_BEHIND THE FOUNTAIN._
Two days after Christmas, a young man of a serious aspect might have
been seen entering one of the large churches at L----. Being shown to
a seat, he joined in the services with praiseworthy devotion,
especially the music, to which he listened with such evident pleasure
that a gentleman who sat near by felt moved to address this
appreciative stranger after church.
"Fine sermon to-day. Ever heard our minister before, sir?" he began,
as they went down the aisle together among the last; for the young man
had lingered as if admiring the ancient building.
"Very fine. No, sir, I have never had that pleasure. I've often wished
to see this old place, and am not at all disappointed. Your choir,
too, is unusually good," answered the stranger, glancing up at several
bonnets bobbing about behind the half-drawn curtains above.
"Finest in the city, sir. We pride ourselves on our music, and always
have the best. People often come for that alone," and the old
gentleman looked as satisfied as if a choir of cherubim and seraphim
"continually did cry" in his organ-loft.
"Who is the contralto? That solo was beautifully sung," observed the
younger man, pausing to read a tablet in the wall.
"That is Miss Moore. Been here about a year, and is universally
admired. Excellent young lady: couldn't do without her. Sings superbly
in oratorios. Ever heard her?"
"Never. She came from X----, I believe?"
"Yes; highly recommended. She was brought up by one of the first
families there. Campbell is the name. If you come from X----, you
doubtless know them."
"I have met them. Good morning." And with bows the gentlemen parted;
for at that instant the young man caught sight of a tall lady going
down the church-steps, with a devout expression in her fine eyes, and
a prayer-book in her hand.
Hastening after her, the serious-minded young man accosted her just as
she turned into a quiet street.
"Phebe!"
Only a word, but it wrought a marvellous change; for the devout
expression vanished in the drawing of a breath, and the quiet face
blossomed suddenly with color, warmth, and "the light that never was
on sea or land," as she turned to meet her lover, with an answering
word as eloquent as his,--
"Archie!"
"The year is out to-day. I told you I should come. Have you
forgotten?"
"No: I knew you'd come."
"And you are glad?"
"How can I help it?"
"You can't: don't try. Come into this little park, and let us talk."
And, drawing her hand through his arm, Archie led her into what to
other eyes was a very dismal square, with a boarded-up fountain in the
middle, sodden grass-plots, and dead leaves dancing in the wintry
wind.
But to them it was a summery Paradise; and they walked to and fro in
the pale sunshine, quite unconscious that they were objects of
interest to several ladies and gentlemen waiting anxiously for their
dinner, or yawning over the dull books kept for Sunday reading.
"Are you ready to come home now, Phebe?" asked Archie, tenderly, as he
looked at the downcast face beside him, and wondered why all women did
not wear delightful little black velvet bonnets, with one deep-red
flower against their hair.
"Not yet. I haven't done enough," began Phebe, finding it very hard to
keep the resolution made a year ago.
"You have proved that you can support yourself, make friends, and earn
a name, if you choose. No one can deny that; and we are all getting
proud of you. What more can you ask, my dearest?"
"I don't quite know, but I am very ambitious. I want to be famous, to
do something for you all, to make some sacrifice for Rose, and, if I
can, to have something to give up for your sake. Let me wait and work
longer: I know I haven't earned my welcome yet," pleaded Phebe, so
earnestly that her lover knew it would be vain to try and turn her; so
wisely contented himself with half, since he could not have the whole.
"Such a proud woman! Yet I love you all the better for it, and
understand your feeling. Rose made me see how it seems to you; and I
don't wonder that you cannot forget the unkind things that were
looked, if not said, by some of my amiable aunts. I'll try to be
patient on one condition, Phebe."
"And what is that?"
"You are to let me come sometimes while I wait, and wear this lest you
should forget me," he said, pulling a ring from his pocket, and gently
drawing a warm, bare hand out of the muff where it lay hidden.
"Yes, Archie, but not here,--not now!" cried Phebe, glancing about
her, as if suddenly aware that they were not alone.
"No one can see us here: I thought of that. Give me one happy minute,
after this long, long year of waiting," answered Archie, pausing just
where the fountain hid them from all eyes, for there were houses only
on one side.
Phebe submitted; and never did a plain gold ring slip more easily to
its place than the one he put on in such a hurry that cold December
day. Then one hand went back into the muff red with the grasp he gave
it, and the other to its old place on his arm, with a confiding
gesture, as if it had a right there.
"Now I feel sure of you," said Archie, as they went on again, and no
one the wiser for that tender transaction behind the ugly pyramid of
boards. "Mac wrote me that you were much admired by your church
people, and that certain wealthy bachelors evidently had designs on
the retiring Miss Moore. I was horribly jealous, but now I defy every
man of them."
Phebe smiled with the air of proud humility that was so becoming, and
answered briefly,--
"There was no danger: kings could not change me, whether you ever came
or not. But Mac should not have told you."
"You shall be revenged on him, then; for, as he told secrets about
you, I'll tell you one about him. Phebe, he loves Rose!" And Archie
looked as if he expected to make a great sensation with his news.
"I know it." And Phebe laughed at his sudden change of countenance, as
he added inquiringly,--
"She told you, then?"
"Not a word. I guessed it from her letters: for lately she says
nothing about Mac, and before there was a good deal; so I suspected
what the silence meant, and asked no questions."
"Wise girl! then you think she does care for the dear old fellow?"
"Of course she does. Didn't he tell you so?"
"No, he only said when he went away, 'Take care of my Rose, and I'll
take care of your Phebe,' and not another thing could I get out of
him; for _I_ did ask questions. He stood by me like a hero, and kept
Aunt Jane from driving me stark mad with her 'advice.' I don't forget
that, and burned to lend him a hand somewhere; but he begged me to let
him manage his wooing in his own way. And from what I see I should say
he knew how to do it," added Archie, finding it very delightful to
gossip about love affairs with his sweetheart.
"Dear little mistress! how does she behave?" asked Phebe, longing for
news, but too grateful to ask at headquarters; remembering how
generously Rose had tried to help her, even by silence, the greatest
sacrifice a woman can make at such interesting periods.
"Very sweet and shy and charming. I try not to watch: but upon my word
I cannot help it sometimes; she is so 'cunning,' as you girls say.
When I carry her a letter from Mac she tries so hard not to show how
glad she is, that I want to laugh, and tell her I know all about it.
But I look as sober as a judge, and as stupid as an owl by daylight;
and she enjoys her letter in peace, and thinks I'm so absorbed by my
own passion that I'm blind to hers."
"But why did Mac come away? He says lectures brought him, and he goes;
but I am sure something else is in his mind, he looks so happy at
times. I don't see him very often, but when I do I'm conscious that he
isn't the Mac I left a year ago," said Phebe, leading Archie away: for
inexorable propriety forbade a longer stay, even if prudence and duty
had not given her a reminding nudge; as it was very cold, and
afternoon church came in an hour.
"Well, you see Mac was always peculiar, and he cannot even grow up
like other fellows. I don't understand him yet, and am sure he's got
some plan in his head that no one suspects, unless it is Uncle Alec.
Love makes us all cut queer capers; and I've an idea that the Don will
distinguish himself in some uncommon way. So be prepared to applaud
whatever it is. We owe him that, you know."
"Indeed we do! If Rose ever speaks of him to you, tell her I shall see
that he comes to no harm, and she must do the same for my Archie."
That unusual demonstration of tenderness from reserved Phebe very
naturally turned the conversation into a more personal channel; and
Archie devoted himself to building castles in the air so successfully
that they passed the material mansion without either being aware of
it.
"Will you come in?" asked Phebe, when the mistake was rectified, and
she stood on her own steps looking down at her escort, who had
discreetly released her before a pull at the bell caused five heads to
pop up at five different windows.
"No, thanks. I shall be at church this afternoon, and the Oratorio
this evening. I must be off early in the morning, so let me make the
most of precious time, and come home with you to-night as I did
before," answered Archie, making his best bow, and quite sure of
consent.
"You may," and Phebe vanished, closing the door softly, as if she
found it hard to shut out so much love and happiness as that in the
heart of the sedate young gentleman, who went briskly down the street,
humming a verse of old "Clyde" like a tuneful bass viol.
"'Oh, let our mingling voices rise
In grateful rapture to the skies,
Where love has had its birth.
Let songs of joy this day declare
That spirits come their bliss to share
With all the sons of earth.'"
That afternoon Miss Moore sang remarkably well, and that evening quite
electrified even her best friends by the skill and power with which
she rendered "Inflammatus" in the oratorio.
"If that is not genius, I should like to know what it is?" said one
young man to another, as they went out just before the general crush
at the end.
"Some genius and a great deal of love. They are a grand team, and,
when well driven, astonish the world by the time they make in the
great race," answered the second young man, with the look of one
inclined to try his hand at driving that immortal span.
"Dare say you are right. Can't stop now: she's waiting for me. Don't
sit up, Mac."
"The gods go with you, Archie."
And the cousins separated: one to write till midnight, the other to
bid his Phebe good-by, little dreaming how unexpectedly and
successfully she was to earn her welcome home.