It was fortunate for me that Margaret was absent during this exciting
scene. When she returned, she was too much occupied with relating the
pleasures she had enjoyed to think of what might have occurred in her
absence.
"I am dying with impatience," she cried, "perfectly consuming with
curiosity. Here is a letter from my mother, in which she says a
gentleman, a particular friend of mine, is coming to the city, and that
she has requested him to take charge of me back to Boston. She does not
mention his name, and I have not the most remote idea who he is. She
says she is very happy that her wild girl should be escorted by a person
of so much dignity and worth. Dignity! I expect he is one of the
ex-presidents or wise statesmen, whom Mrs. Linwood has recommended to my
patronage. I have a great admiration for great men, large, tall men, men
whose heads you can distinguish in a crowd and see in a distant
procession. They look as if they could protect one in the day of
trouble."
"Do _you_ ever think of such a day, Margaret?"
"Sometimes I do. I think more than you give me credit for. I can think
more in one minute than you slow folks can in a week. Who can this be? I
remember a description I admire very much. It is in some old poem of
Scott's, I believe,--
'Bold, firm, and high, his stature tall,'
did something, looked like something, I have forgotten what. I know it
was something grand, however."
"You must be thinking of Mr. Regulus," said I, laughing, as memory
brought before me some of his inimitable _quackeries_. "He is the
tallest gentleman I have ever seen, and though not very graceful, has a
very imposing figure, especially in a crowd."
"I think Mr. Regulus one of the finest looking men I ever saw," cried
Madge. "He has a head very much like Webster's, and his eyebrows are
exactly like his. If he were in a conspicuous station, every one would
be raving about his mountainous head and cavernous eyes and majestic
figure. He is worth a dozen of _some_ people, who shall be nameless. I
have no doubt he will be president of the United States, one of these
days."
"I never heard you make so sensible a remark, Margaret. I thought you
were amusing yourself with my respected teacher. I am glad you
appreciate his uncommon merits."
Madge laughed very loud, but she actually blushed. The first symptom of
womanhood I had ever seen her exhibit! It was a strange phenomenon, and
I marvelled what it could mean.
To my unutterable astonishment and delight, a few evenings after, my
quondam preceptor was ushered into the parlor; and strangely looked his
tall, large figure in the midst of the oriental lightness and splendor
through which it moved. After greeting me with the most heart-felt
feeling, and Madge with a half shy, half dignified manner, he gazed
around him with the simplicity and wondering admiration of a child. He
was probably comparing the beautiful drapery, that seemed like the azure
robe of night with its stars of glory gleaming through, with the plain
green curtains that shaded the windows of the academy, the graceful and
luxurious divan with the high-backed chair which was my village throne.
"Beautiful, charming!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands slowly and
gently. "You remind me of the queen of a fairy palace. I shall not dare
to call you my child or little girl again. Scherezade or Fatima will
seem more appropriate."
"Oh no, Mr. Regulus! I had rather hear you call me child, than any thing
else in the world. It carries me back to the dear old academy, the
village green, the elm trees' shade, and all the sweet memories of
youth."
"One would think you had a long backward journey to take, from the
saddened heights of experience," said Ernest; and there was that
indescribable something in his voice and countenance, which I had
learned too well to interpret, that told me he was not pleased with my
remark. He did not want me to have a memory further back than my first
meeting with him,--a hope with which he was not intertwined.
"You may call _me_ child, Mr. Regulus, as much as you please," cried
Madge, her eyes sparkling with unusual brilliancy. "I wish I were a
little school-girl again, privileged to romp as much as I pleased. When
I did any thing wrong then, it was always passed over. 'Oh! she's but a
child, she will get sobered when she is grown.' Now if I laugh a little
louder and longer than other people, they stare and lift up their eyes,
and I have no doubt pray for me as a castaway from grace and favor."
"Margaret!" said I, reproachfully.
"There! exactly as I described. Every sportive word I utter, it is
Margaret, or Madge, or Meg, in such a grave, rebuking tone!"
"Perhaps it is only when you jest on serious subjects, that you meet a
kindly check," observed Mr. Regulus, with grave simplicity; "there are
so many legitimate themes of mirth, so many light frameworks, round
which the flowers of wit and fancy can twine, it is better to leave the
majestic temple of religion, untouched by the hand of levity."
"I did not intend to speak profanely," said Margaret, hastily,--and the
color visibly deepened on her cheek; "neither did I know that you were a
religious character, Mr. Regulus. I thought you were a very good sort of
man, and all that; but I did not think you had so much of the minister
about you."
"It is a great pity, Miss Margaret, that interest in religion should be
considered a minister's exclusive privilege. But I hope I have not said
any thing wounding. It was far from my intention. I am a sad blunderer,
however, as Gabriella knows full well."
I was charmed with my straightforward, simple, and excellent teacher. I
had never seen him appear to such advantage. He had on an entirely new
suit of the finest black broadcloth, that fitted him quite _à la mode_;
a vest of the most dazzling whiteness; and his thick black hair had
evidently been under the smoothing hands of a fashionable barber. His
head seemed much reduced in size; while his massy, intellectual forehead
displayed a bolder sweep of outline, relieved of the shadows that
obscured its phrenological beauty.
He had seen Mrs. Linwood and Edith in Boston. They were both well, and
looking anxiously forward to the summer reunion at Grandison Place. Dr.
Harlowe sent me many characteristic messages,--telling me my little
rocking-chair was waiting for me at my favorite window, and that he had
not learned to rub his shoes on the mat, or to hang up his hat yet.
"Does he call me the wild-cat, still?" asked Madge.
"I believe so. He told me to say that he had his house repaired, so that
you could visit him without endangering Mrs. Harlowe's china."
"The monster! Well, he shall give me a new name, when I see him again.
But tell me, Mr. Regulus, who is the very dignified and excellent
gentleman whom mamma says is coming to escort me home? I have been
expiring with curiosity to know."
"I do not know of any one answering to that description, Miss Margaret,"
replied Mr. Regulus, blushing, and passing his hands over his knees. "I
saw your mother at Mrs. Linwood's; and when she learned I was coming to
this city, she said she would be very much obliged to me, if I would
take charge of you, on my return."
"Then you did not come on purpose for me, Mr. Regulus," said Madge, with
a saucy smile.
"Oh no,--I had business, and a very earnest desire to see my young
friend, Gabriella. If I can, however, combine the useful with the
agreeable, I shall be very well pleased."
"By the useful, you mean, seeing me safe in my mamma's arms," said
Madge, demurely.
"Certainly, Miss Margaret."
Even Ernest laughed at this peculiar compliment; and Madge bit her lips,
half in vexation, half in merriment. I hardly knew what to think of
Margaret. She was certainly the most eccentric being I ever saw. She,
who seemed to care for the opinion of no one,--reckless, defying, and
apparently heartless, showed more deference for Mr. Regulus, more
solicitude for his attention, than I had ever seen her manifest for
another's. Was it possible that this strange, wild girl, was attracted
by the pure, unvarnished qualities of this "great grown boy," as Dr.
Harlowe called him? It is impossible to account for the fascination
which one being exercises over another; and from the days of Desdemona
to the present hour, we seldom hear of an approaching marriage, without
hearing at the same time some one exclaim, "that it is strange,--most
passing strange."
The moment I admitted the possibility of his exercising a secret
influence over Madge, I looked upon him with new interest. He had the
intense, deep-set eye, which is said to tame the wild beasts of the
forest, and perhaps its glance had subdued the animal nature that
triumphed over her more ethereal attributes. I hoped most devoutly that
my supposition might be true; for genuine affection exalts both the
giver and receiver, and opens ten thousand avenues to joy and good.
"You do not look quite so rosy as you did in the country," said he,
looking earnestly at me. "The dissipation of a city life does not agree
with our wild-wood flowers. They need a purer atmosphere."
"Gabriella is taken very good care of," cried Madge, looking
significantly at Ernest. "She is not allowed to hurt herself by
dissipation, I assure you."
"Do you imply that she needs a restraining influence to keep her from
excess?" asked Ernest. He spoke lightly, but he never spoke without
meaning something.
"No, indeed. She is the model wife of the nineteenth century. She is
'wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best.' Solomon must have seen her
with prophetic eye, when he wrote the last chapter of Proverbs."
"Mock praise is the severest censure, Margaret," said I.
"No such thing. I mean every word I say. Show me a young and beautiful
wife, almost bride, immuring herself as you do, and never seen in public
but clinging to her husband's arm, shrinking from admiration and
blushing at a glance, and I will show you another Solomon."
"Though you may speak in ridicule," said Ernest, with a contracted brow,
"you have awarded her the most glorious meed woman can receive. The
fashion that sanctions a wife in receiving the attentions of any
gentleman but her husband, is the most corrupt and demoralizing in the
world. It makes wedded vows a mockery, and marriage an unholy and
heartless rite."
"Do you expect to revolutionize society?" she asked.
"No; but I expect to keep my wife unspotted from the world."
"I am glad she has so watchful a guardian," said Mr. Regulus, regarding
me with his old-fashioned, earnest tenderness. "We hear very flattering
accounts," he added, addressing me, "of our young friend, Richard Clyde.
He will return next summer, after a year's absence, having acquired as
much benefit as most young men do in two or three."
I could not help blushing, for I knew the eyes of Ernest were on me. He
could never hear the name of Richard with indifference, and the prospect
of his return was far from being a source of pleasure to him. Richard
was very dear to me as a friend, and I was proud of his growing honors.
Yet I dared not manifest the interest I felt.
Never had I been so supremely happy, as since my reconciliation with
Ernest. I felt that he had something to forgive, much to forgive, and
that he was magnanimous to do it, considering the weakness with which he
struggled. Never had I loved him so entirely, or felt such confidence in
my future happiness. Yet the moment the name of Richard Clyde was
mentioned, it sounded like a prophecy of evil.
Oh that he would transfer to Edith the affections given to me, and then
he could bind Ernest to his heart by the sacred bonds of fraternity!