THE DEPARTURE OF THE CHARIOT
Down the hill, facing the tavern, the shadows of night were slowly
withdrawn, ushering in the day of the players' leaving. A single tree,
at the very top, isolated from its sylvan neighbors, was bathed in the
warm sunshine, receiving the earliest benediction of day. Down, down,
came the dark shade, pursued by the light, until the entire slope of
the hill was radiant and the sad colored foliage flaunted in new-born
gaiety.
Returning from the stable, where he had been looking after his horse,
the soldier stood for a moment before the inn, when a flower fell at
his feet, and, glancing over his shoulder, he perceived Susan, who was
leaning from her window. The venturesome rose, which had clambered as
high as the second story, was gone; plucked, alas, by the wayward hand
of a coquette. Saint-Prosper bowed, and stooped for the aspiring but
now hapless flower which lay in the dust.
"You have joined the chariot, I hear?" said Susan.
"For the present," he replied.
"And what parts will you play?" she continued, with smiling
inquisitiveness.
"None."
"What a pity! You would make a handsome lover." Then she blushed.
"Lud! What am I saying? Besides"--maliciously--"I believe you have
eyes for some one else. But remember,"--shaking her finger and with a
coquettish turn of the head--"I am an actress and therefore vain. I
must have the best part in the new piece. Don't forget that, or I'll
not travel in the same chariot with you." And Susan disappeared.
"Ah, Kate," she said, a moment later, "what a fine-looking young man
he is!"
"Who?" drawled her sister.
"Mr. Saint-Prosper, of course."
"He is large enough," retorted Kate, leisurely.
"Large enough! O, Kate, what a phlegmatic creature you are!"
"Fudge!" said the other as she left the chamber.
Entering the tavern, the soldier was met by the wiry old lady who
bobbed into the breakfast room and explained the kind of part that
fitted her like a glove, her prejudices being strong against modern
plays.
"Give me dramas like 'Oriana,' 'The Rival Queens' or Webster's
pieces," she exclaimed, quoting with much fire for her years:
"'We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves!'"
"And do not forget the 'heavy' in your piece!" called out Hawkes
across the table. "Something you can dig your teeth in!"
"Nor the 'juvenile lead,'" chimed in the Celtic Adonis.
"Adonis makes a great hit in a small part," laughed Kate, appearing at
the door. "'My lord, the carriage is waiting!'"
"My lady, your tongue is too sharp!" exclaimed Adonis, nettled.
"And put in a love scene for Adonis and myself," she continued, lazily
floating into the room. "He is so fond of me, it would not be like
acting!"
This bantering was at length interrupted by the appearance of the
chariot and the property wagon at the front door, ready for the
journey. The rumbling of the vehicles, the resounding hoofs and the
resonant voice of the stable boy awakened the young lord of the manor
in his chamber above. He stretched himself sleepily, swore and again
composed himself for slumber, when the noise of a property trunk,
thumping its way down the front stairs a step at a time, galvanized
him into life and consciousness.
"Has the world come to an end?" he muttered. "No; I remember; it's
only the players taking their departure!"
But, although he spoke carelessly, the bumping of boxes and slamming
and banging of portable goods annoyed him more than he would confess.
With the "crazy-quilt"--a patch-work of heptagons of different hues
and patterns--around his shoulders, clothing him with all the colors
of the rainbow, he sat up in bed, wincing at each concussion.
"I might as well get up!" he exclaimed. "I'll see her once more--the
perverse beauty!" And tossing the kaleidoscopic covering viciously
from him, he began to dress.
Meanwhile, as the time for their going drew near, mine host
down-stairs sped the parting guest with good cheer, having fared
profitably by the patronage the players had brought to the inn; but
his daughter, Arabella, looked sad and pensive. How weary, flat and
stale appeared her existence now! With a lump in her throat and a pang
in her heart, she recklessly wiped her eyes upon the best parlor
curtains, when Barnes mounted to the box, as robust a stage-driver as
ever extricated a coach from a quagmire. The team, playful through
long confinement, tugged at the reins, and Sandy, who was at the bits,
occasionally shot through space like an erratic meteor.
The manager was flourishing his whip impatiently when Constance and
Susan appeared, the former in a traveling costume of blue silk; a
paletot of dark cloth, and, after the fashion of the day, a bonnet of
satin and velvet. Susan was attired in a jupe sweeping and immensely
full--to be in style!--and jacquette with sleeves of the pagoda form.
The party seemed in high spirits, as from his dormer window Mauville,
adjusting his attire, peered through the lattice over the edge of the
moss-grown roof and leaf-clogged gutters and surveyed their
preparations for departure. How well the rich color of her gown
became the young girl! He had told himself white was her best
adornment, but his opinion veered on the moment now, and he thought he
had never seen her to better advantage, with the blue of her dress
reappearing in the lighter shade, above the dark paletot, in the
lining of the bonnet and the bow of ribbons beneath her chin.
"On my word, but she looks handsome!" muttered the patroon. "Might sit
for a Gainsborough or a Reynolds! What dignity! What coldness! All
except the eyes! How they can lighten! But there's that adventurer
with her," as the figure of the soldier crossed the yard to the
property wagon. "No getting rid of him until the last moment!" And he
opened the shutters wider, listening and watching more closely.
"Are you going to ride in the property wagon?" he heard Saint-Prosper
ask.
"Yes; when I have a part to study I sometimes retire to the stage
throne," she answered lightly. "I suppose you will ride your horse?"
Of his reply the listener caught only the words, "wind-break" and
"lame." He observed the soldier assist her to the throne, and then, to
Mauville's surprise, spring into the wagon himself.
"Why, the fellow is going with them!" exclaimed the land baron. "Or,
at any rate, he is going with her. What can it mean?" And hurriedly
quitting his post, his toilet now being complete, he hastened to the
door and quickly made his way down-stairs.
During the past week his own addresses had miscarried and his
gallantry had been love's labor lost. At first he had fancied he
was making progress, but soon acknowledged to himself he had
underestimated the enterprise. Play had succeeded play--he could not
have told what part favored her most! Ophelia sighed and died; Susan
danced on her grave between acts, according to the program, and
turned tears into smiles; the farewell night had come and gone--and
yet Constance had made no sign of compliance to reward the patient
wooer. Now, at the sight of these preparations for departure, and
the presence of the stalwart stranger in the property wagon, he
experienced a sudden sensation of pique, almost akin to jealousy.
Stepping from the tavern, it was with an effort he suppressed his
chagrin and vexation and assumed that air of nonchalance which became
him well. Smilingly he bade Susan and the other occupants of the
chariot farewell, shook Barnes by the hand, and turned to the property
wagon.
"The noise of your departure awakened me," he said to the young girl.
"So I have come to claim my compensation--the pleasure of seeing
you--"
"Depart!" she laughed quickly.
Momentarily disconcerted, he turned to the soldier. "You ride early."
"As you see," returned the other, immovably.
"A habit contracted in the army, no doubt!" retorted Mauville,
recovering his easy self-possession. "Well, a bumping trunk is as
efficacious as a bugle call! But _au revoir_, Miss Carew; for we may
meet again. The world is broad--yet its highways are narrow! There is
no need wishing you a pleasant journey."
His glance rested on Saint-Prosper for a moment, but told nothing
beyond the slight touch of irony in his words and then shifting to the
young girl, it lingered upon each detail of costume and outline of
feature. Before she could reply, Barnes cracked his whip, the horses
sprang forward, and the stable boy, a confused tangle of legs and
arms, was shot as from a catapult among the sweet-williams. The abrupt
departure of the chariot was the cue for the property wagon, which
followed with some labor and jolting, like a convoy struggling in the
wake of a pretentious ship. From the door Mauville watched it until it
reached a toll-gate, passed beneath the portcullis and disappeared
into the broad province of the wilderness.