LAURA ROMEYN
Mrs. Haldane and her daughters found European life so decidedly to their
taste that it was doubtful whether they would return for several years.
The son wrote regularly to his mother, for he had accepted of the truth
of Mrs. Arnot's words that nothing could excuse him from the sacred
duties which he owed to her. As his fortunes improved and time elapsed
without the advent of more disgraceful stories, she also began to
respond as frequently and sympathetically as could be expected of one
taking her views of life. She was at last brought to acquiesce in his
plan of remaining at Hillaton, if not to approve of it, and after
receiving one or two letters from Mrs. Arnot, she was inclined to
believe in the sincerity of his Christian profession. She began to share
in the old lady's view already referred to, that he might reach heaven
at last, but could never be received in good society again.
"Egbert is so different from us, my dears," she would sigh to her
daughters, "that I suppose we should not judge him by our standards. I
suppose he is doing as well as he ever will--as well indeed as his
singularly unnatural disposition permits."
It did not occur to the lady that she was a trifle unnatural and
unchristian herself in permitting jealousy to creep into her heart,
because Mrs. Arnot had wielded a power for good over her son which she
herself had failed to exert.
She instructed her lawyer, however, to pay to him an annuity that was
far beyond his needs in his present frugal way of living.
This ample income enabled him at once to carry out a cherished purpose,
which had been forming in his mind for several months, and which he now
broached to Mrs. Arnot.
"For the last half year," he said, "I have thought a great deal over the
possibilities that life offers to one situated as I am. I have tried to
discover where I can make my life-work, maimed and defective as it ever
must be, most effective, and it has seemed to me that I could accomplish
more as a physician than in any other calling. In this character I could
naturally gain access to those who are in distress of body and mind, but
who are too poor to pay for ordinary attendance. There are hundreds in
this city, especially little children, that, through vice, ignorance, or
poverty, never receive proper attention in illness. My services would
not be refused by this class, especially if they were gratuitous."
"You should charge for your visits, as a rule," said wise Mrs. Arnot.
"Never give charity unless it is absolutely necessary."
"Well, I could charge so moderately that my attendance would not be a
burden. I am very grateful to Mr. Ivison for the position he gave me,
but I would like to do something more and better in life than I can
accomplish as his clerk. A physician among the poor has so many chances
to speak the truth to those who might otherwise never hear it. Now this
income from my father's estate would enable me to set about the
necessary studies at once, and the only question in my mind is, will
they receive me at the university?"
"Egbert," said Mrs. Arnot, with one of those sudden illuminations of her
face which he so loved to see, "do you remember what I said long ago,
when you were a disheartened prisoner, about my ideal of knighthood? If
you keep on you will fulfil it."
"I remember it well," he replied, "but you are mistaken. My best hope is
to find, as you said upon another occasion, my own little nook in the
vineyard, and quietly do my work there."
After considerable hesitation the faculty of the university received
Haldane as a student, and Mr. Ivison parted with him very reluctantly.
His studies for the past two years, and several weeks of careful review,
enabled him to pass the examinations required in order to enter the
Junior year of the college course.
As his name appeared among those who might graduate in two years, the
world still further relaxed its rigid and forbidding aspect, and not a
few took pains to manifest to him their respect for his resolute upward
course.
But he maintained his old, distant, unobtrusive manner, and no one was
obliged to recognize, much less to show, any special kindness to him,
unless they chose to do so. He evidently shrank with a morbid
sensitiveness from any social contact with those who, in remembrance of
his past history, might shrink from him. But he had not been at the
university very long before Mrs. Arnot overcame this diffidence so far
as to induce him to meet with certain manly fellows of his class at her
house.
In all the frank and friendly interchange of thought between Mrs. Arnot
and the young man there was one to whom, by tacit consent, they did not
refer, except in the most casual manner, and that was Laura Romeyn.
Haldane had not seen her since the time she stumbled upon him in his
character of wood-sawyer. He kept her image in a distant and
doubly-locked chamber of his heart, and seldom permitted his thoughts to
go thither. Thus the image had faded into a faint yet lovely outline
which he had learned to look upon with a regret that was now scarcely
deep enough to be regarded as pain. She had made one or two brief visits
to her aunt, but he had taken care never to meet her. He had learned
incidentally, however, that she had lost her father, and that her mother
was far from well.
When calling upon Mrs. Arnot one blustering March evening, toward the
close of his Junior year, that lady explained her anxious, clouded face
by saying that her sister, Mrs. Romeyn, was very ill, and after a moment
added, half in soliloquy, "What would she do without Laura?"
From this he gathered that the young girl was a loving daughter and a
faithful nurse, and the image of a pale, yet lovely watcher rose before
him with dangerous frequence and distinctness.
A day or two after he received a note from Mrs. Arnot, informing him
that she was about to leave home for a visit to her invalid sister, and
might be absent several weeks. Her surmise proved correct, and when she
returned Laura came with her, and the deep mourning of the orphan's
dress but faintly reflected the darker sorrow that shrouded her heart.
When, a few sabbaths after her arrival, her veiled figure passed up the
aisle of the church, he bowed his head in as sincere sympathy as one
person can give for the grief of another.
For a long time he did not venture to call on Mrs. Arnot, and then came
only at her request. To his great relief, he did not see Laura, for he
felt that, conscious of her great loss and the memories of the past, he
should be speechless in her presence. To Mrs. Arnot he said:
"Your sorrow has seemed to me such a sacred thing that I felt that any
reference to it on my part would be like a profane touch; but I was sure
you would not misinterpret my silence or my absence, and would know that
you were never long absent from my thoughts."
He was rewarded by the characteristic lighting up of her face as she
said:
"Hillaton would scarcely give you credit for such delicacy of feeling,
Egbert, but you are fulfilling my faith in you. Neither have I forgotten
you and your knightly conflict because I have not seen or written to
you. You know well that my heart and hands have been full. And now a
very much longer time must elapse before we can meet again. In her
devotion to her mother my niece has overtaxed her strength, and her
physical and mental depression is so great that our physician strongly
recommends a year abroad. You can see how intensely occupied I have been
in preparations for our hurried departure. We sail this week. I shall
see your mother, no doubt, and I am glad I can tell her that which I
should be proud to hear of a son of mine."
The year that followed was a long one to Haldane. He managed to keep the
even tenor of his way, but it was often as the soldier makes his weary
march in the enemy's country, fighting for and holding, step by step,
with difficulty. His intense application in his first year of study and
the excitements of the previous years at last told upon him, and he
often experienced days of extreme lassitude and weariness. At one time
he was quite ill, and then he realized how lonely and isolated he was.
He still kept his quarters at the hermitage, but Mr. Growther, with the
kindest intentions, was too old and decrepit to prove much of a nurse.
In his hours of enforced idleness his imagination began to retouch the
shadowy image of Laura Romeyn with an ideal beauty. In his pain and
weakness her character of watcher--in which her self-sacrificing
devotion had been so great as to impair her health--was peculiarly
attractive. She became to him a pale and lovely saint, too remote and
sacred for his human love, and yet sufficiently human to continually
haunt his mind with a vague and regretful pain that he could never reach
her side. He now learned from its loss how valuable Mrs. Arnot's society
had been to him. Her letters, which were full and moderately frequent,
could not take the place of her quiet yet inspiriting voice.
He was lonely, and he recognized the fact. While there were hundreds now
in Hillaton who wished him well, and respected him for his brave
struggle, he was too shadowed by disgraceful memories to be received
socially into the homes that he would care to visit. Some of the church
people invited him out of a sense of duty, but he recognized their
motive, and shrank from such constrained courtesy with increasing
sensitiveness.
But, though he showed human weakness and gave way to long moods of
despondency, at times inclining to murmur bitterly at his lot, he
suffered no serious reverses. He patiently, even in the face of positive
disinclination, maintained his duties. He remembered how often the
Divine Man, in his shadowed life, went apart for prayer, and honestly
tried to imitate this example, so specially suited to one as maimed and
imperfect as himself.
He found that his prayers were answered, that the strong Friend to whom
he had allied his weakness did not fail him. He was sustained through
the dark days, and his faith eventually brought him peace and serenity.
He gained in patience and strength, and with better health came renewed
hopefulness.
Although not a brilliant student, he was able to complete his university
course and graduate with credit. He then took the first vacation that he
had enjoyed for years, and, equipping himself with fishing-rod and a few
favorite authors, he buried himself in the mountains of Maine.
His prison and mission classes missed him sadly. Mr. Growther found that
he could no longer live a hermit's life, and began in good earnest to
look for the "little, peaked-faced chap" that had grown to be more and
more of a reality to him; but the rest of Hillaton almost forgot that
Haldane had ever existed.
In the autumn he returned, brown and vigorous, and entered upon his
studies at the medical school connected with the university with decided
zest. To his joy he found a letter from Mrs. Arnot, informing him that
the health of her niece was fully restored, and that they were about to
return. And yet it was with misgivings that he remembered that Laura
would henceforth be an inmate of Mrs. Arnot's home. As a memory, however
beautiful, she was too shadowy to disturb his peace. Would this be true
if she had fulfilled all the rich promises of her girlhood, and he saw
her often?
With a foreboding of future trouble he both dreaded and longed to see
once more the maiden who had once so deeply stirred his heart, and who
in the depths of his disgrace had not scorned him when accidentally
meeting him in the guise and at the tasks of a common laborer.
It was with a quickened pulse that he read in the "Spy" one Monday
evening, that Mrs. Arnot and niece had arrived in town. It was with a
quicker pulse that he received a note from her a few days later asking
him to call that evening, and adding that two or three other young men
whom he knew to be her especial favorites would be present.
Because our story has confined itself chiefly to the relations existing
between Haldane and Mrs. Arnot, it must not be forgotten that her active
sympathies were enlisted in behalf of many others, some of whom were
almost equally attached to her and she to them.
After a little thought Haldane concluded that he would much prefer that
his first interview with Laura should be in the presence of others, for
he could then keep in the background without exciting remark.
He sincerely hoped that when he saw her he might find that her old power
over him was a broken spell, and that the lovely face which had haunted
him all these years, growing more beautiful with time, was but the
creation of his own fancy. He was sure she would still be pretty, but if
that were all he could go on his way without a regretful thought. But if
the shy maiden, whose half-entreating, compassionate tones had
interrupted the harsh rasping of his saw years ago, were the type of the
woman whom he should meet that evening, might not the bitterest
punishment of his folly be still before him?
He waited till sure that the other guests had arrived, and then entered
to meet, as he believed, either a hopeless thraldom or complete
disenchantment.
As he crossed the threshold of the parlor the pleasure of seeing Mrs.
Arnot again, and of receiving her cordial greeting, obliterated all
other thoughts from his mind.
He had, however, but a moment's respite, for the lady said:
"Laura, my friend Mr. Haldane."
He turned and saw, by actual vision, the face that in fancy he had so
often looked upon. It was not the face that he expected to see at all.
The shy, blue-eyed maiden, who might have reminded one of a violet half
hidden among the grass, had indeed vanished, but an ordinary pretty
woman had not taken her place.
He felt this before he had time to consciously observe it, and bowed
rather low to hide his burning face; but she frankly held out her hand
and said, though with somewhat heightened color also:
"Mr. Haldane, I am glad to meet you again."
Then, either to give him time to recover himself, or else, since the
interruption was over, she was glad to resume the conversation that had
been suspended, she turned to her former companions. Mrs. Arnot also
left him to himself a few moments, and by a determined effort he sought
to calm the tumultuous riot of his blood. He was not phlegmatic on any
occasion; but even Mrs. Arnot could not understand why he should be so
deeply moved by this meeting. She ascribed it to the painful and
humiliating memories of the past, and then dismissed his manner from her
mind. He speedily gained self-control, and, as is usual with strong
natures, became unusually quiet and undemonstrative. Only in the depths
of his dark eyes could one have caught a glimpse of the troubled spirit
within, for it was troubled with a growing consciousness of an infinite
loss.