Established fairly in that great Quilipeak hotel, Faith found her way
of life very pleasant. Mrs. Iredell was much in her own room, coming
out now and then for a while to watch the two young things at their
work. A pretty sight!--for some of _the_ work had been brought
along,--fast getting finished now, under the witching of "sweet
counsel." Miss Linden declared that for her part she was sorry it was
so near done,--what Faith thought about it she did not say.
Meantime, June was using her rosy wings day by day, and in another week
Mr. Linden might be looked for. Just what steamer he would take was a.
little uncertain, but from that time two people at least would begin to
hope, and a day or two before that time they were to go back to
Pattaquasset.
The week was near the ending--so was the work,--and in their pretty
parlour the two ladies wrought on as usual. The morning had been spent
in explorations with Reuben Taylor and Sam Stoutenburgh, and now it was
afternoon of a cool June day, with a fresh breeze scouting round to see
what sweets it could pick up, and coming in at the open window to
report. On the table was a delicate tinted summer muslin spread out to
receive its trimming, over which Faith and Miss Linden stood and
debated and laughed,--then Faith went back to her low seat in the
window and the hem of a pocket handkerchief. So--half looking out and
half in,--the quiet street sounds murmuring with the rustle of the many
elm leaves,--Faith sat, the wind playing Cupid to her Psyche; and Miss
Linden stood by the table and the muslin dress.
"Faith," she said contemplatively, "What flowers do you suppose
Endecott would get you to wear with this--out of a garden full?"
"It is difficult to tell"--said Faith; "he finds just what he wants,
just where I shouldn't look for it." And a vision of red oak-leaves,
and other illustrations, flitted across Faith's fancy.
"Very true," said Miss Linden,--"precisely what Aunt Iredell said when
she first saw you,--but I am inclined to think, that the first day you
appear in this you will see him appear with a bunch of white
roses--probably Lamarques; if--"
"Why Lamarques?" said Faith sewing away. "Pet, how pleasant this wind
is."
Miss Linden did not immediately answer. She stood resting her finger
tips on the muslin dress, looking down at it with an intentness that
might have seen through thicker stuff, the colour in her cheeks
deepening and deepening. "Why?" she said abstractedly,--"they're
beautiful--don't you think so?--Oh Faith!"--With a joyous clasp of the
hands she sprang to the window, and dropped the curtain like a screen
before her. There was no time to ask questions--nor need. Faith heard
the opening door, the word spoken to the waiter,--saw Mr. Linden
himself come in.
Pet sprang towards him with a joyful exclamation--an unselfish one, as
it seemed; for after a moment's concentrated embrace which embodied the
warmth of half a dozen, she disappeared out of the room. Mr. Linden
came forward, looking after her at first with surprise,--then as if a
possible explanation occurred to him, he stood still by the
mantelpiece, watching the door by which she had gone. Faith had waited
behind her screen--she could not have told why--utterly motionless for
that minute; then a little quick push sent the curtain aside, and she
came to him,
"Faith!" he exclaimed--"are you hiding from me?--My dear Mignonette--"
She hid from him then,--all her face could; for her gladness was of
that kind which banishes colour instead of bringing it. He let her
stand so a few minutes, himself very silent and still; then one hand
brought her face within reach.
"Little bird!" he said, "I have you safe now,--you need not flutter any
more!"
Perhaps that thought was hardly composing, for Faith's head drooped
yet, in a statue-like stillness. Not very unlike a bird on its rest
however, albeit her gravity was profound. And rest--to speak it
fairly--is a serious thing to anybody, when it has been in doubt or
jeopardy, or long withheld. What could be done to bring the colour
back, that Mr. Linden tried.
"Faith," he said, "is this all I am to have from your lips--of any
sort? Where did you get such pale cheeks, precious one?--did I frighten
you by coming so suddenly? You have not been ill again?"
"No,"--she said, raising her eyes for the first time to look fairly in
his face. But that look brought Faith back to herself; and though she
drooped her head again, it was for another reason, and her words were
in a different key. "We didn't expect you for a week more."
"No--because I didn't want you to be watching the winds. Mignonette,
look up!"
Which she did, frankly,--her eyes as delicious a compound of gravity
and gladness as any man need wish to have bestowed upon him. "Pet
brought me here,--" she said.
"Well do you suppose _I_ have brought an invoice of Dutch patience?"
"I don't think you are particularly patient,"--said Faith
demurely,--"except when you choose. Oh Endy!--"
That last note had the true ring of joy. Her forehead touched his
shoulder again; the rest of her sentence was unspoken.
"I do not choose, to-day. Mignonette, therefore tell me--do you think I
have had all I am fairly entitled to?"
She flushed all over, but lifted up her head and kissed him. Mr. Linden
watched her, smiling then though she might not see it.
"My little beauty," he said, "you have grown afraid of me--do you know
that?"
"Not very--" she said. Certainly Faith was not good at defending
herself.
"No, not very. Just enough to give us both something to do. Mignonette,
are you ready for me?"
Faith's face was bowed again almost out of sight. "Don't you think,"
she half whispered, "that Pet must be ready to see you, by this time?"
For all answer--except a smile--she was led across the room to a seat
near the window. But _just_ there, was the table and its muslin dress!
Mr. Linden stopped short, and Faith felt and understood the clasp of
his arm about her waist, of his hand upon hers. But he only said
laughingly, "Faith, was _that_ what made you hide away?"
"Pet hid me," Faith said very much abashed;--"not I. She let fall the
curtain."
Mr. Linden let it fall again, in effect, for he quitted all troublesome
subjects, and sat down by her side; not loosing his hold of her,
indeed, nor taking his eyes from her, but in the gravity of his own
deep happiness there was not much to disturb her quiet.
"I sent you a telegraphic despatch this morning to Pattaquasset, dear
Faith,--I did not mean to take you quite by surprise. And my stopping
anywhere short of that was merely because the arrangement of trains
forced me to lose an hour here on the way. I thought it lost."
"It hasn't proved so."
"There was such a doubt of my being in time for this steamer, that I
would not even speak of it. Faith, I have not often heard such music as
the swash of the water about her paddle-wheels as we set off."
"Didn't you hear the swash of her paddle-wheels as you came in?" said
Faith merrily.
"No!" The wistful gladness of her eye was a pretty commentary.
"Is Miss Reason in full activity yet?" said Mr. Linden smiling,--_his_
comment.
"She has had no interruption, you know, for a great while."
"Take care of her, Faith,--she has a great deal of work before her."
The look that answered this was a little conscious, but shewed no fear.
There was nothing very unreasonable in the face that bent over hers;
the eyes with their deep look, lit up now and then with flashes of
different feelings; the mouth wearing its sweet changeable expression.
A little browner than usual, from the voyage,--a little thinner,
perhaps, with hard work; Mr. Linden still looked remarkably well and
like himself; though Faith felt that nameless change--that mingling of
real and unreal, of friend and stranger, which a long absence always
brings. One minute he was himself, as he had been in
Pattaquasset,--giving her lessons, riding with her, reading to her,
going off to school with one of Mrs. Stoutenburgh's white roses. The
next--he was a gentleman just arrived from Europe!--from whom she could
not get away. Perhaps the last impression was the most remarkable. But
in spite of this, Faith was herself, every inch of her; with the
exception of that one little difference which Mr. Linden had pointed
out and which was not to be denied.
Some time had passed, when Faith felt Pet's little hand come round her
neck--the other was round Mr. Linden. Faith's start was instant;
springing up she went to the window where behind the curtain lay the
work her hand had dropped. Faith gathered it up. She would have put
that muslin dress out of the way then!--but there it lay in plain sight
and close neighbourhood. Yet somebody must do it, and it was her
business; and with cheeks of a very pretty deep rose that set off her
white drapery, Faith applied herself to the due folding of the
troublesome muslin. In two minutes Pet came to help her, but in a
different mood, though her eyelashes were glittering.
"Endy, come here and look at this--I think it is so pretty. What
flowers must Faith wear with it?"
"Carnations look very well."
"I said white roses."--
"Which will you wear, Mignonette?" said Mr. Linden.
He was favoured with a glance from two gentle eyes, which it was worth
a little wickedness to get. It was only a flash. "I think Pet is
right,"--she answered with great gravity.
He came close to her side, the low-spoken "you shall have them--"
touched more things than one.
"What do you suppose I found her doing?" said Pet, folding down a
sleeve.
"Pet!"--said Faith. "Don't touch that! Not to-night."
"Do you wish me to leave it unfolded?--the servants will perhaps sweep
in the morning."
"Pet," said Faith softly,--"don't _you_ raise a dust! We might not lay
it so soon."
"Endy," said his sister, "how do you do?--you haven't told me."
"Perfectly well, dear Pet."
"Turn round to the light and let me see--You've grown, thin, child!"
He laughed--giving her a kiss and embrace to make up for that; which
was only half successful. But she spoke in her former tone.
"He looks pretty strong, Faith,--I think I might tell him."
"Mr. Linden," said Faith, "won't you please ask Pet not to tell you
something?"
"I will ask _you_," he said softly, laying his hands lightly on her
shoulders. "Faith--I think we may dispense with 'Mr. Linden' _now_,
even before people."
She was oddly abashed; glanced up at him and glanced down, with the
grave air of a rebuked child. There was nothing about it that was not
pretty; and the next thing her eyes went to Pet. How lovely and
precious she looked as she stood there! with her sweet shy face and
changing colours. Mr. Linden held her to his breast and kissed her more
than once,--but in a way that was beyond chiding.
"Why must I ask Pet not to tell me something?"
"It is nothing great!"--said Faith stammering over her words--"Only you
won't like it very well--but you will have to hear it. I thought
another time--that's all."
"He'll never hear it from you--what I mean," said Miss Linden, "so he
shall from me. We'll see whether he likes it. Know then, Endecott, that
I found this child absorbed in wedding dresses!"
"Wedding dresses!" he repeated. "More than one?"
"Oh Endy," said his sister with a sort of laughing impatience, "what a
boy you are! I mean other people's." Faith stood smiling a little,
letting her manage it her own way.
"Imagine it," Miss Linden went on,--"imagine this one little real
flower bending over a whole garden of muslin marigolds and silk
sunflowers and velvet verbenas, growing unthriftily in a bed of white
muslin!" Mr. Linden laughed, as if the picture were a pleasant one.
"Mignonette," he said,--"how could you bear the sight?"
"I was trying to make the best of it."
"In whose behalf were you so much interested?"
"Maria Davids," said Faith glancing up at him. "But I was _not_
interested,--only so far as one is in making the best of anything."
"Who is trying to make the best of her?"
Faith looked down and looked grave as she answered--"Jonathan Fax." Mr.
Linden's face was grave too, then, with the recollections that name
brought up.
"There is one place in the house she cannot touch," he said. "Faith, I
am glad she is not to take care of _him_."
"I have thought that so often!"
"Do you like my story, Endy?" said Miss Linden presently.
"Very much--the subject. I am less interested in the application. Who
next is to be married in Pattaquasset?"
"I don't know."--
"Aunt Iredell says she wishes _you_ would be married here," observed
Pet demurely. To which insinuation Faith opposed as demure a silence.
"Oh Endecott," said his sister changing her tone and speaking in that
mixed mood which so well became her,--"I'm so happy that you are here!
This week Faith has been pretty quiet, by dint of being away from home;
but nothing would have kept her here next week--and I had been thinking
what we should do,--if the week should run on into two--or if the wind
should blow!" She spoke laughingly, yet with a voice not quite steady.
"'So he bringeth them to the haven where they would be'!" Mr. Linden
said. But his voice was clear as the very depth of feeling of which it
told. "Aunt Iredell cannot have her wish, Pet," he added
presently,--"there would be at least three negative votes."
"I suppose that! But I shall come down Saturday to hear what wishes
_are_ in progress."
"Won't you go with us, Pet, to-morrow?" said Faith earnestly. She had
been standing in a sort of abstracted silence.
"No, pretty sister, I will not. But I shall keep all those ruffles here
to finish, and Saturday Reuben Taylor shall escort them and me to
Pattaquasset."