College, was learning about life in Rumford, as a surveyor of land,
spending his evenings in the house of Joshua Walden, with Robert and
Rachel to keep him company, especially Rachel. He found pleasure in
telling her the story of Ulysses and Penelope. Most of the young men
of Rumford who came to the Walden home could only talk about oxen,
which pair of steers could pull the heaviest load, or whose horse
could out-trot all others. When the surveying was done, Roger accepted
the invitation of the committeemen to keep the winter school. Never
before had there been a master who could keep the big boys in order
without using the ferule, but somehow the great strapping fellows, who
might have put the master on his back in a twinkling, could not find
it in their hearts to do anything that would trouble him. Other
masters were content if they went through the regular daily stint
of reading, writing, spelling, and ciphering, but he told them
about men who made the most of themselves, and who had done great
things,--Caesar, Augustus, Charlemagne, Alfred the Great.
It was the schoolmaster who suggested that the people should meet once
a week in the schoolhouse to discuss the great questions affecting the
welfare of the Colonies, and who wrote out the questions to be
considered:--
"What are the inalienable rights of the people?"
"Has Parliament any right to tax the people of America
without their consent?"
"Is it right ever to resist the authority of the king?"
"Ought the Colonies to unite for self-defense?"
"Ought the Colonies, in any event, to separate from
England?"
People from the back roads came to hear what Esquire Walden, Deacon
Kent, Shoemaker Noyes, Blacksmith Temple, and Schoolmaster Stanley had
to say upon these questions before the parliament of the people, in
the schoolhouse, lighted by two tallow candles and the fire blazing on
the hearth. King George and Frederick North might have learned some
fundamental principles of government, had they been present.
Like sitting in heavenly places were the mornings and evenings to
Roger Stanley in the Walden home, where he passed the first and the
last two weeks of the term. The food upon the table was appetizing;
deft hands had prepared the bannock--Rachel's hands. The plates,
knives, and forks had been laid by her. It was she who glided like a
fairy around the room. How could his eyes help following her? And when
seated at the table, how radiant her face, beaming with health! In the
early morning, long before breakfast-time, he heard her feet tripping
down the stairs. While about her work, he could hear her humming a
song which he had sung to her. Very pleasant the "good-morning" that
came from her lips when he appeared. In the evening it was a pleasure
to hold a skein of yarn for her to wind. He was sorry when the last
thread dropped from his wrists, and wished she had another for him to
hold.
It was the old, old story; the growth of mutual respect, honor, and
love, becoming daily more tender and true; the love that needed no
pledge, because it was so deep and abiding.
XII.
A NEW ENGLAND GIRL.
Lord Upperton was prolonging his stay in America. He visited New York
and Philadelphia, and was once more in Boston. He called upon Thomas
Hutchinson, governor; upon Thomas Flucker, secretary; and upon the
officials of the Custom House. He accepted many invitations to dinner
from gentlemen and ladies, and took excursions into the country on
horseback. Lady Frankland hospitably entertained him in her country
house, where he enjoyed himself shooting squirrels and partridges.
Returning to Boston, he frequently called to pay his respects to Mr.
and Mrs. Newville, never failing to ask for Miss Newville, prolonging
his calls till past the ringing of the nine o'clock bell. He was very
courteous, and had many entertaining stories to tell of life in
England, of his ancestral home at Halford. The old castle was gray
with age; the ivy, ever green upon its towers, hanging in graceful
festoons from the battlements. Herds of deer roamed the surrounding
park; pheasants crooned and cackled beneath the stalwart oaks; hares
burrowed in the forest; nightingales made the midnight melodious with
their dulcet singing. Old tapestries adorned the walls of the spacious
apartments. In the banqueting halls were the portraits of
ancestors--lords, dukes, and earls reaching down to the first Earl
Upperton created by William of Normandy, for valor on the field of
Hastings. On the maternal side were portraits of beautiful ladies who
had been maids of honor and train-bearers at the coronations of
Margaret and Elizabeth. The brain of Ruth could not keep track of all
the branches of the ancestral tree; she could only conclude it was
stalwart and strong.
Lord Upperton was heartily welcomed by Mrs. Newville, who esteemed it
one of heaven's blessings to be thus honored. On an evening, after a
visit from his lordship, Mrs. Newville, with radiant face, drew Ruth
to her bosom. "My dear," she said, "I have joyful information for you.
Lord Upperton has done us the distinguished honor to say to your
father and me that he has become so much interested in our daughter
that he presumes to ask the privilege of paying his addresses to her.
It is not, Ruth, altogether a surprise to me, for I have seen his
growing fondness for you."
"Fondness for me, mother?"
"Yes, dear; he has not been able to keep his eyes off you of late. I
have noticed that if you had occasion to leave the room, he fidgeted
till you returned. We have given our consent, and he will call
to-morrow evening to make a formal proposal to you."
"But I do not desire he should make a proposal to me, mother!"
"Don't want him to make an offer of marriage, child! Why, Ruth, what
are you thinking of? Not wish to receive the attentions of a noble
lord! I am astonished. Do you forget that he can trace his lineage
down to the time of William the Conqueror, and I don't know how much
farther? You surprise me!"
"I doubt not Lord Upperton may have a noble ancestry, but I don't see
how that concerns me. I am not going to marry his ancestors, am I?"
"Why, daughter, he has a crest,--an escutcheon of azure, sable, and
sanguine, a lion rampant, a unicorn passant, and an eagle volent."
"What would a crest do for me?"
The question puzzled Mrs. Newville. "I really do not know, daughter,
just what it would do, but it would be painted on your coach; it would
be embroidered on the banners hanging in Lord Upperton's baronial
hall. Just think of it! The lion, the emblem of strength, the unicorn
of energy, the eagle of swiftness and far-sightedness,--it would
represent all those qualities!"
"But what if one has not the qualities?"
"I am not so sure, daughter, but that you have those very
characteristics in a remarkable degree. I know you have strength of
will and energy. What you undertake you carry through; and you are
far-sighted, you see what others of your age do not see. I do not say
it to flatter you, daughter, but I am sure Lord Upperton's
coat-of-arms is emblematic of the character of the lady whom he wishes
to see mistress of Halford Castle," said Mrs. Newville, with radiant
face.
It seemed to her that the fond hope of years was about to be realized;
that the time was at hand when the Newville family was to be ennobled;
when she, herself, could bid farewell to America, and be admitted to
the charmed society of dukes, barons, princes, kings, and queens.
"Lord Upperton will call to-morrow evening, dear, and I will have
Madame Riggoletti come in the afternoon to do your hair. You had
better wear your corn-colored satin brocade, which is so becoming to
you."
"No, mother, I do not wish to wear it. I prefer to dress plainly. I
want Lord Upperton to see me just as I am, a simple girl, who has had
few advantages to fit her for the life in which he moves. I cannot
appear to be what I am not."
Ruth paused a moment as if considering whether she should speak the
words upon her lips.
"Lord Upperton, you say, desires to pay his addresses to me and you
have given consent. It is an honor for any lady to receive attentions
from a gentleman of superior station, but I cannot promise you,
mother, that I shall look with favor upon his suit, honorable though
it may be."
It was said calmly but with resolution.
"I dare say, daughter, you may think so now. It is quite natural. It
is just what I said when my mother informed me that Theodore, your
father, had asked permission to pay his addresses to me. I said I
would not see him; but I did, and have been very glad ever since.
After a little while, I used to listen for his footsteps. There were
none like his. He always called Thursday evening after the
lecture,[49] and I used to sit by the window an hour before it was
time for him to put in an appearance, looking for him. So it will be
with you, child. Now go to bed, dear, and think of the great honor
which Lord Upperton is conferring upon us in asking for your hand!"
[Footnote 49: The lecture on Thursday of each week was instituted by
the Puritans soon after the settlement of Boston. There was a moral if
not a legal obligation upon every person to attend it. Consequently in
the earlier years of the Colony all business ceased, shops were
closed, usual occupations suspended, and the entire community flocked
to the meetinghouse of the parish to listen to the discourse of the
minister. At the time this story begins, the obligation was not quite
so binding as in former years.]
"Shall I give him my hand, if I cannot at the same time give him my
heart?" Ruth asked, her earnest eyes scanning her mother's face.
"Oh, but you will do both, dear. Many a girl has asked the same
question at first, but soon found that the heart and hand went
together."
"I think," Ruth replied, "if one may judge from outward appearances,
there are some women who have given their hands to their husbands, but
never their hearts. I see faces, now and then, which make me think of
what I have read descriptive of deserts where there is no water to
quench the thirst, no oasis with its green palms giving grateful shade
from the summer heat,--faces that tell of hunger and thirst for the
bread and water of love and sympathy."
"You fancy it is so, and possibly here and there you may find a
mismated couple, but, daughter, you will see things in a different
light when once you get acquainted with Lord Upperton. I believe there
is not another girl in Boston who would not jump at such a catch. You
may not fancy him this moment, but in a short time you will say there
is not another like him in all the world. You feel just as I did
towards Theodore. At first, I almost hated him, because he presumed to
ask permission to visit me, but now he is the best man that ever
lived. Just think of the offer that has come to you in contrast with
what your father had to offer me. Lord Upperton brings you his high
station in life, his nobility, his long line of ancestors, a barony, a
castle with its ivied walls, a retinue of servants, his armorial
bearings inscribed on banners borne by Crusaders. He will offer you
rank, wealth, privilege, honor at his majesty's court. Theodore had
only himself to offer me. He was not much then, but he is more now. I
have done what I could to make him what he is, and now our daughter
has the prospect of wearing laces such as are worn by duchesses; to be
received at court; to be spoken of as Her Grace. Now to bed, dear, and
be happy in thinking it over."
"But I do not love Lord Upperton, nor shall I ever care for him."
"Don't talk in that way, Ruth. You think so now, but when you are once
married and begin to enjoy what will be yours,--a coach, waiting-maids
to do your bidding, and are invited to the court of his majesty the
king, and preside over your own table in the great baronial hall, with
the high-born gentlemen and ladies doing you honor, it stands to
reason that you will love him who brings these things to you."
"You speak, mother, of the society in which I shall move, but I have
no taste for such associations."
"Tush, child; you know nothing about it."
"Lord Upperton has given me a description of the employment and
pleasures of the society in which he moves, and I have no desire to
enter it. I shall not find happiness in its circles. I want to be just
what I am, your daughter, in our happy home."
"But, Ruth, you cannot always be with us. Your father and I earnestly
desire your future welfare and happiness. I am sure he will be
surprised and pained to hear that you do not wish to receive the
attentions of Lord Upperton."
Mr. Newville entered the room. He saw the trouble on the face of his
daughter.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Ruth thinks she never can love Lord Upperton and does not desire to
receive his attentions, but I have told her it is only a present whim,
just as mine was towards you."
"Of course, daughter," said Mr. Newville, with fatherly dignity, "it
could hardly be expected you would feel any very strong attachment for
Lord Upperton on so short an acquaintance. Conjugal love is a plant of
slow growth, but I think you would, ere long, appreciate the great
honors and the high privileges which he would confer upon you, and
that your heart would go out to him."
The troubled look upon the face of the daughter became more intense.
Her father as well as her mother would have her receive the attentions
of a man between whom and herself there was no possible sympathy. What
should she say? A tear trickled down her cheek: she made no movement
to wipe it away, but lifted her loving eyes and gazed steadily into
her father's.
"Since you both so earnestly desire it I will meet Lord Upperton
to-morrow evening and hear what he has to say," she replied.
"You could hardly do otherwise. I think the more you see of him the
better you will like him," said Mr. Newville.
"Of course you will, my child; and now, dear, think it over in your
chamber. I am sure you will see that a great opportunity has come to
you," said Mrs. Newville, giving her a kiss.
It was a summer night. The air was fragrant with the perfume of lilacs
and apple-blooms. The young moon was going down in the west, throwing
its departing beams upon the unfinished tower of King's Chapel. Ruth,
looking out from her white-curtained window, beheld a handful of cloud
drift across the crescent orb and dissolve in thin air. She could hear
the footsteps of passers along the street growing fainter as they
receded. The bell on the Old Brick Meetinghouse struck the hour, and
then, in the distance, she heard the watchman's voice, "Ten o'clock,
and all is well." With perturbed spirit, she laid her head upon the
white linen pillow which her own deft hands had made. So Lord Upperton
was to solicit her heart and hand, and she had consented to meet him.
What should she say to him? Why should he, having an acquaintance with
the noble families of England, come across the sea and offer his
attentions to an obscure New England girl, and desire to make her
mistress at Halford Castle? Ought she not to feel flattered in having
a noble lord for a lover? The thought did not stir her blood. Why was
she averse to receiving his attentions? What was there about him that
made the thought repellent? Was he not a gentleman? Was he not
polite? Did he not show proper respect not only to herself but to
everybody? Why not make an effort to overcome her repugnance to him?
Would any other girl in Boston or anywhere else hesitate a moment over
such an opportunity as had come to her to be called My Lady,--to be
mistress of a ducal castle,--a position of power and influence among
the lords and ladies of the kingdom? To have diamonds and pearls? To
have precedence over others of lower station in social life? Questions
came in troops before her; vain her attempts to answer them.
Again the deep tones of the bell rang upon the still night air, and
once more she heard the watchman's voice announce the hour. For a
moment it interrupted her reverie, but again the questioning went on.
Her father and mother not only had given their consent for Lord
Upperton to make proposal, but they earnestly desired she should
become his wife. She could understand the motives that animated them.
She was her father's idol, her mother's joy--very dear to them. Were
they not ever doing what they could for her? Would not her marriage to
Lord Upperton contribute to their happiness? Might not her father,
through Lord Upperton's influence at court, attain a more exalted
position? Would not her marriage fill her mother's life with
happiness? Would it be an exhibition of filial duty were she to
disappoint them? And yet, what right had they to make a decision for
her when her own life's happiness was concerned? Was she not her own?
Had she not a right to do as she pleased? Ought she to sacrifice
herself to their selfish interests? She did not like to think it was
wholly selfishness on their part, but rather an earnest desire to
provide for her future welfare. Ought she not to abide their judgment
as to what was best for her? Could she ever be happy with Lord
Upperton? Could she find pleasure in fine dressing, card playing, and
masquerading as he had described them? What would such a life be
worth? Were position in society, pleasure, gratification of self, to
be the end and aim of life? There seemed to be another somebody beside
herself propounding the questions; as if an unseen visitor were
standing by her bedside in the silent night. Was she awake or
dreaming? She had heard the great lawyer, James Otis, put questions to
a witness in a court where her father in his judicial robe sat as
magistrate. It seemed as if she herself had been summoned to a
tribunal, and one more searching than the great lawyer was putting
questions which she must answer. Should she give her hand to Lord
Upperton and keep back her heart? Ought she to allow prospective
pleasure or position to influence her choice? Could she in any way
barter her future welfare for the present life and for the larger life
beyond? Was Lord Upperton of such lofty character that she could
render him honor and respect, even if she could not give to him a
loving heart?
In the half-dreaming hour another face looked down upon her--the face
of him, who, in a time of agony, had been as an angel of God, rescuing
her from the hands of ruffians. Oh, if it were he who solicited
permission to pay his addresses, how would she lean her head upon his
bosom and rest contentedly clasped forever by those strong and loving
arms! Through the intervening months his face had been ever present.
She lived again the hour of their first meeting, that of the afternoon
tea-party, the launching of the Berinthia Brandon, the ride in the
pung. She had received several letters from him, which were laid
carefully away in her writing-desk. Many times had they been read and
with increasing pleasure. He had not declared his undying love for
her; the declaration was unwritten, but it was between the lines. He
wanted to be more than he was, and she could help him. He wanted to do
something for justice, truth, and liberty; to stand resolutely with
those who were ready to make sacrifices for their fellow-men. What a
sentence was this: "I want to be better than I am; I want to do
something to make the world better than it is; and you are pointing
the way."
Ever as she read the words her eyes had filled with tears. She
pointing the way! Those words in one end of the scale, and Halford
Castle and everything connected with it in the other, and the writing
tipped the beam.
The night was sultry; her pulses bounding; her brow hot with fever.
She sat by the window to breathe the pure air. The stars were shining
in their ethereal brightness; the dipper was wheeling around the polar
star; the great white river, the milky way, was illumining the arch of
heaven. She thought of Him who created the gleaming worlds. Beneath
her window the fireflies were lighting their lamps, and living their
little lives. She could hear the swallows crooning in their nests
beneath the eaves.
"He made them; He cares for them; He will care for me," she said to
herself. The night air cooled her brow, a holy peace and calm came to
her troubled heart. Kneeling, she repeated as her prayer the psalm
which the rector had read on Sunday.
"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High
Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge, and my strength.
My God, in Him will I trust."
In white garments, without adornment, Ruth Newville courtesied to Lord
Upperton the following evening as he entered the parlor. Never before
had she seemed to him, or to her father and mother, so beautiful, so
sweet, and pure.
"Miss Newville," he said, "I take it for granted that you have been
duly informed of the purpose of my visit this evening."
"I have, my lord."
"I come to offer you my hand and heart. I have been charmed by your
qualities of character and your beauty, and I fain would make you
mistress of Halford Castle. I am soon to return to England, and I
desire to take you with me as my bride. I have received the gracious
permission of your honored parents to begin my suit, and I fondly hope
that I may receive an affirmative answer from your lips."
"My lord, I am not insensible of the honor you confer upon me, but I
am not worthy of it. I am an obscure girl. I am not fitted to fill the
exalted station in which you desire to place me."
"Pardon me, Miss Newville, I have met many a fair maiden, but none so
charming as the flower which I desire to transplant from the Colonies
to old England. My best judgment has selected you from them all."
"My lord, I appreciate your kind words, and what you would give
me--your honor, respect, and love, and an exalted social position. I
have heard from your lips somewhat concerning the life you would
expect me to lead,--the society in which you would have me move. I
trust you will pardon my frankness, but it does not attract me."
"I can quite understand you, dear Miss Newville; it is natural that
you should shrink from such a change, but I am sure you would adorn
the position."
"More than what I have said, my lord, I do not think I should be happy
in such a position."
"Oh, I think you would. Certainly, it would be my desire to place
before you every advantage that could contribute to your welfare and
happiness. The nobility of the realm would follow in your train. You
would captivate them with your grace and beauty. No party, rout, or
ball would be complete without you. I am sure that her most gracious
majesty the queen would desire your presence at court to grace her
receptions."
"You flatter me, my lord, but I do not think that fine dressing, the
adornment of pearls and diamonds, promenading, dancing, card playing,
and masquerading would give me the highest happiness. I think that
life has a nobler meaning. I should despise myself if I made them the
end and aim of my existence."
Lord Upperton could not quite comprehend her. He was aware that
across the sea many a mamma was laying her plans to make her daughter
mistress of Halford, and the daughters had looked at him with
languishing eyes, but here was a girl, guileless and pure, who was
putting aside the great boon he would gladly bestow upon her. He must
set before her the greatness of the gift. He described his estate--its
parks, meadows, groves of oak, the herds of deer, flocks of pheasants;
the rooms of the castle, the baronial hall, with antlers nailed upon
the beams and rafters, banners that had been carried by ancestors at
Crecy and Agincourt. He pictured life in London, scenes in Parliament,
the queen's drawing-rooms, the pageantry and etiquette at St. James's.
Miss Newville heard him in silence.
"Whatever there is to be had, whatever will contribute to your
happiness, I shall lay at your feet, dear Miss Newville."
What should she say to him? How inform him that all the pageantry of
King George's court, all the wealth inherited from his ancestors, was
of little account in her esteem when set against eternal verities, and
one of those verities was fidelity to the conviction that she must be
true to herself.
"My lord," she said, "you may think me unappreciative; you may regard
me as strange, but I must be true to myself. I cannot do violence to
my better nature. I cannot barter my convictions. I could honor and
respect you, but something more would be your due; that I could not
give you. I could not make you happy, and I should forever despise
myself."