat-headed rusty nail overhead. Miss Prince heard some one open and
shut the front door as she went down, and in the small front room she
found Captain Walter Parish, who held a high place among her most
intimate friends. He was her cousin, and had become her general
adviser and counselor. He sometimes called himself laughingly the
ship's husband, for it was he who transacted most of Miss Prince's
important business, and selected her paint and shingles and her garden
seeds beside, and made and mended her pens. He liked to be useful and
agreeable, but he had not that satisfaction in his own home, for his
wife had been a most efficient person to begin with, and during his
absences at sea in early life had grown entirely self-reliant. The
captain joked about it merrily, but he nevertheless liked to feel that
he was still important, and Miss Prince generously told him, from time
to time, that she did not know how she should get on without him, and
considerately kept up the fiction of not wishing to take up his time
when he must be busy with his own affairs.
"How are you this fine morning, Cousin Nancy?" said the captain
gallantly. "I called to say that Jerry Martin will be here to-morrow
without fail. It seems he thought you would send him word when you
wanted him next, and he has been working for himself. I don't think
the garden will suffer, we have had so much cold weather. And here is
a letter I took from the office." He handed it to Miss Prince with a
questioning look; he knew the handwriting of her few correspondents
almost as well as she, and this was a stranger's.
"Perhaps it is a receipt for my subscription to the"--But Miss Prince
never finished the sentence, for when she had fairly taken the letter
into her hand, the very touch of it seemed to send a tinge of ashen
gray like some quick poison over her face. She stood still, looking at
it, then flushed crimson, and sat down in the nearest chair, as if it
were impossible to hold herself upright. The captain was uncertain
what he ought to do.
"I hope you haven't heard bad news," he said presently, for Miss
Prince had leaned back in the arm-chair and covered her eyes with one
hand, while the letter was tightly held in the other.
"It is from my niece," she answered, slowly.