ALL OR NOTHING.
The third week after Samuel Parris's return from Boston, Norman Lovel
arrived at his house. When we first met this young man he had the face
of an angel and the impulsive manners of a child; even then he possessed
a depth and earnestness of feeling which only broke out when the
occasion was important enough to draw forth high and brave qualities.
But a few weeks of thoughtful experience had changed him greatly. He had
all at once taken a leap into manhood. The bloom and grace of extreme
youth had risen into the calm dignity of quiet self-reliance. This was a
result most likely to follow the young man's intimate companionship with
a woman like Barbara Stafford, who always gave to others the
self-respect which never forsook herself.
When Elizabeth saw the young man coming, she forgot all coldness, and
uttering a joyful cry, ran into the little garret room, where Abby
Williams sat brooding over her thoughts.
"Oh, Abby! dear, dear Abby! he has come! Norman is here! Run and look at
him as he dismounts. Then say if he is not the brightest, the
handsomest--oh, do come!"
In her eagerness, she almost lifted Abby from her seat on the bed, and
kissed her averted face again and again. Abby was taken by surprise: her
heart gave a wild leap, and her cheeks grew red and warm. The good, true
heart for a moment flung off its bitter load.
They crossed the garret, each with an arm girding the other's waist, and
stood by the window, while the young man dismounted. Abby could not feel
that young heart beating and fluttering against her own without a thrill
of warm sympathy, and for a little time the old love triumphed.
"Stand back a little, just a step, cousin Abby, or he will see us
watching him," cried Elizabeth, blushing crimson as the fear crossed her
mind.
"There now--ah!"
Elizabeth gave a start, and, forgetting her late precaution, drew close
to the window. The young man had sprung from his saddle, and was moving
eagerly toward the door-step, on which Barbara Stafford seemed to be
waiting for him. The sound of his voice, clear and full of glad
surprise, rang up to the two girls where they stood.
"You here, lady--oh, if you only knew how anxious we have been, how
lonely the house was after you left so strangely. The governor has
scarcely spoken since, except on state affairs--and as for Lady Phipps,
she moves about like a shadow. Somehow all the sunshine went out when
you disappeared."
Barbara Stafford answered, in a constrained voice, but with gentleness,
"I have a few weeks to wait, before the ship goes out. My business in
this land is accomplished. I only wanted some place to rest in, till the
time came, and was reluctant to burden the governor's hospitality for so
long a time. Avoiding a formal farewell I found my way here, knowing
that the good minister would give me shelter."
"Oh, but we have been so troubled at your sudden disappearance: it was
very cruel."
"Was there any one who felt my loss?" asked Barbara, with a thrill of
tenderness in her voice. "Who cared to inquire if I was dead or alive?"
"You ask that question in earnest? I will not believe it. How little you
knew of the friendship, the love you abandoned!"
These words rose to the window less distinctly than the others had done;
but Abby felt the form, still encircled by her arm, waver as if about to
fall.
"Listen--listen," she said, "it is not of himself he speaks."
Elizabeth did not answer. Her breath was hushed. With all her soul she
listened for the next words. They came like a gush of bright waters.
"But now that I find you safe, and have good tidings to carry back to
Sir William and Lady Phipps, I will pass in, lady, for I must see
another before my hard gallop is quite rewarded. Surely, Miss Parris is
not away from home, or ill?"
"He thinks of you--he inquires for you!" whispered Abby. "It was
surprise, only surprise, that kept him at the door so long."
"I will go down. Shall I go down at once? Dear cousin, tell me--don't
let me go if it is unmaidenly, or if you think he has been too cold.
Shall I go, cousin Abby?"
"Yes, go," answered Abby Williams, withdrawing her arm. "He is waiting
for you!"
Elizabeth smoothed her hair with both hands, looked shyly at her cousin
as she turned from the little mirror, and glided away. She entered the
lower hall; there between her and her lover stood Barbara Stafford, with
the sunshine on her head, but casting a dark shadow across the
door-sill. So the young people met with constraint, and each thought the
other cold.
Barbara Stafford glided away when she saw Elizabeth, and bent her course
to the sea-shore. Young Lovel watched her, with a long, earnest look,
and when she disappeared behind a grove of orchard trees he sighed
deeply, and fell into thought. Elizabeth stood on the threshold, leaning
against the mouldings of the door. Her cheek grew red, and she began to
tremble beneath the rush of a terrible idea, that took distinct form on
that fatal moment.
"Strange, strange woman!" muttered the youth. "By what power does she
drain the heart of all thoughts that do not belong to herself?"
Elizabeth drew back keenly disappointed. The young man seemed
unconscious of her presence; yet they had not seen each other for weeks.
She turned proudly, and went into the house. The movement aroused Lovel.
He withdrew his eyes from the retreating form of Barbara Stafford, to
which they seemed drawn by some fascination, and followed the young
girl, unconscious that he had done any thing to wound or offend her.
Elizabeth sat down in the oaken chair, that had belonged to her mother.
She could not understand the iron feelings that crept over her.
"Has that woman's shadow chilled all the love from my heart as well as
his?" she said to herself. "Am I too bewitched?"