The spring came, with all its genial influences. Not now with such
expeditions as the last spring had seen, but with letters to take their
place, and with walks of business and kindness instead of pleasure.
Yes, of pleasure too; and Faith began to find her "knight" not only a
help and safeguard, but good company. Reuben was so true, so simple and
modest--was walking in such a swift path of improvement; was so devoted
to Faith and her interests, besides the particular bond of sympathy
between them, that she might have had many a brother and fared much
worse. The intercourse had not changed its character
outwardly--Reuben's simple ceremonial of respect and deference was as
strict as ever; but the thorough liking of first acquaintanceship had
deepened into very warm affection on both sides. With Dr. Harrison
Reuben gained no ground--or the doctor did not with him. Though often
working for him and with him, though invariably courteous with the most
respectful propriety, Faith could see that Reuben's old feeling was
rather on the increase.
With the spring thaw came a freshet. It came suddenly, at the end of
the week; every river and stream rising into a full tide of
insurrection with the melting snows of Saturday, and Saturday night
bridges and mill dams went by the board. Among the rest, one of the
railway bridges near Pattaquasset gave way, and a full train from the
east set down its freight of passengers in Pattaquasset over Sunday.
They amused themselves variously--as such freight in such circumstances
is wont to do. Faith knew that the church was well filled that Sunday
morning, but the fact or the cause concerned her little--did not
disturb the quiet path of her thoughts and steps, until church was out
and she coming home, alone that day, as it happened. Then she found the
walk full and _her_ walk hindered. Especially by two gentlemen--who as
the others thinned off, right and left, still went straight on; not
fast enough to get away from Faith nor slow enough for her to pass
them. They were strangers, evidently, and town bred. One of them
reminded Faith of Dr. Harrison, in dress and style--both belonged to a
class of which she had seen few specimens. But she gave them little
heed (save as they detained her,) nor cared at all for their discussion
of the weather, or the place. Then suddenly her attention was caught
and held.
"By the way!" said one--"this is the very place where Linden was so
long."
"Who? Endecott Linden?" said Dr. Harrison's likeness. "What was he here
for?"
"Teaching school."
"Teaching school!" echoed the other,--"Endecott Linden teaching
school!--Pegasus in pound!--How did the rustics catch him?"
"Pegasus came of his own accord, if I remember."
"Pshaw, yes!--but Linden. For what conceivable reason did he let
himself down to teach school?"
"He didn't--" said the other a little hotly. "He wouldn't let himself
down if he turned street-sweeper."
"True--he has a sort of natural dais which he carries about with
him,--I suppose he'd make the crossing the court end. But I say, what
did he do _this_ for?"
"Why--for money!" said the first speaker. "What an ado about nothing!"
"Inconceivable! Just imagine, George, a man who can sing as he does,
teaching a, b, ab!"
"Well--imagine it," said George,--"and then you'll wish you were six
years old to have him teach _you_."
"How cross you are," said his friend lazily. "And despotic. Was there
nothing left of all that immense property? I've just come home, you
know."
"Not much," said George. "A little--but Endecott wouldn't touch
that--it was all put at interest for Miss Pet. He would have it so, and
even supported her as long as she staid in the country. What he works
so hard for now I don't understand."
"Works, does he? I thought he was studying for the church--going to
bury himself again. It's a crying shame! why he might be member,
minister, Secretary, President!"
"He!" cried George in hot disdain,--"he soil his fingers with politics!
No--he's in the right place now,--there's no other pure enough for him."
"I didn't know you admired the church so much," said his friend
ironically.
"I don't--only the place in it where he'll stand. That's grand."
"And so he's at work yet?"
"Yes indeed--and it puzzles me. That year here ought to have carried
him through his studies."
"Why what can he do?--not teach school now,--he's no time for it."
"He can give lessons--and does. Makes the time, I suppose. You know he
has learned about everything _but_ Theology. Olyphant was telling me
about it the other day."
"What a strange thing!" said the other musingly, "such a family, so
swept overboard! What a house that was! You remember his mother,
George?"
"I should think so!--and the way Endecott used to sing to her every
night, no matter who was there."
"Yes," said the doctor's confrère--"and come to her to be kissed
afterwards. I should have laughed at any other man--but it set well on
him. So did her diamond ring in his hair, which she was so fond of
handling. How did he make out to live when she died?"
"I don't know--" said George with a half drawn breath--a little
reverently too: "I suppose he could tell you. But all that first year
nobody saw him--unless somebody in need or sorrow: _they_ could always
find him. He looked as if he had taken leave of the world--except to
work for it."
"How courted he used to be!"--said the other--"how petted--_not_
spoiled, strange to say. Do you suppose he'll ever marry, George? will
he ever find any one to suit his notions? He's had enough to choose
from already--in Europe and here. What do they say of him off
yonder--where he is now?"
"They say he's--rock crystal,--because ice will melt," said George. "So
I suppose his notions are as high as ever."
"You used to admire Miss Linden, if I remember," said his friend. "What
a ring that was!--I wonder if she's got it. George--I sha'n't walk any
further in this mud--turn about."
Which the two did, suddenly. Both stepped aside out of Faith's way, in
surprise--her light footfall had not made them lower their voices. But
in that moment they could see that she was a lady; in acknowledgment of
which fact the one gentleman bowed slightly, and the other lifted his
hat. Faith had thrown back her veil to hear better what they were
saying, not expecting so sudden an encounter; and as she passed, secure
in being a stranger, gave them both a view of as soft a pair of eyes as
they had either of them ever looked into, which also sought theirs with
a curious intentness, borne out by the high bright tinge which
excitement had brought into her cheeks. Both of them saw and
remembered, for swift as it was, the look was not one to forget. But
the glance added little to what Faith knew already about the strangers,
and she went on her way feeling as if a stricture had been bound tight
round her heart.
The words about Mr. Linden's fastidiousness she knew quite enough of
him to verify; and in the light of these people's talk it almost seemed
to Faith as if there had been some glamour about her--as if she should
some day prove to be "magician's coin" after all. But though the old
sense of unworthiness swept over her, Faith was not of a temper to
dwell long or heavily upon such a doubt. Her heart had been strangely
stirred besides by what was said of his mother, and his old way of
life, and his changes. She knew about them of course before; yet as a
trifle, the touching of a single ray, will often give a new view of an
old scene,--those side words of strangers set all Mr. Linden's time of
joy and sorrow with such vivid reality before her, that her heart was
like to break with it. That effect too, more or less, passed away from
her mind,--never entirely. Another thing staid.
"What he works so hard for now"--Then he was working hard! and doing
his own studies and correcting her French exercises, and giving her
lessons all the while, as well as to other people; and bringing her
gifts with the fruit of his work! And not an atom of it all could Faith
touch to change. She pondered it, and she knew it. She doubted whether
she could with any good effect venture so much as a remonstrance; and
the more Faith thought, the more this doubt resolved itself into
certainty. And all the while, he was working hard! Round that fact her
thoughts beat, like an alarmed bird round its nest; about as helplessly.
Mrs. Derrick thought Faith was more grave and abstracted than usual
that day, and sometimes thought so afterwards; that was all Faith made
known.
Dr. Harrison thought the same thing on the next occasion of his seeing
her, and on the next; or rather he thought she held off from him more
than usual; what the root of it might be he was uncertain. And
circumstances were unfavourable to the exactness of his observations
for some time thereafter.
It was yet early in March, when Mrs. Stoutenburgh took a very
troublesome and tedious fever, which lasted several weeks. It was
reckoned dangerous, part of the time, and Mrs. Derrick and Faith were
in very constant attendance. Faith especially, for Mrs. Stoutenburgh
liked no one else so well about her; and gratitude and regard made her
eager to do all she might. So daily and nightly she was at Mrs.
Stoutenburgh's bedside, ministering to her in all the gentle offices of
a nurse, and in that line besides where Mr. Linden had declared Dr.
Harrison but half knew his profession. And there, and about this work,
Dr. Harrison met her.
Their meetings were of necessity very often; but no lectures, nor
discussions, nor much conversation, were now possible. Faith felt she
had a vantage ground, and used it The doctor felt he had lost ground,
or at the least was not gaining; and against some felt but unrecognized
obstacle in his way his curiosity and passion chafed. He could see
Faith nowhere else now; she contrived not to meet him at home. She was
out with Reuben--or resting--or unavoidably busy, when he came there.
And Dr. Harrison knew the resting times were needed, and could only
fume against the business--in which he sometimes had some reason.
One day he found her at her post in the sick room, when Mrs.
Stoutenburgh had fallen asleep. It was towards the end of the
afternoon. An open Bible lay on the bed's side; and Faith sat there
resting her head on her hand. She was thinking how hard Mr. Linden was
working, and herself looking somewhat as if she were following his
example.
"What are you doing?" said the doctor softly.
"I have been reading to Mrs. Stoutenburgh."
"Feverish--" whispered the doctor.
"No;--she has gone to sleep."
"Tired her!--"
"No," said Faith with a smile, "it's resting. The Bible never tired any
one yet, that loved it--I think."
"Well people--" said the doctor.
"Sick people! You're mistaken, Dr. Harrison. Sick people most of all."
"Do you know that you will be sick next," said he gravely, "if you do
not take more care?"
A fair little smile denied any fear or care on that subject, but did
not satisfy the doctor.
"I do not approve of what you are doing," said he seriously.
"Reading this?"
"Even the same."
"But you are mistaken, Dr. Harrison," she said gently. "There is
nothing so soothing, to those that love it. I wish you loved it! Don't
you remember you confessed to me once that somebody had told you you
had but half learned your profession?"
Faith trembled, for she had said those last words wittingly. She could
not have spoken them, if the light in the room had not been such as to
hide her change of colour; and even then she dared not speak the name
she alluded to. But she had said it half as a matter of conscience.
It drew forth no answer from the doctor, for Mrs. Stoutenburgh just
then stirred and awoke. And Faith little guessed the train she had
touched. There were no indications of manner; and she could not, as Dr.
Harrison went leisurely down the stairs, see the tremendous bound his
mind made with the question,--
"Is it _that book_ that stands in my way?--or HE!"