THE quaint old house, and the straggling, half-kept grounds at Isleham
were never lovelier than that spring. Sometimes the extreme quiet and
repose had weighed upon Olivia’s spirits as it would upon any other
young and vigorous nature. But now she had a good deal of a certain
sort of excitement. She was country-bred, and naturally turned to
the country for any home feeling she might have. The Colonel and
Petrarch were a little bored at first. Both missed the social life at
Washington. Pete had been a success in his own circle. His ruffled
shirt-front, copied from his master’s, had won infinite respect among
his own color. As for the natty white footmen and coachmen, their
opinion and treatment, even their jeers, he regarded with lofty
indifference, and classed them as among the poorest of poor white trash.
His religion, too, had struck terror to those of the Washington darkies
to whom he had had a chance to expound it. His liberal promises of
eternal damnation, “an’ sizzlin’ an’ fryin’ in perdition, wid de devil
bastin’ ’em wid de own gravy,” had not lost force even through much
repetition. “Ole marse,” Petrarch informed Olivia, “he cuss ’bout dem
dam towns, an’ say he aint had nuttin’ fittin’ ter eat sence he lef’
Verginny. Ole marse, he jis’ maraudin’ an’ cussin’ ’cause he aint got
nuttin’ ter do. I lay he gwi’ back naix’ year. Ef he does, I got some
preachments ter make ter dem wuffless niggers d’yar, totin’ de sins
’roun’ like twuz’ gol’ an’ silver.”
It seemed as if Olivia were destined to suffer a good deal of secret
mortification on Pembroke’s account. That last neglect of his had cut
her to the soul. She had waked up to the fact, however, that Pembroke
had taken his first rebuff in good earnest, and that nothing was left
for her but that hollow pretense of friendship which men and women who
have been, or have desired to be, more to each other, must affect. It
was rather a painful and uncomfortable feeling to take around with her,
when listening to Mrs. Peyton’s vigorous talk, or the Rev. Mr. Cole’s
harmless sermons, and still more harmless conversation. But it was
there, and it was unconquerable, and she must simply adjust the burden
that she might bear it.
The county was full of talk about Pembroke’s speech. The older people
were sure that some information of his father’s great speeches in
their court-house about 1849 must have reached Washington, and that
Pembroke’s future was predicated upon them. Then there was a good deal
in the newspapers about it. The Richmond papers printed the speech in
full, together with a genealogical sketch of his family since the first
Pembroke came over, with a grant of land from Charles the Second in
his pocket. Likewise, Pembroke’s success was attributed almost wholly
to his ancestry, and he himself was considered to have had a merely
nominal share in it.
It was the long session of Congress, and there was no talk of
Pembroke’s returning to the county. Whenever he did come, though, it
was determined to give him a public dinner.
One afternoon in May, about the same time of year that Pembroke and
Olivia had had their pointed conversation in the garden, Olivia was
trimming her rose-bushes. She was a famous gardener, and a part of
every morning and afternoon she might have been found looking after
her shrubs and flowers. Sometimes, with a small garden hoe, she might
have been seen hoeing vigorously, much to Petrarch’s disgust, who
remonstrated vainly.
“Miss ’Livy, yo’ mar never did no sech a thing. When she want hoein’
done, she sen’ fur Susan’s Torm, an’ Simon Peter an’ Unc’ Silas’ Jake.
She didn’t never demean herself wid no hoe in her han’.”
“But I haven’t got Susan’s Tom, nor Simon Peter nor Uncle Silas’ Jake.
And besides, I am doing it because I like it.”
“Fur Gord A’mighty’s sake, Miss ’Livy, doan’ lemme hear dat none o’ de
Berkeleys likes fur ter wuk. De Berkeleys allus wuz de gentlefolks o’
de county. Didn’t none on ’em like ter wuk. Ketch ole marse wukkin!
Gord warn’t conjurin’ ’bout de fust families when He say, ‘By de sweat
o’ de brow dey shall scuffle fer de vittals.’ He mos’ p’intedly warn’t
studyin’ ’bout de Berkeleys, ’kase dey got dat high an’ mighty sperrit
dey lay down an’ starve ’fo’ dey disqualify deyselfs by wukkin’.”
But Olivia stuck bravely to her plebeian amusement. On this particular
afternoon she was not hoeing. She was merely snipping off straggling
wisps from the great rose-trees--old-fashioned “maiden’s blush,” and
damasks. She was thinking, as, indeed, she generally did when she found
herself employed in that way, of Pembroke and that unlucky afternoon
six years ago.
Before she knew it Pembroke was advancing up the garden walk. In a
moment they were shaking hands with a great assumption of friendliness.
Olivia could not but wonder if he remembered the similarity between
that and just such another spring afternoon in the same place. Pembroke
looked remarkably well and seemed in high spirits.
“The Colonel was out riding--and I did not need Pete’s directions to
know that you were very likely pottering among your flowers at this
time.”
“Pottering is such a senile kind of a word--you make me feel I am in my
dotage. Doddering is the next step to pottering. And this, I remember,
is the first chance I have had to congratulate you in person on your
speech. Papa gives your father and your grandfather the whole credit. I
asked him, however, when he wrote you to give my congratulations.”
“Which he did. It was a very cold and clammy way of felicitating a
friend.”
Olivia said nothing, but she could not restrain an almost imperceptible
lifting of the brows.
“The result of that speech has been,” continued Pembroke, after a
little pause, “that I am in public life to stay as long as I can. That
means that I shall never be a rich man. Honest men, in these times,
don’t get rich on politics.”
A brilliant blush came into Olivia’s face at that. In the midst of
suggestive circumstances Pembroke seemed determined to add suggestive
remarks.
“But I hardly think you could take that into consideration,” she
answered, after a moment. “A man’s destiny is generally fixed by his
talents. You will probably not make a great fortune, but you may make a
great reputation--and to my way of thinking the great reputation is the
more to be coveted.”
“Did you always think so?”
“Always.”
Then there came an awkward pause. Olivia was angry with him for asking
the first question, but Pembroke seemed determined to pursue it.
“Even when I asked you to marry me on this very spot, six years ago?
Then I understood that you could not marry a poor man.”
“Then,” said Olivia, calmly, and facing him, “you very much
misunderstood me. I did think, as I think now, that poverty is a weight
about the neck of a public man. But I can say truthfully, that it was
_your_ ability to cope with it, rather than mine, that I feared.”
“And it seems to me,” said Pembroke, calmly, “on looking back, that I
was a little too aggressive--that I put rather a forced construction on
what you said--and that I was very angry.”
“I was angry, too--and it has angered me every time I have thought of
it in these six years, that I was made to appear mercenary, when I am
far from it--that a mere want of tact and judgment should have marked
me in your esteem--or anybody else’s, for that matter--as a perfectly
cold and calculating woman.”
She was certainly very angry now.
“But if I was wrong,” said Pembroke, in a low, clear voice--for he used
the resources of his delightful voice on poor Olivia as he had done on
many men and some women before--“I have paid the price. The humiliation
and the pangs of six years ago were much--and then, the feeling that,
after all, there was but one woman in the world for me--ah, Olivia,
sometimes I think you do not know how deep is the hold you took upon
me. You would have seen in all these years, that however I might try, I
could not forget you.”
Olivia was not implacable.
* * * * *
When they came in the house, the Colonel was come, and in a gale of
good humor. He had, however, great fault to find with Pembroke’s
course. He was too conciliatory--too willing to forget the blood shed
upon the battlefields of Virginia--and then and there they entered
upon a political discussion which made the old-fashioned mirrors on
the drawing-room wall ring again. The Colonel brought down his fist
and raved. “By Jove, sir, this is intolerable. My black boy, Petrarch
(Petrarch continued to be the Colonel’s boy), knows more about the
subject than you do; and he’s the biggest fool I ever saw. I’ll be
hanged, sir, if your statements are worth refuting.” Pembroke withstood
the sortie gallantly, and at intervals charged the enemy in splendid
style, reducing the Colonel to oaths and splutterings and despair.
Olivia sat in a low chair by the round mahogany table, on which the
old-fashioned lamp burned softly, casting mellow lights and shades
upon her graceful figure. Occasionally a faint smile played about her
eyes--whereat Pembroke seemed to gain inspiration, and attacked the
Colonel’s theories with renewed vigor.
Upon the Colonel’s invitation he remained all night--the common mode of
social intercourse in Virginia. Next morning, the Colonel was ripe for
argument. Pembroke, however, to his immense disgust, refused to enter
the lists and spent the morning dawdling with Olivia in the garden.
About noon, the Colonel, in a rage sent Petrarch after the renegades.
Three times did he return without them. The fourth time Petrarch’s
patience was exhausted.
“Marse French, fur de Lord’s sake come ter ole marse. He done got de
sugar in de glasses, an’ de ice cracked up, an’ he fyarly stan’nin’ on
he hade. He got out all dem ole yaller _Richmun Exameters_, printed
fo’ de wah, an’ he say he gwi’ bust yo’ argifyins’ all ter pieces. He
mighty obstroporous, an’ you better come along.”
To this pathetic appeal Pembroke at last responded. Olivia, with
downcast face, walked by his side. The Colonel was very much worked up
and “mighty discontemptuous,” as Petrarch expressed it.
“This is the third time, sir--” he began to roar.
“Never mind, Colonel,” replied Pembroke, laughing. “We will have a
plenty of time to quarrel. Olivia has promised to marry me in the
summer.”
“By Gad, sir--”
“Have a cigar. Now, where did we leave off last night? Oh, the Virginia
Resolutions of 1798.”
D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS.
_ON THE PLANTATION._ By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, author of “Uncle Remus.”
With 23 Illustrations by E. W. KEMBLE, and Portrait of the Author.
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The most personal and in some respects the most important work which
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stirring incidents which appear in the story, the author presents a
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_ELINE VERE._ By LOUIS COUPERUS. Translated from the Dutch by J. T.
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_STRAIGHT ON._ A story of a boy’s school-life in France. By the author
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respect.”--_Charleston News and Courier._
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ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF “COLETTE.”
_THE STORY OF COLETTE_, a new, large-paper edition. With 36
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characterized by a knowledge of human nature and a mastery of style
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no question that it is one of the prettiest, most artistic, and in
every way charming stories that French fiction has been honored with
for a long time.”--_New York Tribune._
_HERMINE’S TRIUMPHS._ A Story for Girls and Boys. By MADAME COLOMB.
With 100 Illustrations. 8vo. Cloth.
The popularity of this charming story of French home life, which has
passed through many editions in Paris, has been earned by the sustained
interest of the narrative, the sympathetic presentation of character,
and the wholesomeness of the lessons which are suggested. One of the
most delightful books for girls published in recent years. It is bound
uniformly with “Straight On.”
New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
On pages 14 and 43, misspellings of Berkeley have been corrected.
On page 22, Weisbaden has been changed to Wiesbaden.
On page 38, homelike has been changed to home-like.
On pages 61 and 65, Madam has been changed to Madame.
On page 88, attorney general has been changed to attorney-general.
On page 124, neverthless has been changed to nevertheless.
On page 145, increduously has been changed to incredulously.
On page 156, restlessless has been changed to restlessness.
On page 167, “be be afraid” has been changed to “be afraid”.
On page 177, courtsy has been changed to courtesy.
On page 214, committe has been changed to committee.
All occurrences of drawing room has been changed to drawing-room.
Other minor changes have been made to puncuation, to conform to
standard usage.
Dialect has not been regularized.
All other hyphenation and variant spellings have been retained.