“Ne’er with laurel wreath around me,
Have I wreathed my weary brow,
Since to serve thy fame I bound me--
Bound me with a solemn vow.
Evermore in grief I languish--
All my youth in tears is spent;
And, with thoughts of bitter anguish
My too-feeling heart is rent.
“Joyous those about are playing,
All around are blest and glad,
In the paths of pleasure straying--
My poor heart alone is sad.
Spring in vain unfolds each treasure,
Filling all the earth with bliss;
Who in life can e’er take pleasure,
When is seen its dark abyss?”
Although Mr. Moore had schooled himself to meet the blow that some day,
sooner or later, he should hear of the marriage of Queenie Trevalyn,
when that day arrived the shock almost killed him; he was dazed,
bewildered, stunned by it. All of a sudden his splendid courage and
pride gave way, as did his self-control, and lying there in the long
grass where he had fallen, he sobbed like a child--and it was thus that
Jess had found him.
He did not try to rise as the girl bent over him; indeed, all his
strength seemed suddenly to have left him. Jess’ sweet pity and
sympathy, as she stroked his face with her little hands, soft and cool
as rose leaves, were very acceptable to him just then, in the first
throb of his bitter woe.
“I am very sure you are ill, and will not let any one know,” she
declared. “Do let me help you to this bench, where you can sit down
until you are able to come to the house. In the meantime, I will go and
fetch you a glass of cold water from the old well; that will revive you
very quickly.”
“No,” he said, clutching at her hands, “never mind going for the water.
See, I--I am better now,” and as he spoke he struggled to his feet,
staggered over to the garden bench and sank down upon it.
“I should like you to sit down here beside me, little Jess,” he
whispered, hoarsely; “I have something to say to you.”
For some moments he sits in utter silence, looking across the tops of
the waving trees--looking, yet seeing nothing, for he is busy with his
own conflicting thoughts.
Jess watches him wonderingly, trying to read the thoughts that cause
his handsome, grave face to grow graver still and his lips to twitch.
“It will be better so,” he ruminated. “It would be selfish of me to
shuffle off this mortal coil without doing some one good deed for the
benefit of some human being; and what better act could I do than marry
this child, that she may, in accordance with the will, receive the
great fortune which otherwise she must miss, and be thrown, penniless,
upon the world? Directly after the ceremony I can explain to her that
I am the John Dinsmore whom she dreaded so, and then quietly go away,
waiving all of my rights to the inheritance in her favor.”
“Of what are you thinking, Mr. Moore?” she asks, wistfully. “Whatever
it is,” she adds, slowly, “it is almost making you cry again.”
“I was thinking of you, and trying to decide your future,” he answers,
slowly, “and it culminated into the one question I now ask you: Will
you be my wife?”
“Your wife!” she gasps, wondering if she has heard aright, and
believing she must be in some strange, sweet dream from which she will
awaken in another instant.
He nods, dumbly. It is a great effort for him to utter the words, and
his lips refuse to repeat them.
“Do you really mean it, Mr. Moore?”
Again his lips refuse to perform their service, and he nods assent,
almost regretting the proposal, now that it has been uttered and is
past the power of being recalled.
He does not look at her, or he would see how the warm blood has leaped
into the rosebud face, and the round, dimpled cheeks have taken on
a carnation hue, and the dark eyes are shining like stars. Nor does
he know that those words have called her young heart from her bosom
in a great, warm gush of love. He thinks more of her than she ever
dreamed he did, she is telling herself, as she puts one hand over her
fluttering, little heart, while the other creeps up to her blushing
face.
Indeed, under the circumstances, and taking the girl’s ignorance of
life and the world into consideration, she should not be blamed for not
realizing that there are other motives than affection which actuate
men’s actions at times, and that this was one of them.
His wife! He must love her well to ask her to be that, and the
blood--which has been flowing so sluggishly in her veins ever since
she has read in Mrs. Bryson’s letter to her that on the following day
her visit would be brought to a close--leaps wildly now, and her heart
gives a great bound, and goes out to her companion warmed with the fire
of a young girl’s first love.
“What is your answer, little Jess?” he asked, with an effort. “Is it
yes--or no?”
For answer, she throws herself into his arms, like the impulsive child
that she is, and, clinging to him, cries:
“Oh, I am so happy--yes, I will marry you, Mr. Moore. But, oh! won’t
they be surprised at Blackheath Hall, for they think I am to marry that
horrid Mr. John Dinsmore, whom I perfectly hate.”
He holds her off at arm’s length, and his keen eyes read her face
scrutinizingly, as he says, slowly, anxiously:
“I hope you will never regret the action, Jess. Always remember that in
asking you to marry me I was studying your best interest, as you will
understand when you are old enough to realize all.”
“Jess! Jess! where are you?” cries Lucy’s voice, from down the path;
“Jess! Jess!”
“Go to her, and say nothing of what has transpired,” whispers “Mr.
Moore,” releasing her hands and pushing her from him. “I will see you
here early to-morrow morning, and will have arranged everything by that
time. Good-night, Jess!”
He made no attempt to stoop and kiss the lovely, young face turned so
expectantly up to him; indeed, it never occurred to him to do so.
Another instant and the slim figure was hurrying down the path in the
direction of Lucy’s high-pitched voice.
“Mr. Moore” stood with folded arms, looking after her. There was no
lover-like ardor in his breast; no passionate thrill of triumph filled
his heart to think that he had won so lovely a young creature; only a
sort of weary, stoical resignation, with the thought surging through
his brain that he had sacrificed himself upon the altar of stern duty.
In fact, he pitied himself when he thought of what was before him;
but it never occurred to him to pity the girl, who was far more to be
pitied, in all her fresh, young bloom and trustful innocence.
Even Lucy wondered at the expression of Jess’ face when she entered the
house, where the bright rays of the lamp fell full upon it, for there
was a glory on it that made her companion marvel.
She could not help thinking of her mother’s comparison, in speaking of
Jess, that she always looked like a blushing rose. Surely, she looked
it to-night, with that vivid crimson bathing her cheeks and brow.
“I want to help you to pack, Jess,” she said; “you forget you are to
take the noon train, and there is always so much to attend to at the
last moment.”
“How good you are, Lucy,” said Jess, laying her soft, warm cheek
against her companion’s. “You are tired, while I have done nothing the
livelong day; I should not let you add to your weariness the packing of
my trunk.”
“It will be a pleasure for me to do it for you,” declared Lucy. She did
not add that she would not know a happy moment until Jess, with her
pretty, dimpled face and starry eyes, was well away from the farm, and
the presence of Mr. Moore.
In an incredible space of time the little trunk was packed by Lucy’s
nimble hands; then it was time to retire, and for the second time in
her young life Jess was unable to sleep.
For hours she thought of the wonderful thing that had happened--Mr.
Moore had asked her to be his wife, and she had said “Yes,” and
to-morrow morning he would tell her what his plans were regarding it.
When she did fall asleep, she dreamed of her hero as she always had
done every night since she had been beneath that roof, and, strange
to say, she dreamed that Mr. Moore had kissed her--a thing he had not
ventured to do, in reality--and the girl was quite sorry to awaken at
last and find that the bliss of the kiss she had felt upon her lips was
only the vagary of an idle dream, and the impulsive child wished that
the sweet dream had been a reality.