UNCLE JOSEPH.
In course of time Uncle Joseph came as was arranged, and on the day
following Maddy and Guy rode down to see him, finding him a tall,
powerfully built man, retaining many vestiges of manly beauty, and
fully warranting all Mrs. Markham had said in his praise. He seemed
perfectly gentle and harmless, though when Guy was announced as Mr.
Remington, Maddy noticed that in his keen black eyes there was for an
instant a fiery gleam, but it quickly passed away, as he muttered:
“Much too young; he was older than I, and I am over forty. It’s all
right.”
And the fiery eye grew soft and almost sleepy in its expression, as the
poor lunatic turned next to Maddy, telling her how pretty she was,
asking if she were engaged, and bidding her be careful that her
_fiancé_ was not more than a dozen years older than herself.
Uncle Joseph seemed to take to her from the very first, following her
from room to room, touching her fair, soft cheeks, smoothing her silken
hair, telling her Sarah’s used to curl, asking if she knew where Sarah
was, and finally crying for her as a child cries for its mother, when
at last she went away. Much of this Maddy had repeated to Jessie, as in
the twilight they sat together in the parlor at Aikenside; and Jessie
was not the only listener, for, with her face resting on her hand, and
her head bent eagerly forward, Agnes sat, so as not to lose a word of
what Maddy was saying of Uncle Joseph. The intelligence that he was
coming to the red cottage had been followed with a series of headaches,
so severe and protracted that Dr. Holbrook had pronounced her really
sick, and had been unusually attentive. Anxiously she had waited for
the result of Maddy’s visit to the poor lunatic, and her face was
colorless as marble as she heard him described, while a faint sigh
escaped her when Maddy told what he had said of Sarah.
Agnes was changed somewhat of late. She had grown more thoughtful and
quiet, while her manner toward Maddy was not as haughty as formerly.
Guy thought her improved, and thus was not so delighted as he would
otherwise have been, when, one day, about two weeks after Uncle
Joseph’s arrival at Honedale, she startled him by saying she thought it
nearly time for her to return to Boston, if she meant to spend the
winter there, and asked what she should do with Jessie.
Guy was not quite willing for Agnes to leave him there alone, but when
he saw that she was determined, he consented to her going, with the
understanding that Jessie was to remain—a plan which Agnes did not
oppose, as a child so large as Jessie might stand in the way of her
being as gay as she meant to be in Boston. Jessie, too, when consulted,
said she would far rather stay at Aikenside; and so one November
morning, Agnes, wrapped in velvet and furs, kissed her little daughter,
and bidding good-by to Maddy and the servants, left a neighborhood
which, since Uncle Joseph was so near, had become so intolerable that
not even the hope of winning the doctor could avail to keep her in it.
Guy accompanied her to the city, wondering why, when he used to like it
so much, it now seemed dull and tiresome, or why the society he had
formerly enjoyed failed to bring back the olden pleasure he had
experienced when a resident of Boston. Guy was very popular there, and
much esteemed by his friends of both sexes, and great were the efforts
made to entertain and keep him as long as possible. But Guy could not
be prevailed upon to stay there long, and after seeing Agnes settled in
one of the most fashionable boarding houses, he started for Aikenside.
It was dark when he reached home, and as the evening had closed in with
a heavy rain, the house presented rather a cheerless appearance,
particularly as, in consequence of Mrs. Noah’s not expecting him that
day, no fires had been kindled in the parlors, or in any room except
the library. There a bright coal fire was blazing in the grate, and
thither Guy repaired, finding, as he had expected, Jessie and her
teacher. Not liking to intrude on Mr. Guy, of whom she still stood
somewhat in awe, Maddy soon arose to leave, but Guy bade her stay; he
should be lonely without her, he said, and so bringing her work she sat
down to sew, while Jessie looked over a book of prints, and Guy upon
the lounge studied the face which, it seemed to him, grew each day more
and more beautiful. Then he talked with her of books, and the lessons
which were to be resumed on the morrow, watching Maddy as her bright
face sparkled and glowed with excitement. Then he questioned her of her
father’s family, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing
that the Clydes were not a race of whose blood any one need be ashamed;
and Maddy was more like them he was sure than like the Markhams, and
Guy shivered a little as he recalled the peculiar dialect of Mr. and
Mrs. Markham, and remembered that they were Maddy’s grandparents. Not
that it was anything to him. Oh, no, only as an inmate of his family he
felt interested in her, more so perhaps than young men were apt to be
interested in their sister’s governess.
Had Guy then been asked the question, he would, in all probability,
have acknowledged that in his heart there was a feeling of superiority
to Maddy Clyde; that she was not quite the equal of Aikenside’s heir,
nor yet of Lucy Atherstone. It was natural; he had been educated to
feel the difference, but any haughty arrogance of which he might have
been guilty was kept down by his extreme good sense and generous,
impulsive nature. He liked Maddy; he liked to look at her as, in the
becoming crimson merino which he really and Jessie nominally had given
her, she sat before him, with the firelight falling on her beautiful
hair, and making shadows on her sunny face.
Guy was luxurious in his tastes, and it seemed to him that Maddy was
just the picture to set off that room, or in fact all the rooms at
Aikenside. She would disgrace none of them, and he found himself
wishing that Providence had made her something to him—sister or cousin,
or anything that would make her one of the Remington line.
And now, my reader, do not fall to abusing Guy, or accuse him of
forgetting Lucy Atherstone, for he did not. He thought of her many
times that evening, and in his dreams that night Lucy and Maddy shared
pretty equally, but the latter was associated with the lessons of the
morrow, while Lucy was the bright daystar for which he lived and hoped.
It did not take long for the people of Sommerville to hear that Guy
Remington had actually turned schoolmaster, having in his library for
two hours or more each day Jessie’s little girl-governess, about whose
brilliant beauty there was so much said—people wondering, as people
will, where it would end, and if it could be possible that the haughty
Guy had forgotten his English Lucy and gone to educating a wife.
The doctor, to whom these remarks were sometimes made, silently gnashed
his teeth, then said savagely that “if Guy chose to teach Maddy Clyde,
he did not see whose business it was,” and then rode over to Aikenside
to see the teacher and pupil, half hoping that Guy would soom tire of
his project and give it up. But Guy grew more and more pleased with his
employment, until, at last, from giving Maddy two hours of his time, he
came to give her four, esteeming them the pleasantest of the whole
twenty-four. Guy was proud of Maddy’s improvement, praising her often
to the doctor, who also marveled at the rapid development of her mind
and the progress she made, grasping a knotty point almost before it was
explained, and retaining with wonderful tenacity what she learned.
It mattered nothing to Guy that neighbors gossiped there were none
familiar enough to tell him what was said, except the doctor or Mrs.
Noah; and so he heard few of the remarks made so frequently, As in
Honedale, so in Sommerville Maddy was a favorite, and those who
interested themselves most in the matter never said anything worse of
her and Mr. Guy than that he might perhaps be educating his own wife,
and insinuating that it would be a great “come up” for Grandfather
Markham’s child. But Maddy never dreamed of such a thing, and kept on
her pleasant way, reciting every day to Guy and going every Wednesday
to the red cottage, whither, after the first visit to Uncle Joseph, Guy
never accompanied her. Jessie, on the contrary, went often to Honedale,
where one at least always greeted her coming, stealing up closely to
her, and whispering softly: “My Daisy is come again.”
From the first Uncle Joseph had taken to Jessie, calling her Sarah for
a while, and then changing the name to “Daisy”—“Daisy Mortimer, his
little girl,” he persisted in calling her, watching from his window for
her coming, and crying whenever Maddy appeared without her. At first
Agnes, from her city home, forbade Jessie’s going so often to see a
lunatic; but when Jessie described the poor, crazy man’s delight at
sight of her, telling how quiet and happy he seemed if he could but lay
his hand on her head, or touch her hair, she withdrew her restrictions,
and, as if moved to an unwonted burst of tenderness, wrote to her
daughter: “Comfort that crazy man all you can; he needs it so much.”
A few weeks after there came another letter from Agnes, but this time
it was to Guy, and its contents darkened his handsome face with anger
and vexation. Incidentally Agnes had heard the gossip, and written it
to Guy, adding in conclusion: “Of course I know it is not true, for
ever if there were no Lucy Atherstone, you, of all men, would not stoop
to Maddy Clyde. I do not presume to advise, but I will say this, that
now she is growing a young lady, folks will keep on talking so long as
you keep her there in the house; and it’s hardly fair toward Lucy.”
This was what knotted up Guy’s forehead and made him, as Jessie said,
“real cross for once.” Somehow, he fancied, latterly, that the doctor
did not like Maddy’s being there, while even Mrs. Noah managed to keep
her out of his way as soon as the lessons were ended. What did they
mean? what were they afraid of, and why did they presume to interfere
with him? he’d know, at all events; and summoning Mrs. Noah to his
presence, he read that part of Agnes’ letter, pertaining to Maddy, and
then asked what it meant.
“It means this, that folks are in a constant worry, for fear you’ll
fall in love with Maddy Clyde.”
“I fall in love with that child!” Guy repeated, laughing at the idea,
and forgetting that he had long since, accused the doctor of doing that
very thing.
“Yes, you,” returned Mrs. Noah, “and ’taint strange they do; Maddy is
not a child: she’s nearer sixteen than fifteen, is almost a young lady;
and if you’ll excuse my boldness, I must say, I ain’t any too well
pleased with the goin’s on myself; not that I don’t like the girl, for
I do, and I don’t blame her an atom. She’s as innocent as a new-born
babe, and I hope she’ll always stay so; but you, Mr. Guy, you—now tell
me honest—do you think as much of Lucy Atherstone, as you used to,
before you took up school-keepin’?”
Guy did not like to be interfered with, and naturally high-spirited, he
at first flew into a passion, declaring that he would not have folks
meddling with him, that he thought of Lucy Atherstone all the time, and
he did not know what more he could do; that ’twas a pity if a man could
not enjoy himself in his own way, provided that way were harmless, that
he’d never, in all his life, spent so happy a winter as the last;
that—-
Here Mrs. Noah interrupted him with: “That’s it, the very _it_; you
want nothing better than to have that girl sit close to you when she
recites, as she does; and once when she was workin’ out some of them
plusses and minuses, and things, her slate rested on your knee; it did,
I saw it with my own eyes; and then, let me ask, when Jessie is
drummin’ on the piano, why don’t you bend over her, and turn the
leaves, and count the time, as you do when Maddy plays; and how does it
happen that lately Jessie is one too many, when you hear Maddy’s
lessons. She has no suspicions, but I know she ain’t sent off for
nothin’; I know you’d rather be alone with Maddy Clyde than to have
anybody present, isn’t it so?”
Guy began to wince. There was much truth in what Mrs. Noah had said. He
did devise various methods of getting rid of Jessie, when Maddy was in
his library, but it had never looked to him in just the light it did
when presented by Mrs. Noah, and he doggedly asked what Mrs. Noah would
have him do.
“First and foremost, then, I’d have you tell Maddy yourself that you
are engaged to Lucy Atherstone; second, I’d have you write to Lucy all
about it, and if you honestly can, tell her that you only care for
Maddy as a friend; third, I’d have you send the girl—-”
“Not away from Aikenside! I never will!” and Guy sprang to his feet.
The mine had exploded, and for an instant the young man reeled, as he
caught a glimpse of where he stood; still he would not believe it, or
confess to himself how strong a place in his affections was held by the
beautiful girl now no longer a child. It was almost a year since that
April afternoon when he first met Maddy Clyde, and from a timid,
bashful child, of fourteen and a half, she had grown to the rather
tall, and rather self-possessed maiden of fifteen and a half, almost
sixteen, as Mrs. Noah said, “almost a woman;” and as if to verify the
latter fact, she herself appeared at that very moment, asking
permission to come in and find a book, which had been mislaid, and
which she needed in hearing Jessie’s lessons.
“Certainly, come in,” Guy said, and folding his arms he leaned against
the mantel, watching her as she hunted for the missing book.
There was no pretense about Maddy Clyde, nothing put on for effect, and
yet in every movement she showed marks of great improvement, both in
manner and style. Of one hundred people who might glance at her,
ninety-nine would look a second time, asking who she was. Naturally
graceful and utterly forgetful of herself, she always appeared to good
advantage, and never to better than now, when two pairs of eyes were
watching her, as standing on tiptoe, or kneeling upon the floor to look
under the secretary, she hunted for the book. Not the remotest
suspicion had Maddy of what was occupying the thoughts of her
companions, though as she left the room and glanced brightly up at Guy,
it struck her that his face was dark and moody, and a painful sensation
flitted through her mind that in some way she had intruded.
“Well,” was Mrs. Noah’s first comment, as the door closed on Maddy, but
as Guy made no response to that, she continued: “She is pretty. That
you won’t deny.”
“Yes, more than pretty. She’ll make a most beautiful woman.”
Guy seemed to talk more to himself than to Mrs. Noah, while his foot
kicked the fender, and he mentally compared Lucy and Maddy with each
other, and tried to think that it was not the result of that
comparison, but rather Mrs. Noah’s next remark, which affected him
unpleasantly. The remark or remarks were as follows:
“Of course she’ll make a splendid woman. Everybody notices her now for
her beauty, and that’s why you’ve no business to keep her here where
you see her every day. It’s a wrong to her, lettin’ yourself alone.”
Guy looked up inquiringly, and Mrs. Noah continued:
“I’ve been a girl myself, and I know that Maddy can’t be treated as you
treat her without its having an effect. I’ve no idea that it’s entered
her head yet, but it will by-and-by, and then good-by to her
happiness.”
“For pity’s sake, what do you mean? Do explain, and not talk to me in
riddles. What have I done to Maddy, or what am I going to do?”
Gay spoke savagely, and his boots were in great danger of being burned
as he kicked vigorously against the fender. Coming nearer to him, and
lowering her voice, Mrs. Noah replied:
“You are going to teach her to love you, Guy Remington, just as sure as
my name is Noah.”
“And is that anything so very bad, I’d like to know. Most girls do not
find love distasteful,” and Guy walked hastily to the window, where he
stood for a moment gazing out upon the soft April snow, which was
falling, and feeling anything but satisfied either with the weather or
himself; then walking back, and taking a seat before the fire, he said:
“I understand you now. You would save Maddy Clyde from sorrow, and you
are right. You know more of girls than I do. She might in time get
to—to—think of me as she ought not. I never looked upon it in this
light before. I’ve been so happy with her;” here Guy’s voice faltered a
little, but he recovered himself and went on: “I will tell her about
Lucy tonight, but the sending her away, I can’t do that. Neither will
she be happy to go back where I took her from, for though the best of
people, they are not like Maddy, and you know it.”
Yes, Mrs. Noah did know it, and pleased that her boy, as she called
Guy, had shown some signs of penitence and amendment, she said she did
not think it necessary to send Maddy home; she did not advise it
either. She liked the girl, and what she advised was this, that Guy
should send Maddy and Jessie both to boarding school. Agnes, she knew,
would be willing, and it was the best thing he could do. Maddy would
thus learn what was expected of a teacher, and as soon as she
graduated, she could procure some eligible situation, or if Lucy were
there, and desired it, she could come and stay forever for all what she
cared.
“And during the vacations, where must she go then?” Guy asked.
“Go where she pleases, of course. As Jessie is so fond of her, and they
are much like sisters, it will not be improper for her to come here, as
I see, provided Agnes is here. Her presence, of course, would make a
difference,” Mrs. Noah replied, while Guy continued:
“I know you are right; that is, I do not wish to do Maddy a harm by
placing temptation in her way, neither will I have everybody meddling
with my business. I tell you I won’t. I don’t mean you, for you have a
right to say what no one else has,” and he glanced half angrily at Mrs.
Noah. “Pity if I can’t take an interest in a girl, because I once
wronged her, without every old woman in Christendom thinking she needs
to fall in love with me, and so be ruined for life. Maddy Clyde has too
good sense for that, or will have when I tell her about Lucy.”
“And you will do so?” Mrs. Noah said coaxingly.
“Of course I will, and write to Lucy, too, telling her how you talked,
and how I care no more for Maddy than I do for Jessie.”
“And will that be true?” Mrs. Noah asked.
Guy could not look her fully in the face then, so he kicked the grate
until the concussion sent the red-hot coals out upon the carpet as he
replied:
“True? Yes, every word of it.”
Mrs. Noah noted all this, and thinking within herself:
“I orto have took him in hand long ago,” she came up to him and said
kindly, soothingly: “We shall all miss Maddy; I as much as any one, but
I do think it best for her to go to school; and so, after tea, I’ll
manage to keep Jessie with me, and send Maddy to you, while you tell
her about Lucy and the plan.”
Guy nodded a little jerking kind of a nod, in token of his assent, and
then with that perversity which prompts women particularly to press a
subject after enough has been said upon it, Mrs. Noah, as she turned to
leave the room, gave vent to the following:
“You know, Guy, as well as I, that pretty and smart as she is, Maddy is
really beneath you, and no kind of a match, even if you wan’t as good
as married, which you be;” and the good lady left the room in time to
escape seeing the sparks fly up the chimney, as Guy now made a most
vigorous use of the poker, and so did not finish the scorching process
commenced on the end of his boot.
Mrs. Noah’s last remark awakened in Guy a Singular train of thought.
Yes, Maddy was his inferior as the world saw matters, and settling
himself in the chair he tried to fancy what that same world would say
if he should make Maddy his wife. Of course he had no such intention,
he was just imagining something which never could possibly happen,
because in the first place he wouldn’t marry Maddy Clyde if he could,
and he couldn’t if he would! Still, it was not an unpleasant occupation
fancying what folks, and especially Agnes, would say if he did, and so
he sat dreaming about it until the bell rang for supper, when with a
nervous start he woke from the reverie, and wishing the whole was over,
started for the supper.