THE INTERVIEW.
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my hearth and me
Hold her from this forever!
_—Shakspere._
Thus they stood:
General Garnet had arisen and put Nettie from his bosom, but she stood
upon the chair he had just vacated, with her arms around his neck,
gazing at the newcomer.
Dr. Hardcastle stood, cap in hand, immediately before him.
They looked at each other. The countenance of General Garnet was calm
and impassable; he could afford to be calm; he had his revenge in his
hand—in his arms! The countenance of Magnus was frank, open, eager as
ever, yet tempered with a certain gravity and earnestness of expression.
But a single instant they thus regarded each other, and then:
“Well, sir?” said General Garnet.
Magnus held forth his hand, saying seriously:
“General Garnet, I have come a day’s journey back from my Western road
to offer you my hand in amity, to say to you how kindly I feel, and must
ever feel, toward the father of my beloved wife—to say how much I desire
your friendship—how much we all desire a reconciliation. Will you take
my hand?” General Garnet drew himself up and remained silent. Nettie,
with her arms still around his neck, gazed with interest at their
visitor. Magnus dropped his hand, but continued: “Sir, I can understand
the resentment of disappointed ambition. But I do not, and will not,
believe such anger to be implacable; not now—not under the afflicting
dispensation of your recent deplorable bereavement. General Garnet, I
had proceeded a day and night upon my westward journey before I received
a letter from Mr. Wilson announcing the sudden death of Mrs. Garnet. My
dear wife was overwhelmed with sorrow, a sorrow which I also deeply
felt. She reproached herself bitterly with a thousand fancied sins
against her lost mother, vowing in her remorse and despair what she
would give, or do, could the grave but give up its dead. ‘The grave is
inexorable!’ General Garnet, to some extent I have judged your heart by
hers. The husband and the daughter have a common sorrow. The husband
must have suffered as much as the daughter. General Garnet, can I
venture to speak candidly to you? Can I venture to say that, little as
your Alice may have been loved or valued while she was still by your
side, in your daily path, yet now that she has vanished from your sight
you miss her in a thousand endearing attentions—in a thousand gentle
ministrations every moment of your life. You miss her in countless
comforts, and nameless refinements of comfort, of which she, till lost,
was the quiet, unsuspecting origin. And now you find out the cause by
missing the effect!”
“‘How blessings brighten as they take their flight!’” said General
Garnet, in a low, ironical tone, filling up the pause made by Magnus.
But, without observing the sneer, Dr. Hardcastle replied, gravely and
sweetly:
“Yes! ‘We know not that an angel had been with us till we saw the glory
of her vanishing wing!’ In your deep heart, was it not thus with you,
General Garnet? Is it not so in a modified way with many of us? Oh, the
loved and lost! we may have misapprehended, undervalued, misused them in
life; but let the inexorable hand of Death be laid upon them, and how
changed are all our feelings toward them! How remorsefully we appreciate
their worth; how despairingly we love them. What would we not sacrifice
to restore motion, warmth, consciousness to that still, cold heart, so
we might press it beating to our bosom; to restore light to those folded
eyes, so we might gaze into them all the remorse, all the love we feel,
but cannot speak; to restore life to the dead, that we might see them
again at our fireside or table is the old, familiar dress, with the old,
familiar look; that we might be a saint or a slave to them thenceforth
for ever! Take a closer case; take that of your Alice. Could now the
doors of that vault where you laid her fly open and yield up its
beautiful dead—or, to leave the supernatural and impossible out of the
question, could Alice be found to have been laid there during a fit of
epilepsy, as has sometimes been the case with others, and could she now
be restored to you living, loving, would you not rejoice as you never
rejoiced before—would you not love and value her as you never loved or
valued her before—would you not do anything on earth to render her
renewed life happy?” Magnus paused again to see the effect of this hint
of the truth, thinking, also, that in the event of General Garnet
remaining obdurate, he had possibly verged too nearly upon a disclosure.
But the stern, immovable countenance of the latter betrayed no emotion,
either of suspicion or of relenting. It positively gave no clew to his
thoughts or feelings. Magnus hoped the best, yet withdrew from the
precipice of a dangerous confidence by saying:
“But to leave improbable things also. Could you wake up in the morning
and find that you had only dreamed her death, and see her by your
side—living, beautiful, loving—would you not clasp her to your heart in
joy, exclaiming: ‘Oh, dearest wife, I have had such a dreadful dream! It
seemed, too, so very real. I dreamed that you were dead, Alice. Thank
God, it was nothing but a dream! Now, ask me what you will, Alice, for I
am so happy to know I have you yet—to know that you have not gone from
my side, but are here—here!—that I can refuse you nothing.’ Would those
not be your words and feelings? And what would Alice say—what would
Alice ask? What was nearest her heart when she fell asleep? What would
she say could she now be restored, and should you ask her what would
make her happy, but ‘Father, be reconciled to your daughter!’ General
Garnet, the same letter that announced our sudden and mutual
bereavement, the letter of that Christian minister, expressed a hope
that the hand of Death, which had led our friend away from our midst,
leaving us all in a common sorrow, might reunite our hands in amity.
General Garnet, that hope is my prayer. I entreat you, take my hand!”
General Garnet recoiled a step, and answered scornfully:
“Sir, I know you for an orator of old. But if you hope to work upon my
feelings through the sorrow of my recent and very sudden loss, you
deceive yourself. And now, hear me! Could—as you have put the
question—could the doors of my wife’s tomb fly open—and could she be
restored to me, living, loving, in all the beauty and goodness of her
being—could such impossibilities occur—and should the first boon she
craved to bless her renewed life be the reconciliation you desire, that
boon would be refused, though that refusal should send her back into the
grave! Now I hope you understand me thoroughly.”
Dr. Hardcastle nodded his head several times, keeping time to his
thoughts, as he said, in his heart:
“And little do you surmise, poor man, that your refusal will send her
back to the grave—for you! That she will be indeed dead—to you!”
General Garnet, taking this nod for one of assent, added:
“And now, I hope, sir, that no more false hopes may be raised upon me.
Neither you nor your wife need ever expect anything at my hands. By my
fireside, and at my board, and in my heart, the place of the late Miss
Garnet is filled. This little girl, sir, is my daughter and heiress. I
have regularly and legally adopted her. The late Miss Garnet had, but
for your reminder, passed from my memory. Mrs. Hardcastle is an alien
and a stranger, and I desire that she remain such. I beg you also to
remember, sir, that, though I have a slight electioneering acquaintance
with Dr. Hardcastle, such as every prominent politician may have with
persons not to be recognized under any other circumstances, I do not
wish even that acquaintance to continue. And I beg you to recollect that
I have never even seen Mrs. Hardcastle, and never wish to see her. I do
not know the person, and never wish to know her. Have you anything more
to advance, Dr. Hardcastle?”
“Yes, sir!” said Magnus, drawing himself up, and as his fine chest
expanded, looking at his adversary with a brow, a glance that made him
quail and drop his eyes. “You have dared to misrepresent my purpose in
coming to you, or else you have naturally mistaken my motives—naturally,
for it may not be in your nature to understand them. Yet, no, it is not
so. You do not mistake me. And do not dare to affect it again. You know
that your fortune is nothing—absolutely nothing—to me, and never was. So
little do rank and fortune weigh with me against hearts and souls that,
had I been a millionaire and had Elsie been the child of a beggar
instead of a daughter of General Garnet, and the heiress of Mount Calm,
I would have taken her to my bosom in the face of all the world. And,
more—further, had Elsie possessed, in her own inalienable right,
hundreds of millions, and I possessed no more than the clothes I wore, I
would have married her, and not thanked her for the millions she brought
me, but simply loved her for the beauty, the goodness, the love, the
dear womanhood she gave me. So little do I value money where nature and
affection are concerned. As it is, we are both poor, both will have to
work hard. Elsie has chosen her lot in life, and shall abide by it. Even
you, her father, shall not rescue her from it with your wealth. You
cannot change her destiny. Your fortune could not do it. I am resolved
to make, to command whatever success may be in life for us. Yet”—he
added, with a softening brow and tone—“yet, father of my dear wife—for
her sake, for your own, for mine, I would be reconciled with you. Spite
of all the bitter things written upon your forehead, and spoken by your
lips, and which I do not think your heart indorses, I would be at peace
with you; bitter talk is but hasty breath. Let us forget it. Let us be
friends. Now, then, for the last time I offer you my hand. For the last
time, I beseech you take it.”
General Garnet frowned darkly and averted his head.
But Nettie, who had been gazing kindly and admiringly at the speaker,
now suddenly thrust out her little hand, and, emphatically striking it
into the broad, open palm of Magnus, exclaimed cordially:
“Yes! Let us be friends! I’ll be friends! I like you!”
There was no resisting that sparkling, cordial smile—that earnest,
confiding manner, and Magnus closed his hand upon the child’s hand,
pressing it kindly.
“Godfather, why don’t you ask the good-looking gentleman to sit down,
and why don’t you ring the bell and have wine brought for him like you
did for Mr. Judge Jacky? Sit down, gentleman, in that armchair, and I
will go and ring the bell,” she said, jumping down and running to the
bell-rope, which she pulled vigorously.
“Will you be seated, sir?” said General Garnet ironically.
“Will you first take my hand, General Garnet?”
“No, sir! To forbear is the utmost limit of my self-control. I cannot go
further, and forgive. Yet you are in my house—standing by my fireside.
While you bestow upon us your presence, I beg you be seated.”
Magnus waved his hand in rejection of this invitation and turned to go,
but Nettie, returning from her vociferous bell-ringing, stopped him by
seizing both his hands and leaning up against him as she exclaimed:
“No! you mustn’t go till you get something—I hear a boy coming now.”
And at this moment, indeed, the door was opened, and a waiter appeared
in answer to the noisy summons.
“Get some good wine and some sort o’ witches—you make with bread and
butter and ham—sandwitches, and bring up here for this gentleman. And
make haste, you hear, because he is in a hurry,” said Nettie to the
waiter.
The man looked with surprise and perplexity from the self-constituted
little mistress to the master. And General Garnet, in some perversity of
mood, exclaimed fiercely:
“Well, sir! Why do you pause? Did you hear Miss Seabright’s order?”
“Yes, sir, but——”
“Go and obey it, then. Do you wait for me to tell you that her commands
here are only second to my own?”
“Yes, why don’t you go along when I tell you that the good-looking
gentleman is in a great hurry? What makes you look so queer?” exclaimed
Nettie, stamping with impatience, but not with ill-humor.
The man bowed and withdrew.
Again Dr. Hardcastle sought to free himself from his loving little
captor, but Nettie clung to him like a very nettle, or an opossum to a
tree, exclaiming:
“No, sir, you mustn’t go; you shan’t go, till the wine comes.”
And before he could get away the wine and sandwiches arrived. As the
waiter walked straight up the room and set the refreshments upon the
table, General Garnet turned coldly to Dr. Hardcastle, saying:
“My little daughter invites you to take something. Will you do so, sir?”
Dr. Hardcastle, who had been released by Nettie, declined the
invitation, and retired, followed into the hall by Nettie, who sought to
recapture and detain him. He raised the child, kissed her, and left the
house at once.
After he had gone Nettie remained standing in the hall so long that
General Garnet came out to seek her. Having found her, he exclaimed:
“Why do you linger so, my little Nettie? Come with me into the library,
and let us go on with the pictures and stories.”
“I don’t want to go back to the library with you, godfather.”
“What! Don’t want to return with me and see the beautiful pictures, and
hear the wonderful stories?”
“No; I don’t care for the pictures, nor the stories, nor you, either,
godfather. I want to go to my own room—and I wish you would call my
maid.”
“Whe-ew! How my little princess takes state upon herself! But I must say
it becomes her—rarely. But why does she not care for pictures, stories,
or godfather, either?”
“Because, godfather, you treated the pleasant-spoken gentleman so
meanly. I’m sure when I and Hugh and granny lived in the poor lodge, and
had nothing to offer but persimmon beer and sour, knobby apples, we
never treated our visitors so meanly. No, that we didn’t! Granny used to
say, ‘Hospit—something or other—before everything’ which meant that it
was a shame to treat well-behaved company meanly. And you treated the
pleasant-spoken gentleman meanly. ’Deed, I thought he preached nice as
the parson. But you treated him meanly—and I don’t want to have anything
to do with you, and I won’t, either, have anything to do with you,
godfather. I want my maid. Will you please to send her to me?”
Piqued, amused, attracted by the naïve candor and courage of the fond
but passionate child, General Garnet laughed and held out his arms,
saying:
“Oh, come to me, my little Nettie. Come and kiss me, and give me one of
your tight hugs.”
“’Deed, I won’t, godfather!”
“Won’t! Why?”
“’Cause I don’t feel like it, one bit.”
“Don’t feel like it! Well, then, now what shall I give my little Nettie
for a good, hearty hug and kiss—say? Shall it be a pony, or a little
carriage, or a great wax doll, or what? Come! say now. What shall it
be?”
“Nothing, godfather. You will give me all them things, anyhow, ’cause
you promised them to me if I’d come and live ’long o’ you. But I aint
sure that I will take any of them—and I aint even sure that I shall
stay.”
General Garnet laughed aloud, and said:
“Very well! if you won’t come and give me a good, hearty hug and kiss,
neither for free love nor bribery, I can come and give you one.” And he
went toward her.
Nettie ran, flew up the stairs, and from the first landing looked down
to see if she was pursued, and said:
“No, you mustn’t, indeed, godfather. I had rather anyone hit me a hard
lick right in the face than kiss me when I don’t want to be kissed. And
I don’t want to be kissed by you, godfather. I wouldn’t kiss you hardly
to save your life.”
And having said this, Nettie fled the rest of the way upstairs. Hero was
already there with a light to take charge of her.
“Strange! How strange it is that I love that wild child more and
more—need her love more and more every hour that I live! Strange,
passing strange, that with all her willfulness, I love that half-savage,
but most beautiful thing, better than I ever loved anyone in the wide
world! Oh, it is not strange, after all! It is because she loves me
thoroughly—with every fiber of her soul and body; because I can trust in
her, for she hides nothing from me—not even her childish anger.”
* * * * *
Dr. Hardcastle returned to Huttontown, and to the tavern, where he was
to lodge that night. He intended to retire early, preparatory to a very
early start the next morning. But first it was necessary to go to Mr.
Fig’s for the purpose of making a few purchases of articles that had
been forgotten in his first packing up.
When he entered the grocery he saw, to his surprise, Hugh Hutton behind
the counter, ready to serve him.
“Well, my boy,” said he, extending his hand, “I am surprised and happy
to see you again.”
“Oh, doctor! have you really turned back? I am so very glad!” exclaimed
Hugh, his countenance actually illuminated with joy.
“Yes, my boy. We had proceeded but a day’s journey, when we heard of
Mrs. Garnet’s death, and came back.”
“Where is Mrs. Hardcastle? Is she at the inn?”
“No, my boy; finding that we came too late for the funeral I took Mrs.
Hardcastle immediately back to Deep Dell, where she now sojourns,
waiting for me. I found it necessary to come back a second time. I have
traveled the road between Huttontown and Deep Dell forth and back twice
within a week, Hugh; and to-morrow morning, at five o’clock, I make the
third start.”
“The old folks say that there is great luck in the third attempt,” said
Hugh.
“I should think there was in my instance, if I could take you back with
me, my boy.”
“Oh, sir, Dr. Hardcastle, you can if you will,” exclaimed Hugh, in a
tone of anxious, eager solicitude.
“I assuredly will, if I can. And no obstacle exists with me. But your
little sister, my boy?”
“Oh, sir, my little sister is better provided for than I could hope to
provide for her for many years to come. She is the ward of General
Garnet, and he has just this morning taken her home to live with him,
and to be educated.”
“How? What? Is it possible? The little, fond, wild, beautiful creature I
saw at Mount Calm to-night?”
“Yes, sir, that was she—Garnet Seabright.”
“What kin is she to you, boy—not your sister?”
“No kin at all, sir; but dear to me as if she were my twin sister.”
“A beautiful child! A sweet, wild, haunting thing!”
“Oh, yes, sir; and so true and good—so trusting!”
“A little eerie, spirit-like thing! What a pity!” said Dr. Hardcastle,
communing with himself; then, raising his voice, he said: “Well, you
desire to accompany me, my boy? But how long have you been with Mr. Fig,
and what are your obligations to him?”
“No obligations at all, sir. The truth is, seeing that from having been
a help to aunty and Nettie in the time of their need I had got to be a
hindrance in the way of their doing better than I could do for them, I
went to Mr. Fig and told him that I would stand behind the counter and
help about the store, for no more than my mere board—not even asking
clothing—on conditions, it should be understood, I was to go to the West
the very first chance that came. Well, Mr. Fig knew me, and how much I
could do, and agreed to my plan; and so I came this morning, and have
done a very hard day’s work, too—hauling several cartloads of freight
from the brig up to the store, and unloading them, and storing them in,
and waiting behind the counter the rest of the time. All that makes me
feel well to-night. So, you see, sir, I owe Mr. Fig nothing but good
friendship; and I am ready to set out with you to-morrow.”
“Be it so, then, my boy. And I am rejoiced to know that in thus
following the bent of your inclinations, you abandon no duty. Will you
join me to-night, or early to-morrow morning?”
“Early to-morrow morning, Dr. Hardcastle. You may pick me up at the
south gate of the falling-field, behind Mount Calm—that will be directly
in your road. I must go up to Mount Calm, to-night, to bid good-by to
Aunt Joe and Nettie.”
“Very well, my boy. Be punctual.”
And having obtained the articles for which he came Dr. Hardcastle left
the store.
That night Hugh Hutton went up to Mount Calm. He succeeded in obtaining
entrance to his Aunt Joe’s rooms, but found, to his regret, that Nettie
had some time before retired to bed, and was now fast asleep. He spent
the night on a pallet in his aunt’s room, and in the morning made up his
bundle to start. Miss Joe objected, cried, bemoaned her fate and Hugh’s,
but finally consented to his departure; for Miss Joe believed in Hugh
and had faith in Dr. Hardcastle, besides it would not sound so badly to
tell the neighbors, by and by, that her nephew, Hugh Hutton, was
“studying medicine underneath Dr. Hardcastle.” So Miss Joe gave him her
blessing, and went to wake up Nettie, to bid him farewell, prophesying
all the while that Nettie would “take on dreadful.” But Nettie did not
“take on” at all; she threw herself joyously around Hugh’s neck, gave
him a hearty hug and kiss, and declared, that with his bundle across his
shoulder he was Jack the Giant-Killer, going to seek his fortune; and
that he must let her know about every giant he killed, and every
enchanted lady he freed, and every magician’s castle he took, and ever
beautiful princess that loved him. And then she pulled the scarlet
worsted comforter from her neck and wound it around Hugh’s throat,
tucking the ends into his coat breast, and bid him good-by. Hugh went to
the door, turned to take a last look, impulsively darted back, clasped
his old aunty, and then Nettie, in a last embrace, sprung from the room,
and was gone. A rapid walk brought him to the spot where he found Dr.
Hardcastle, just arrived in his carryall, waiting for him, and
exclaiming:
“Just in time, my boy—and very welcome. Jump in! All right!”