I had heard much of Jackson and all his works of wonder: as the victor
at New Orleans, the greatest hater of England, as the firm friend of the
Union against the rebellion of South Carolina, as the foe of the bank,
as the most picturesque figure in America. He was living in retirement
at Nashville. And to see this man! To see Douglas with him! Abigail
laughed at me for my enthusiasm. But also I was to see Dorothy, and to
make up my mind once for all--rather, to get Dorothy to do so.
When we arrived in Nashville, making arrangements so that I should not
miss the visit to Jackson's house and the meeting between Douglas and
Jackson, I went to see Dorothy. Mrs. Clayton met me at the door. She was
greatly surprised. But there was wonderful cordiality in her manner.
Dorothy was out for the time but would soon return. In the meanwhile
Mrs. Clayton was eager to hear about my life and about Chicago. I told
her more or less in detail the circumstances which had forced me to sell
the farm. As to Douglas, she was devoted to him for his defense of
Jackson. Jackson was a demigod to her and to the people of Tennessee.
She wished she could be present to see Douglas and Jackson meet. Why
could it not be arranged and for Dorothy too? They all knew the General
very well. He had been a friend of Mr. Clayton's. Where was I stopping?
Would I like to come to their house? My visit to Nashville was to be
brief; besides I wished to be with Douglas. She would like to entertain
him too. And thus we talked until Dorothy came in.
Dorothy knew before many minutes that I had not come especially to see
her. She had heard of Douglas' arrival, of Douglas' mission. Between her
mother's recapitulation of our talk and my own additions in her
presence, she learned of the events of my life that she did not already
know. I could see that she was very happy. And for myself it was an easy
reunion.
She too wished to see Douglas and be present at the "Hermitage." Why
not? She and her mother could easily presume upon the General's
hospitality. Still, would I not be kind enough to arrange it? I stayed
to the noonday meal with Dorothy and her mother. Then I went to the
hotel to tell Douglas that I would come to the "Hermitage" with them. I
did not find him at first. He had gone to pay a call upon Mr. Polk, who
had been nominated for the Presidency as a young hickory to Jackson's
"Old Hickory." He returned soon and was glad to have Mrs. Clayton and
Dorothy come to the "Hermitage." Then I went back to spend the
intervening time with Dorothy. She was truly lovely to me now. Her hair
was more glistening and more golden; her eyes more elfin; the arch of
her nose more patrician. She was gentle and tender. It seemed that all
misunderstandings between us had dissolved. We did not mention any of
the disagreeable things of the past. We communicated with each other
against a background of Zoe being dead, of my being gone from the farm.
Chicago, its growth, its color, its picturesque location by the great
lake, made her eyes dance. She could not hear enough of it. She had
outgrown the Cumberland hills. Her life was monotonous here. As I talked
to Dorothy I had a clearer vision of Abigail. I felt sure now that
Abigail had no magnetism for me. At the same time I began to recall what
I had thought of Dorothy: her southern ways, her aristocratic ideas, her
leisurely life, her cultural environment making for the lady, for the
Walter Scott romanticism. Chicago had blown the mists from my eyes. I
had lived under a clear sky, breathed rough and invigorating breezes.
Yet I was drawn to Dorothy. My mind was poised in a delicate balance.
And as I had impulsively given Zoe half the farm, I now suddenly
proposed to Dorothy while turning from Dorothy to Abigail and from
Abigail to Dorothy.
The afternoon was warm. The soft breeze was stirring the great trees,
the flowering bushes on the lawn. A distant bird was calling. The
Cumberland hills were dreaming beyond the river. And Dorothy suddenly
looked at me with eyes in which supernatural lights were burning
brightly. It was the look which in a woman comprehends and accepts the
man who is before her; it was the secret and sacred fire of nature
illuminating her vision and asking my vision to join hers in an
intuition of a mating. With that look I asked Dorothy to be my wife.
Her hands were lying loosely clasped in her lap. Her head was leaning
gracefully against the tree back of the settee. She closed her eyes;
gave my hand a responding clasp. "Be my wife, Dorothy," I repeated. "Do
you really love me?" she asked. "With all my heart," I said. And I did.
It had come to me in that moment. "Do you love me?" I asked. "I have
always loved you," she replied. "I have always admired you. I have
waited for you. I did not expect you to come. You see I am now
twenty-seven. I have not been able to care for any one else. I could not
marry you before; and I could not marry any one else in the interval.
Now I am very happy that you really love me." "I do love you, yes,
Dorothy, I have always loved you."
Dorothy sprang to her feet, clasping her hands and laughing. "Let's tell
mother, come." "What?" I asked. "Why, isn't there something to tell?"
"You haven't promised to marry me." "Oh!" exclaimed Dorothy, "does it
have to be by so many words? Very well, yes." She took my arm and we ran
to the house. We burst upon Mrs. Clayton and told her. "Oh, you
children!" exclaimed Mrs. Clayton, half crying and half laughing. "After
all this delay. I am so happy."
She took me by the shoulders, looked at me, drew me to her, and kissed
me. "Come," she said, "it's time to go to the 'Hermitage.'" And we got
into the phaeton hitched to a gentle old horse which Dorothy drove. We
entered the "Hermitage" and saw Douglas and the company and the hero of
New Orleans.
I presented Douglas to Mrs. Clayton and Dorothy. Then we went forward to
greet Jackson. I was introduced to him and I saw Douglas taken into the
arms of the great warrior and masterful President.
He was now in his 78th year, thin of face, spare of frame, his body all
sinew and nerve, his eyes brilliant with unextinguished fire. I loitered
near to hear what he would say to Douglas. He seemed to have a paternal
pride in the young Congressman. He entwined his arm with Douglas',
patted Douglas on the knee, looked into his brilliant and youthful face.
And after assuring Douglas that his whole life had been a devotion to
the law, he expressed deep gratitude for Douglas' defense. "I have
always had enemies," he said. "Now I am an old man and can do nothing
for myself, and so I am thankful to you."
The old hero's voice shook, his hand trembled. And Douglas looked down,
glowing with pride and saying: "I am proud to be your defender. You are
and always have been the object of my greatest admiration."
Mrs. Clayton, with a woman's tact, sought to relieve the tension of the
moment. She brought Dorothy and me to the General and said: "General, my
daughter has betrothed herself to this young man, Mr. Miles."
Jackson was seated upon a sofa. He arose, though with some difficulty,
and taking Dorothy's head between his hands, he pressed a reverential
kiss upon her brow. "I knew your father; he was a good man, a good
friend. Take my blessing." And to me he said: "Mind that you are always
a man with her and for her, and against all the world for her. She is
worth all your devotion."
The circumstances seemed to affect him profoundly. He turned away from
us, as if to hide his tears, leaving us standing in a group. Douglas
joined us and extended his congratulations, and we departed together,
Douglas to confer with Mr. Polk and the rest of us to return to the
Clayton mansion. For there was the wedding now to consider. I wanted to
take Dorothy back to Chicago with me.
Mrs. Clayton invited Douglas to take the evening meal at her house.
Dorothy joined in the request and I ventured to put in a word. Douglas
had to arrange then for a later call upon Mr. Polk.