HOW THE ENGAGEMENTS PROSPERED.
The October sun had painted the forest trees with the gorgeous tints
of autumn and the November winds had changed them to a more sober
hue ere J.C. De Vere came again to Laurel Hill. Very regularly he
wrote to Maude--kind, loving letters, which helped to cheer her
solitary life. Nellie still remained with Mrs. Kelsey, and though
she had so far forgiven her stepsister as to write to her
occasionally, she still cherished toward her a feeling of animosity
for having stolen away her lover.
On his return to Rochester J.C. De Vere had fully expected that his
engagement would be the theme of every tongue, and he had prepared
himself for the attack. How, then, was he surprised to find that no
one had the least suspicion of it, though many joked him for having
quarreled with Nellie as they were sure he had done, by his not
returning when she did.
Mrs. Kelsey had changed her mind and resolved to say nothing of an
affair which she was sure would never prove to be serious, and the
result showed the wisdom of her proceeding. No one spoke of Maude to
J.C., for no one knew of her existence, and both Mrs. Kelsey, and
Nellie, whom he frequently met, scrupulously refrained from
mentioning her name. At first he felt annoyed, and more than once
was tempted to tell of his engagement, but as time wore on and he
became more and more interested in city gayeties, he thought less
frequently of the dark-eyed Maude, who, with fewer sources of
amusement, was each day thinking more and more of him. Still, he was
sure he loved her, and one morning near the middle of November, when
he received a letter from her saying, "I am sometimes very lonely,
and wish that you were here," he started up with his usual
impetuosity, and ere he was fully aware of his own intentions he
found himself ticketed for Canandaigua, and the next morning Louis
Kennedy, looking from his window and watching the daily stage as it
came slowly up the hill, screamed out, "He's come--he's come!"
A few moments more and Maude was clasped in J.C.'s arms. Kissing her
forehead, her cheek, and her lips, he held her off and looked to see
if she had changed. She had, and he knew it. Happiness and
contentment are more certain beautifiers than the most powerful
cosmetics, and under the combined effects of both Maude was greatly
improved. She was happy in her engagement, happy in the increased
respect it brought her from her friends, and happy, too, in the
unusual kindness, of her stepfather. All this was manifest in her
face, and for the first time in his life J.C. told her she was
beautiful.
"If you only had more manner, and your clothes were fashionably
made, you would far excel the city girls," he said, a compliment
which to Maude seemed rather equivocal.
When he was there before he had not presumed to criticise her style
of dress, but he did so now, quoting the city belles until, half in
earnest, half in jest, Maude said to him, "If you think so much of
fashion, you ought not to marry a country girl."
"Pshaw!" returned J.C. "I like you all the better for dressing as
you please, and still I wish you could acquire a little city polish,
for I don't care to have my wife the subject of remark. If Maude
Glendower comes in the spring, you can learn a great deal of her
before the 20th of June."
Maude colored deeply, thinking for the first time in her life that
possibly J.C. might be ashamed of her, but his affectionate caresses
soon drove all unpleasant impressions from her mind, and the three
days that he stayed with her passed rapidly away. He did not mention
the will, but he questioned her of the five thousand which was to be
hers on her eighteenth birthday, and vaguely, hinted that he might
need it to set himself up in business. He had made no arrangements
for the future, he said, there was time enough in the spring, and
promising to be with her again during the holidays, he left her
quite uncertain as to whether she were glad he had visited her or
not.
The next; day she was greatly comforted by a long letter from James,
who wrote occasionally, evincing so much interest in "Cousin Maude"
that he always succeeded in making her cry, though why she could not
tell, for his letters gave her more real satisfaction than did those
of J.C., fraught as the latter were with protestations of constancy
and love. Slowly dragged the weeks, and the holidays were at hand,
when she received a message from J.C., saying he could not possibly
come as he had promised. No reason was given for this change in his
plan, and with a sigh of disappointment Maude turned to a letter
from Nellie, received by the same mail. After dwelling at length
upon the delightful time she was having in the city, Nellie spoke of
a fancy ball to be given by her aunt during Christmas week. Mr. De
Vere was to be "Ivanhoe," she said, and she to be "Rowena."
"You don't know," she wrote, "how interested J.C. is in the party.
He really begins to appear more as he used to do. He has not
forgotten you, though, for he said the other day you would make a
splendid Rebecca. It takes a dark person for that, I believe!"
Maude knew the reason now why J.C. could not possibly come, and the
week she had, anticipated so much seemed dreary, enough,
notwithstanding it was enlivened by a box of oranges and figs from
her betrothed, and a long, affectionate letter from James De Vere,
who spoke of the next Christmas, saying he meant she should spend it
at Hampton.
"You will really be my cousin then," he wrote, "and I intend
inviting yourself and husband to pass the holidays with us. I want
my mother to know you, Maude. She will like you, I am sure, for she
always thinks as I do."
This letter was far more pleasing to Maude's taste than were the
oranges and figs, and: Louis was suffered to monopolize the latter--a
privilege which he appreciated, as children usually do. After the
holidays J.C. paid a flying visit to Laurel Hill, where his presence
caused quite as much pain as pleasure, so anxious he seemed to
return. Rochester could not well exist without him, one would
suppose, from hearing him talk of the rides he planned, the surprise
parties he man--aged, and the private theatricals of which he was
the leader.
"Do they pay you well for your services?" Louis asked him once, when
wearying of the same old story.
J.C. understood the hit, and during the remainder of his stay was
far less egotistical than he would otherwise have been. After his
departure there ensued an interval of quiet, which, as spring
approached, was broken by the doctor's resuming the work of repairs,
which had been suspended during the coldest weather. The partition
between the parlor and the large square bedroom was removed;
folding-doors were made between; the windows were cut down; a carpet
was bought to match the one which Maude had purchased the summer
before; and then, when all was done, the doctor was seized with a
fit of the blues, because it had cost so much. But he could afford
to be extravagant for a wife like Maude Glendower, and trusting much
to the wheat crop and the wool, he started for Troy about the middle
of March, fully expecting to receive from the lady a decisive answer
as to when she would make them both perfectly happy!
With a most winning smile upon her lip and a bewitching glance in
her black eyes, Maude Glendower took his hand in hers and begged for
a little longer freedom.
"Wait till next fall," she said; "I must go to Saratoga one more
summer. I shall never be happy if I don't, and you, I dare say,
wouldn't enjoy it a bit."
The doctor was not so sure of that. Her eyes, her voice, and the
soft touch of her hand made him feel very queer; and he was almost
willing to go to Saratoga himself if by these means he could secure
her.
"How much do they charge?" he asked; and, with a flash of her bright
eyes, the lady answered, "I suppose both of us can get along with
thirty or forty dollars a week, including everything; but that isn't
much, as I don't care to stay more than two months!"
This decided the doctor. He had not three hundred dollars to throw
away, and so he tried to persuade his companion to give up Saratoga
and go with him to Laurel Hill, telling her, as an inducement, of
the improvements he had made.
"There were two parlors now," he said, "and with her handsome
furniture they would look remarkably well."
She did not tell him that her handsome furniture was mortgaged for
board and borrowed money--neither did she say that her object in
going to Saratoga was to try her powers upon a rich old Southern
bachelor who had returned from Europe, and who she knew was to pass
the coming summer at the Springs. If she could secure him Dr.
Kennedy might console himself as best he could, and she begged so
hard to defer their marriage until the autumn that the or gave up
the contest, and with a heavy heart prepared to turn his face
homeward.
"You need not make any more repairs until I come; I'd rather see to
them myself," Miss Glendower said at parting; and wondering what
further improvements she could possibly suggest, now that the parlor
windows were all right, the doctor bade her adieu, and started for
home.
Hitherto Maude had been his confidant, keeping her trust so well
that no one at Laurel Hill knew, exactly what his intentions were,
and, as was very, natural, immediately after his return he went to
her for sympathy in his disappointment. He found her weeping
bitterly, and ere he could lay before her his own grievances she
appealed to him for sympathy and aid. The man to whom her money was
intrusted had speculated largely, loaning some of it out West, at
twenty per cent., investing some in doubtful railroad stocks, and
experimenting with the rest, until by some unlucky chance he lost
the whole, and, worse than all, had nothing of his own with which to
make amends. In short, Maude was penniless, and J.C. De Vere in
despair. She had written to him immediately, and he had come,
suggesting nothing, offering no advice, and saying nothing at first,
except that "the man was mighty mean, and he had never liked his
looks."
After a little, however, he rallied somewhat, and offered the
consolatory remark that "they were in a mighty bad fix. I'll be
honest," said he, "and confess that I depended upon that money to
set me up in business. I was going to shave notes, and in order to
do so I must have some ready, capital. It cramps me," he continued,
"for, as a married man, my expenses will necessarily be more than
they now are."
"We can defer our marriage," sobbed Maude, whose heart throbbed
painfully with every word he uttered. "We can defer our marriage a
while, and possibly a part of my fortune may be regained--or, if you
wish it, I will release you at once. You need not wed a penniless
bride," and Maude hid her face in her hands while she awaited the
answer to her suggestion. J.C. De Vere did love Maude Remington
better than anyone he had ever seen, and though he caught eagerly at
the marriage deferred, he was not then willing to give her up, and,
with one of his impetuous bursts, he exclaimed, "I will not be
released, though it may be wise to postpone our bridal day for a
time, say until Christmas next, when I hope to be established in
business," and, touched by the suffering expression of her white
face, he kissed her tears away and told her how gladly he would work
for her, painting "love in a cottage," with nothing else there,
until he really made himself believe that he could live on bread and
water with Maude, provided she gave him the lion's share!
J.C.'s great faults were selfishness, indolence, and love of money,
and Maude's loss affected him deeply; still, there was no redress,
and playfully bidding her "not to cry for the milkman's spilled
milk," he left her on the very day when Dr. Kennedy returned. Maude
knew J.C. was keenly disappointed; that he was hardly aware what he
was saying, and she wept for him rather than for the money.
Dr. Kennedy could offer no advice--no comfort. It had always been a
maxim of his not to make that man her guardian; but women would do
everything wrong, and then, as if his own trials were paramount to
hers, he bored her with the story of his troubles, to which she
simply answered, "I am sorry;" and this was all the sympathy either
gained from the other!
In the course of a few days Maude received a long letter from James
De Vere. He had heard from J.C. of his misfortune, and very tenderly
he strove to comfort her, touching at once upon the subject which he
naturally supposed lay heaviest upon her heart. The marriage need
not be postponed, he said; there was room in his house and a place
in his own and his mother's affections for their "Cousin Maude." She
could live there as well as not. Hampton was only half an hour's
ride from Rochester, and J. G., who had been admitted at the bar,
could open an office in the city until something better presented.
"Perhaps I may set him up in business myself," he wrote. "At all
events, dear Maude, you need not dim the brightness of your eyes by
tears, for all will yet be well. Next June shall see you a bride,
unless your intended husband refuse my offer, in which case I may
divine something better."
"Noble man," was Maude's exclamation, as she finished reading the
letter, and if at that moment the two cousins rose up in contrast
before her mind, who can blame her for awarding the preference to
him who had penned those lines, and who thus kindly strove to remove
from her pathway every obstacle to her happiness.
James De Vere was indeed a noble-hearted man. Generous, kind, and
self-denying, he found his chief pleasure in doing others good, and
he had written both to Maude and J.C. just as the great kindness of
his heart had prompted him to write. He did not then know that he
loved Maude Remington, for he had never fully analyzed the nature of
his feelings toward her. He knew he admired her very much, and when
he wrote the note J.C. withheld he said to himself, "If she answers
this, I shall write again--and again, and maybe"--he did not exactly
know what lay beyond the "maybe," so he added, "we shall be very
good friends."
But the note was not answered, and when his cousin's letter came,
telling him of the engagement, a sharp, quick pang shot through his
heart, eliciting from him a faint outcry, which caused his mother,
who was present, to ask what was the matter.
"Only a sudden pain," he answered, laying his hand upon his side.
"Pleurisy, perhaps," the practical mother rejoined, and supposing
she was right he placed the letter in his pocket and went out into
the open air. It had grown uncomfortably warm, he thought, while the
noise of the falling fountain in the garden made his head ache as it
had never ached before; and returning to the house he sought his
pleasant library. But not a volume in all those crowded shelves had
power to interest him then, and with a strange disquiet he wandered
from room to room, until at last, as the sun went down, he laid his
throbbing temples upon his pillow, and in his feverish dreams saw
again the dark-eyed Maude sitting on her mother's grave, her face
upturned to him, and on her lip the smile that formed her greatest
beauty.
The next morning the headache was gone, and with a steady hand he
wrote to his cousin and Maude congratulations which he believed
sincere. That J.C. was not worthy of the maiden he greatly feared,
and he resolved to have a care of the young man, and try to make him
what Maude's husband ought to be, and when he heard of her
misfortune he stepped forward with his generous offer, which J.C.
instantly refused.
"He never would take his wife to live upon his relatives, he had too
much pride for that, and the marriage must be deferred. A few months
would make no difference. Christmas was not far from June, and by
that time he could do something for himself."
Thus he wrote to James, who mused long upon the words, "A few months
will make no difference," thinking within himself, "If I were like
other men, and was about to marry Maude, a few months would make a
good deal of difference, but everyone to their mind." Four weeks
after this he went one day to Canandaigua on business, and having an
hour's leisure ere the arrival of the train which would take him
home he sauntered into the public parlor of the hotel. Near the
window, at the farther extremity of the room, a young girl was
looking out upon the passers-by. Something in her form and dress
attracted his attention, and he was approaching the spot where she
stood when the sound of his footsteps caught her ear, and turning
round she disclosed to view the features of Maude Remington.
"Maude!" he exclaimed, "this is indeed a surprise. I must even claim
a cousin's right to kiss you," and taking both her hands in his, he
kissed her blushing cheek--coyly--timidly--for James De Vere was
unused to such things, and not quite certain, whether under the
circumstances it were perfectly proper for him to do so or not.
Leading her to the sofa, he soon learned that she had come to the
village to trade, and having finished her shopping was waiting for
her stepfather, who had accompanied her.
"And what of J.C.?" he asked, after a moment's silence. "Has he been
to visit you more than once since the crisis, as he calls it?"
Maude's eyes filled with tears, for J.C.'s conduct was not wholly
satisfactory to her. She remembered his loud protestations of utter
disregard for her money, and she could not help thinking how little
his theory and practice accorded. He had not been to see her since
his flying visit in March, and though he had written several times
his letters had contained little else save complaints against their
"confounded luck." She could not tell this to James De Vere, and she
replied, "He is very busy now, I believe, in trying to make some
business arrangement with the lawyer in whose office he formerly
studied."
"I am glad he has roused himself at last," answered James; "he would
not accept my offer, for which I am sorry, as I was anticipating
much happiness in having my Cousin Maude at Hampton during the
summer. You will remain at home, I suppose."
"No," said Maude hesitatingly; "or, that is, I have serious thoughts
of teaching school, as I do not like to be dependent on Dr.
Kennedy."
James De Vere had once taught school for a few weeks by way of
experiment, and now as he recalled the heated room, the stifling
atmosphere, the constant care, and more than all, the noisy shout of
triumph which greeted his ear on that memorable morning when he
found himself fastened out, and knew his rule was at an end, he
shuddered at the thought of Maude's being exposed to similar
indignities, and used all his powers of eloquence to dissuade her
from her plan. Maude was frank, open-hearted, and impulsive, and
emboldened by James' kind, brotherly manner she gave in a most
childlike manner her reason for wishing to teach.
"If I am married next winter," she said, "my wardrobe will need
replenishing, for J.C. would surely be ashamed to take me as I am,
and I have now no means of my own for purchasing anything."
In an instant James De Vere's hand was on his purse, but ere he drew
it forth he reflected that to offer money then might possibly be out
of place, so he said, "I have no sister, no girl-cousin, no wife,
and more money than I can use, and when the right time comes nothing
can please me more than to give you your bridal outfit. May I,
Maude? And if you do not like to stay with Dr. Kennedy, come to
Hampton this summer and live with us, will you, Maude? I want you
there so much," and in the musical tones of his voice there was a
deep pathos which brought the tears in torrents from Maude's eyes;
while she declined the generous offer she could not accept.
Just then Dr. Kennedy appeared. He was ready, to go, he said, and
bidding Mr. De Vere good-by, Maude was soon on her way home, her
spirits lighter and her heart happier for that chance meeting at the
hotel. One week later Mr. De Vere wrote to her, saying that if she
still wished to teach, she could have the school at Hampton. He had
seen the trustees, had agreed upon the price, and had even selected
her a boarding-place near by. "I regret," said he, "that we live so
far from the schoolhouse as to render it impossible for you to board
with us. You might ride, I suppose, and I would cheerfully carry you
every day; but, on the whole, I think you had better stop with Mrs.
Johnson."
This letter Maude took at once to her brother, from whom she had
hitherto withheld her intention to teach, as she did not wish to
pain him unnecessarily with the dread of a separation, which might
never be. Deeply had he sympathized with her in her misfortune,
whispering to her that two--thirds of his own inheritance should be
hers. "I can coax almost anything from father," he said, "and when I
am twenty-one I'll ask him to give me my portion, and then I'll take
you to Europe. You won't be old, Maude, only twenty-seven, and I
shall be proud when the people say that beautiful woman with eyes
like stars is the crippled artist's sister!"
In all his plans he made no mention of J.C., whose conduct he
despised, and whose character he began to read aright.
"Maude will never marry him, I hope," he thought, and when she
brought to him the letter from James De Vere, the noble little
fellow conquered his own feelings, and with a hopeful heart as to
the result of that summer's teaching he bade her go. So it was all
arranged, and the next letter which went from Maude to J.C. carried
the intelligence that his betrothed was going "to turn country
school-ma'am, and teach the Hampton brats their A B C's," so at last
he said to Mrs. Kelsey and her niece, between whom and himself there
was a perfectly good understanding, and to whom he talked of his
future prospects without reserve. Mrs. Kelsey was secretly
delighted, for matters were shaping themselves much as she would
wish. Her brother evinced no particular, desire to have his daughter
at home, and she determined to keep her as long as there was the
slightest chance of winning J.C. De Vere. He was now a regular
visitor at her house, and lest he should suspect her design, she
spoke often and respectfully of Maude, whose cause she seemed to
have espoused, and when he came to her with the news of her teaching
she sympathized with him at once.
"It would be very mortifying," she said, "to marry a district
school-mistress, though there was some comfort in knowing that his
friends were as yet ignorant of the engagement."
"Let them remain so a while longer," was the hasty answer of J.C.,
who, as time passed on, became more and more unwilling that the gay
world should know of his engagement with one who was not an heiress
after all.