It was very early indeed in the still sweet morning of Thursday, when
Faith threw open the windows and blinds of the sitting-room. No one was
abroad, and not even a wind moving. The leaves of the trees hung
motionless; except where a bird stirred them; the dawn was growing
slowly into day; sweet odours called forth by the dew, floated up to
the windows, and the twitter and song of the birds floated in. The
freshness and stillness and calmness of all the earth was most sweet.
Faith could not read; she knelt upon a low cushion at the open window
and leaned her arms upon the sill to look out, and breathe, and think
and pray. The morning was not unlike her. She was as fresh, and as
grave, and as still; and there was a little flutter now and then too in
her heart, that went with nothing worse than the song of the birds,
though it stirred something more than the leaves of the branches. So
Mr. Linden found her.
So she met them all at breakfast, with the same unready eyes and lips
that Mr. Linden had seen before. It was odd how Faith seemed to have
put off the full realization of Thursday till Thursday came. After
breakfast she was making her escape, but was detained before she
reached the staircase. What it was that Mr. Linden fastened in her
dress, Faith could not have told; neither did his words tell her.
"You must not think me extravagant, Mignonette,--these are some old
gems of mine which I want you to wear in this form." He gave her one
grave kiss and let her go. Faith sped up stairs; and with a fluttering
heart went to see what Mr. Linden had done.--Yes, they were
gems,--clear, steadfast, as the eternal truth which they signified, the
blue sapphires shone upon Faith's white dress.
Faith was alone; and she sat before the glass an odd long while,
studying the brooch where Mr. Linden had placed it. Her head upon her
hand, and with much the same sort of face with which she used long ago
to study Pet's letters, or some lesson that Pet's brother had set her.
From the sapphires Faith turned to her Bible. She was not, or would not
be interrupted, till it was time to attend to business.
The first business was presented for her attention by Miss Linden, who
came in, basket in hand. There was no need to ask what it was, such a
breath of orange flowers and roses filled the room. She found Faith
ready; her hair dressed as it always was; her mind too, to judge by
appearances. Only Faith was a little more quiet than usual. With the
very quietness of love and sympathy, Pet did her part; with the
swiftest fingers, the most noiseless steps. Silent as Mrs. Derrick or
Faith herself, only a sparkle of the eyes, a pretty flush on the
cheeks, said that she viewed the matter from a greater distance. And
yet hardly that, so far as one of the parties was concerned. Never
putting her hand forward where Mrs. Derrick's liked to be, it was most
efficient in other places. Both used their skill to put the soft muslin
safely over Faith's smooth hair, but then Mrs. Derrick was left to
fasten and adjust it--Pet applied herself to adjusting the flowers. How
dainty they were: those tiny bunches! sprays of myrtle and orange
flowers, or a white rose-bud and a more trailing stem of ivy geranium;
the breast-knot just touched with purple heliotrope and one blush rose.
Kneeling at her feet to put on the rosetted slippers, Pet looked up at
her new sister with all her heart in her eyes. And Faith looked down at
her--like a child.
She had been dressed in Pet's room--her own, as being larger and more
commodious than the one where Faith had stowed herself lately; and when
the dressing was done she sat down by the open window, and with the odd
capriciousness of the mind at certain times, thought of the day when
Mr. Linden had thrown her up the cowslip ball,--and in the same breath
wondered who was going to take her down stairs!
But she sat quiet, looking as fair in her soft robe with its orange
flowers as if they and she had been made for each other. Faith's hair,
in its rich colour, was only dark enough to set off the tender tints of
her flowers and dress; it wanted neither veil nor adornment. The very
outlines of her figure betokened, as outlines are somewhat apt to do,
the spirit within; without a harsh angle or line. And nothing could be
too soft, or strong, or pure, to go with those eyes. She sat looking
out into the orchard, where now the noonday of summer held its still
reign--nothing there but the grass and the trees and the insects. The
cowslips were gone; and Mr. Linden----
Pet finished all that had been left unfinished of her own dress, then
in her rose-coloured summer silk, white gloves in her hand, white
flowers on her breast, she came and stood by Faith. Mrs. Derrick had
gone down stairs. It was close upon one o'clock now; the shadows were
losing their directness and taking a slant line, the labourers were
coming back to their work, standing about and taking off their coats,
waiting for the clock to strike. Miss Linden stood drawing on her
gloves. Faith gave her one swift glance, which rested for a second on
her face with a look of loving gratitude. A flush rose to her cheek, as
if it might have been the reflection of Miss Linden's dress; but it was
not that, for it paled again.
One o'clock!
It would have seemed a less weird sort of thing if the clock had made a
little more fuss,--twelve strokes, or even eleven, would have been
something tangible; but that one clang--scarce heard before it was
gone, dying away on the June breeze,--what a point of time it seemed!
The waves of air were but just at rest, when Mrs. Derrick opened the
door and came in; her black dress and white cap setting off a face and
demeanour which, with all their wonted sweet placidness, and amid all
the tender influences of the day, kept too their wonted energy.
"Come, pretty child!" she said.
Faith was ready, and followed her mother without a question. In the
hall Mr. Linden stood waiting for her, and she was given into his care;
though again Faith lost the look which passed between the two,--she saw
only the startling white of Mr. Linden's gloves. He handed her down
stairs, then gave her his arm and took her in; Mrs. Derrick going
first, and Pet following.
There were but six or eight people there. On one side sat Mrs. Iredell
in her rich dress; the rest were standing, except little Ency Stephens,
who was in one of her perched-up positions by the window. Mr. Somers
was lingering about _his_ position, his wife and Mr. and Mrs.
Stoutenburgh were opposite to Mrs. Iredell. Reuben Taylor furthest back
of all, in the shadow of Ency's window. Her little cry was the only
sound as they came in, and that hardly louder than a sigh of delight.
Faith did not hear it nor look at anybody. Yet she did not look
dismayed at all nor abashed. A piece of very timid gravity the person
nearest her knew her to be; but hardly any person further off. A very
lovely mingling of shy dignity and humility was in her face and air as
she stood before Mr. Somers; those who saw it never forgot.
Except I must that same Mr. Somers! He saw only a pretty bride, whose
orange flowers and roses were very sweet. He had seen many pretty
brides before, and orange flowers were not new to him. And he
pronounced his part of the service which followed, with gratification,
certainly. Mr. Somers was always gracious, and to-day he was admiring;
but yet with no more sense of what he was about than when a hundred
times before he had pronounced it for--very different people!
However, there is a great system of compensations in this world; and on
this occasion there was in other members of the party so much sense of
what was doing, that it mattered little about Mr. Somers' want of it.
It mattered nothing to Faith, how his words were spoken; nobody that
heard them forgot how _hers_ were--the sweet clear sounds of every
syllable; only that once or twice she said "yes" where by established
formula she should have said the more dignified "I do." Perhaps "yes"
meant as much. Those who heard it thought it did.
For Mr. Linden, his senses not being troubled by shyness, just because
his own heart was so thoroughly in what he was about he did perceive
the want of heart in Mr. Somers. And, in the abstract, it did not suit
his notions that even a man who had married five hundred other people
should put such questions to Mignonette, or to him, in a commonplace
way. So far his senses perceived, but Mr. Somers could reach no
further. One touch of Faith's hand had banished the officiate to
another planet; and the vow to love, cherish, and honour, was taken,
word for word, deep in his own heart; the grave, deliberate accents of
assent seeming to dwell upon each specification. Yes, he took her "for
better for worse, in sickness or health, for richer for poorer," every
word was like the counting over of gold to him, it was all "richer."
Even the last words, the limit fixed, shone with light from another
world. "Till death shall you part;" yes, but to them death would be but
a short parting. And standing side by side there with the blessing of
his earthly life, Mr. Linden thanked God in his heart for the future
"life and immortality" to which He had called them both.
Mysterious is the way in which events are telegraphed from the inside
of a house to the exterior thereof. Hardly were Mr. Somers' last words
spoken, Faith was not yet out of Mr. Linden's hands, when there came a
peal from the little white church as if the bell-ringing of two or
three Sundays were concentrated in one. Much to the surprise of Mr.
Somers; who, to speak truth, rather thought the bells were his personal
property, and as such playing truant. But in two seconds the other bell
chimed in; and all that could ever be known, was, that Phil Davids and
Joe Deacon had been seen in closer attendance on the two churches than
they were wont to be week days. Meantime the bells rang.
It was done; and those downcast eyes must be lifted up, if they could.
But Faith was not unlike her usual manner. The slight air of timidity
which sat with such grace upon her was not so very unusual; and that
besides touched only or mainly one person. With blushing quietness she
let her friends kiss and congratulate her. It was rather kiss and
caress her; for they came about her, that little bevy of friends, with
a warmth that might have thawed Mr. Somers. Mrs. Derrick and Pet glad
and silent, Reuben Taylor very shy, the Stoutenburghs in a little furor
of interest which yet did not break pretty bounds. And then Faith went
up to Ency where she sat by the window, and gave her two kisses, very
grave and sweet.
"How beautiful you are, ma'am!" was the child's truthful comment.
"Do you know who 'Miss Faith' is now, Ency?"--"Yes sir," the child
said, then shy of speaking it out, "Stoop down and I'll tell you."
Mr. Linden bent his head to hear the whisper, giving her a kiss in
return, and then carried Faith off to the next room; where presently
too the little lame girl was perched up at such a table as she had
never dreamed of before.
It was a pretty gathering, both on the table and around it. The party
of friends, few enough to be choice, were good and different enough to
be picturesque; and had among them a sufficient amount of personal
advantages to be, as Ency said, "beautiful." The table itself was very
plain with regard to china and silver; but fruit is beautiful, and
there was an abundance of that. Coffee of course; and cream, yellow as
gold, for coffee and fruit both. There were more substantial things, to
serve as substitutes for dinner, attesting Mrs. Derrick's good
housekeeping at once, and the loving remembrance of friends. There had
been little need to do much in the house. Mrs. Iredell had taken the
wedding cake into her charge, which Mrs. Stoutenburgh not knowing had
taken it into hers, and into her hands as well; so Faith had both the
bought cake, of the richest and best ornamented to a point, and the
home-made; with plain icing indeed, but wherein every raisin had been
put with a sweet thought.
"This is--ha!--a very agreeable occasion!" said Mr. Somers, smiling at
the ornamented plum cake which was before him. "I--a--really, I don't
see, Mrs. Derrick, how anything could be improved for the pleasure of
the party. We have done a good thing, and to good people, and it's been
well done;" (Mr. Somers vaunted himself), "and in a good
time,--ha--this is the prettiest month in the year, Mr. Linden; and now
we are all enjoying a pleasant sight, before us and around us, and I
enjoy my coffee also very much, Mrs Derrick. The only bad thing about
it is--ha--that it rather spoils one for the next occasion. I assure
you I haven't seen anything like it in Pattaquasset, since I have lived
here! I wasn't married here, Mrs. Stoutenburgh, take notice."
"I hope you don't mean to say you saw anything that was on the table
the day _you_ were married, Mr. Somers!" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh
irreverently.
"Let's hear what you mean by well done,--let's hear, Mr. Somers," said
the Squire.
"He means securely," said Mrs. Somers.
"I feel sure," said Mr. Somers with exquisite significancy, "I feel
sure that _part_ of my audience were at no loss for the meaning of my
words. Experience, somebody says, is the best commentary--hey, Mr.
Linden? is it not so?"--"What, sir?"
Mr. Somers laughed, gently. "I see you coincide with me in opinion,
sir."
"I coincide with him in the opinion that it was well done to ring the
bells," said Mrs. Stoutenburgh. "Reuben, I guess that was your doing."
"Never mind whose it was," said the Squire, "the bells were never put
to a better use, week days, I'll venture. Mr. Linden, won't that lady
by you let me give her another piece of chicken?"--"No, sir," came in a
low voice that had a private chime of its own.
"Little bird," said Mr. Linden, softly, "do you know that all your
compeers live by eating?"--"Crumbs" said Faith with equal softness.
"But of proportionate size!"--"Yes," said Faith.
"You know," he said in the same low voice, "to go back to our old maxim
those bells may stand for the music, and we have certainly spoken a few
sensible words; but if you do not look up how will you find the
picture?"--She raised her eyes, but it was for a swift full glance up
into his face; she looked nowhere else, and her eyes went back to her
plate again. The involuntary, unconscious significance of the action
made Mr. Linden smile.
"I have had mine now, Mignonette, and Ency spoke true."
"How long does it take people to get married," came in a good-humoured
kind of a growl from the room they had left, the door to which was
ajar. "Ain't it done yet?"
"There's Mr. Simlins, Endecott," whispered Faith, colouring.
"Come in and see," said Squire Stoutenburgh. "Who wants to know?"
Wherewith the door was pushed open, and Mr. Simlins long figure
presented itself, and stood still.
"What are you uneasy about, Mr. Simlins?" the Squire went on. "You may
go and shake hands with Mr. Linden, but don't congratulate anybody
else." The farmer's eye rested for a moment on Faith; then he went
round and shook hands with the bridegroom.
"Is it done?" he asked again in the midst of this ceremony.--"Yes."
"Past all help, Mr. Simlins," said Mrs. Somers.
"I am glad, for one!" Mr. Simlins answered. "Mayn't I see this cretur
here? I wish you'd stand up and let me look at you."
Faith rose up, he had edged along to her. He surveyed her profoundly.
"Be you Faith Derrick?" he said.--"Yes, sir."
He shook _her_ hand then, holding it fast. "It's the true, and not a
counter," he remarked to Mr. Linden. "Now, if you'd only take
Neanticut, I could die content, only for liking to live and see you.
Where _are_ you going to take her to?"--"I am not sure yet."
"I guess I don't want you at Neanticut," said the farmer, taking a cup
of coffee which Faith gave him. "Last Sunday fixed that. But there'll a
bushel of Neanticut nuts follow you every year as long as I'm a
Simlins, if you go to the Antipathies. No, I don't want anythin' to
eat--I've done my eatin' till supper-time."
The door-knocker warned the party that they must not tarry round the
lunch-table, and before Mr. Simlins had a chance to say anything more
he had on his mind, the principal personages of the day were receiving
Judge Harrison and his daughter in the other room. Mr. Simlins looked
on, somewhat grimly, but with inward delight and exultation deep and
strong. Miss Sophy was affectionate, the judge very kind; the
congratulations of both very hearty; though Judge Harrison complained
that Mr. Linden was robbing Pattaquasset, and Sophy echoed the sorrow
if not the complaint. In the midst of this came in Miss Essie de Staff,
with a troop of brothers and sisters; and they had scarcely paid their
compliments when they were obliged to stand aside to make room for some
new comers. Miss Essie's eyes had full employment, and were rather
earnest about it.
"She's beautifully dressed," she remarked to Mrs. Stoutenburgh,
evidently meditating a good deal more than her words carried.
"Why, of course!" was Mrs. Stoutenburgh's quick response, "and so is
he. Don't be partial in your examinations."
"Oh he, of course!" said Miss Essie, in the same manner.
"I never saw two people set each other off better," said Mrs.
Stoutenburgh.
"Set each other off?" repeated Miss Essie. "Why he'd set anybody off! I
always admired him. Look at her! she hasn't an idea how to be
ceremonious." Faith had been speaking to Mrs. Iredell. Just then a
rosebud having detached itself from her dress, she went round the room
to Ency by her window and gave it to her. Near this window Miss Linden
had placed herself; the table before her covered with wedding cake and
white ribbon, Reuben Taylor at her side to cut and fold, her little
fingers daintily wrapping and tying up. Ency already held her piece of
cake and white ribbon, and with the promise of other pieces to take
home, watched Miss Linden's proceedings with interest. It was a busy
table, for thither came everybody else after cake and white ribbon.
Thither came Mrs. Stoutenburgh now, quitting Miss Essie.
"Faith, what do you think Mr. Stoutenburgh asked me Sunday?"--"I don't
know. What?" asked Faith, with her half-shy, half free, very happy face.
"You should have heard him!" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh, laughing, but
speaking in the softest of whispers. "You should have heard the dismal
way in which he asked me if Mr. Somers would go anywhere else, if he
could get a chance."
Faith smiled, but evidently to her the question whether Mr. Linden
should stay in Pattaquasset had lost its interest.
"O I can find her, never fear!" said Miss Bezac, followed by Mr. Linden
in Faith's direction. "Though I don't suppose you ever did fear
anything. And I do suppose, if I've thought once I have fifty times how
she'd look to-day, and I was right every time. Don't she look! I always
told her she didn't know what she wanted--and I'm sure she don't now."
With which Miss Bezac gave Faith as hearty a congratulation as she had
yet received. "Well," she said, turning to Mr. Linden, "do you wonder I
wanted to make it?"--"Not in the least."
"But what do I want, Miss Bezac?" said Faith laughing and looking
affectionately at her old friend and fellow-work-woman.
"Why I should think nothing," said Miss Bezac. "So it seems to me. And
talking of seams--didn't I do yours! Do you know I should have come
before, but I never can see two people promise to love each other
forever without crying--and crying always makes rusty needles--so I
wouldn't come till now, when everybody's laughing." Faith was an
exception, for her amusement grew demure. And Miss Essie approached.
Now Miss Essie's black eyes, although bright enough, were altogether
gracious, and in a certain way even propitiatory. They were bent upon
the gentleman of the group.
"Mr. Linden," said the lady with her most flattering manner, "I want to
know if you have forgiven me all my dreadful speeches that I made once."
"Miss Essie, I never questioned your right to make them, therefore you
see my forgiveness has no place." Miss Essie looked as if her "study"
of Mr. Linden hadn't been thorough.
"That's very polite," she said; "too polite. But do you think Mrs.
Linden will ever let me come into her house?"
"Why not? It cannot be worse than you imagined."
"Because," said Miss Essie, earnestly, "I want to come, and I am afraid
she will not ask me. I go everywhere, and wherever you are I shall be
sure to come there some time; and then I want to see you and see how
you live, and see if my theory was mistaken. But I drew it from
experience!"
"Did you ever hear of the ice palace the little brook built for
himself?" said Mr. Linden.--"Lowell, oh yes!"
"Mrs. Linden thinks she would like to try that."
If ever black eyes were thoroughly puzzled, that were Miss Essie's. She
glanced from Mr. Linden to Faith, who had fallen back towards another
part of the room, but whose cheek gave token of her having heard and
noticed. Miss Essie's eyes came back; she looked a little mortified.
"I see you have not forgiven me," she said. "But, Mr. Linden, I only
spoke of what I had seen. I had been unfortunate; and I am sure I
needn't confine myself to the past tense! I knew nothing, you know."
"Miss Essie," he said, smiling, "your frame for the picture may be
correct, but the picture will be different. As you will see when you
come."
"Then you will let me come?"--"I will let you come. Only if you hear
that Faith is not at home, do not feel sure of the fact till you have
looked in my study."
Miss Essie's face for a moment was notable. She was in a certain way
satisfied, and yet it wore a sort of compound mortification
inexplicable very likely, to the lady herself, and perhaps, that only
an acute eye of another would have read.
Before this dialogue had reached so much of a culmination, Mr. Simlins,
who had been standing looking at everything like a good-humoured bear,
made his way across the room, and through the people to Faith, where
she had shrunk back out of the way.
"I can't stay here all the afternoon!" said he, "and I s'pose it aint
expected of me. Can't you step over yonder and let a man have a chance
to say a word to you, before I go?"
Faith agreed to this proposition, not knowing that it was going to take
her literally into a corner; but to one of the further corners of the
room Mr. Simlins strode, and Faith went after him; and there he sat
down and she was fain to do likewise. Then he wasn't ready.
"I had somethin' to say to you," said he, "but I don't know how to say
it!"--"Try, Mr. Simlins," said Faith, smiling.
"How does the dominie manage to talk to you?" said he, looking at her.
"_I_ don't see how he can get on with it."
Faith grew crimson, and grave.
"Well," said the farmer, smiling a bit, "I s'pose I'll have to get it
out somehow. You see, Faith, the thing is, in my mind, I want you to
have something that'll make you--you and him too--think of Pattaquasset
and me once in a while. Now I'm goin' to give you that black heifer. If
you can, I hope you'll take her with you whereever you're goin'--if you
can't, why you may turn her into cash; but I guess you can. She's a
real Simlins--she'll run, if you don't keep a fence round her; but if
you treat her right, she'll give you all _your_ dairy'll want for some
time to come; and the very plague you'll be at to keep her shut up,
will make you think of me."
"Dear Mr. Simlins!" Faith said with her eyes full, "there is no danger
about that!"--
"No!" said he rising; "and when you think of me I know you'll do
something else for me. Good-bye, till you get back again." Off he went.
Other people followed. The room had thinned a little, when Pet left her
table in Reuben's charge and came to Faith's corner.
"Poor child," she said, "you must be tired. Faith, I shall defy
ceremony, and put you in Aunt Iredell's chair; she is going to lie
down. Oh! how did that man get here?--and George Alcott!" Pet faced
round upon Faith, folding her hands with an air of dismayed resignation.
"What's the matter, Pet?"--"I thought I was safe here," said Miss
Linden. "Faith, I did not suppose ubiquitous people found their way to
Pattaquasset. You'll have to run the gauntlet of that man's
compliments, child, however, Endy is a pretty good safeguard."
Before Faith could see much of what was going on, Mr. Linden was at her
side. "Mrs. Linden--_Mr. Motley_," was all he said; and Faith found
herself face to face with one of those two well-remembered strangers.
So well remembered that a slight glance at him was arrested, by what at
first she did not recognize, and unconsciously she gave Mr. Motley for
a second a look sufficiently like what he had seen before to identify
her. That second brought it all back. A blush of most rosy beauty came
upon Faith's face, and her eyes fell as if no one was ever to see them
again. Mr. Motley's eyes, on the contrary, expanded. But the whistle
which rose politely to his lips, was held in polite check--by Mr.
Linden's presence or some other consideration--and with no further sign
than an under breath "Linden!" Mr. Motley gave the bride his hand,
claiming that privilege in easy, musky words, on the score of old
acquaintanceship with the bridegroom.
"I trust Mrs. Linden has been well since I last (and first!) had the
pleasure of seeing her? Apart from the occasion--it seems to me that
she is looking even better than then--though _then_ I should not have
believed that possible."
"It is a long time, sir," Faith said gravely.
"Linden," said Mr. Motley in a sort of aside, "even your symmetrical
taste must be satisfied!"
"With what?" said Mr. Linden. Which rather shortly--put question
brought Mr. Motley to a stand. Much as when one pushes on into daylight
through the filmy finespun work of a spider, that respectable insect
looks about, considering where he shall begin anew.
"It is so long," said Mr. Motley with soft emphasis, "that I could
hardly have hoped to be remembered."
"If I recollect right," said Mr. Linden, "if you did not misstate the
case, it was the charms of your conversation that made the impression."
"You are the most inconvenient person to talk to!" said Mr. Motley with
a glance at the handsome face. "Like a quicksand--closing around one.
Mrs. Linden, do you not find it so? Ah George!--talking to Miss Pet as
usual. Permit me--Mrs. Linden, Mr. Alcott. George, you cannot have
forgotten Mrs. Linden?" That George had not was very clear.
And that Faith had not forgotten, was very clear. She lifted her eyes
once more, to see if the second _was_ the second; and then stood with
the most exquisite cheeks, though perfectly quiet. Her gloves had not
been put on again since the lunch, and the hand that held them bore
also the ring which had been the gentlemen's admiration.
"Now what do you think, George," said Mr. Motley, "of Linden's letting
me tell Julius Harrison that whole story, and never giving the least
hint that he knew the lady referred to? Except, yes once indeed, I do
remember, Mrs. Linden, his face took a warm reflection of the subject,
but I thought that was due to my powers as a colourist."
"You couldn't high-colour that picture," said Mr. Alcott, in a tone
Faith remembered well. "Mrs. Linden, I hope we are to see you at
Newport."
Faith felt in a tumult with all these "Mrs. Lindens." But all that
seemed unquiet about her, besides her cheeks, was the flashing ring.
"Well, we must tear ourselves away from this place of fascination,"
said Mr. Motley. "I believe, Mrs. Linden, we ought to apologize for our
intrusion, but it was an old saying among this gentleman's friends that
he never would submit to 'bonds and imprisonments'--(there goes the
Bible again!) and some of them had a long-standing permission to come
and believe their eyes if such an event ever should take place. I can
hardly, now!"
"Why do you, sir?" Faith asked simply.
"Really, madam, because I can't help it! One look at you, Mrs. Linden,
is enough. In some circumstances all a man can do is to surrender!"
"He needn't till he's summoned," said George Alcott shortly. Though
whether he had acted so wisely himself was a question, as Mr. Linden
said amusedly after they were gone.
Faith turned away, feeling as if she had rather more than enough, and
occupied herself with Reuben and Ency again. Then came in Farmer Davids
and his wife, and Phil. Phil was forthwith in a state of "glamour;" but
Faith brought him to the table and gave him cake and discoursed to him
and Reuben; while Mrs. Davids talked to Mrs. Derrick in wonderful
delighted admiration; and the farmer as usual fixed upon Mr. Linden.
"We had the uncommon pleasure of hearin' you speak last Sunday, sir,"
said Mr. Davids with great seriousness. "I sha'n't forget it, what you
said. And you don't know where you're going to fix yourself, sir?"
"Not certainly."
"I would rather than half what I sell off the farm, that it was going
to be where I could be within reach of you, sir! But wherever 'tis
Phil, and I, we consulted how we could contrive to show our sense of
this day; we're plain folks, Mr. Linden, and we didn't know how to fit;
but if you'll let us know where you're goin' to be, Mrs. Davids she
wants to send your wife a cheese, and there's some of Phil's apples,
and I want you to have some Pattaquasset flour to make you think of us.
And if you'll only think of us every year as long as they come, it's
all I ask!" It was said with the most honest expression of struggling
regard, and respect, that wanted to show itself.
Then Mr. Linden was claimed by a new comer. Sam Stoutenburgh, fresh
from College, Quilipeak, and the tailor, presented himself. Now it was
rather a warm day, and trains are not cool, and haste is not a
refrigerator, nevertheless Sam's cheeks were high coloured! His
greeting of Mr. Linden was far less off-hand and dashing than was usual
with this new Junior; and when carried off to Mrs. Linden, Sam (to use
an elegant word) was "flustered."
"Miss Faith," he began. "No I don't mean that! I beg your pardon, but
I'm very glad to see you again, and I wish you were going to stay here
always."
Faith laughed. "Will you stay here always yourself, Sam?"
"O I don't know," said Sam. "It's a while before I've got to do
anything yet. But Miss Faith--I mean! since you will go, won't you
please take this?" and Sam presented a tiny box containing a pretty
gold set cornelian seal, engraved with a spirited Jehu chariot running
away! "It'll remind you of a day _I_ shall never forget," said Sam both
honestly and sentimentally. If Mr. Linden could have helped Faith
answer, he would!
Faith's face was in a quiver, between laughter and very much deeper and
stronger feeling; but she shook Sam's hand again gratefully.--"I shall
never forget it, Sam, nor what you did for me that day. And I hope
you'll come and see me somewhere else, some time."
Then Mr. Linden spoke. "No one can owe you so much for that day's work
as I, Sam; and since she is running away again you must do as you did
then, and find her."
Sam was somewhat touched and overwhelmed, and went off to talk to
Reuben about Miss Linden's dress. A little while longer and the room
was cleared. The two collegians came last of all to say good-bye,
Reuben lingering behind his friend.
"You know," said Mr. Linden, holding the boy's hand, "you are coming to
study with me, Reuben, if I live; we will not call it good-bye. And I
shall expect to see you before that in vacation."
"And you know, Reuben," said Faith, very low, "you have been a brother
to me this great while."
Reuben looked down, trying for words. Then meeting Faith's eyes as he
had done that very first time--what though his own were full--he said,
"I am not sorry, ma'am, I am glad: so glad!" he repeated, looking from
her face to Mr. Linden's. But his eyes fell then; and hastily clasping
the hand she held out to him, he bent his face to Mr. Linden's and
turned away. One quick step Mr. Linden took after him, and they left
the room arm in arm, after the old fashion.
With Mr. Linden, when he came back, was an oldish gentleman,
silver-haired, with a fresh ruddy face; not very tall, _very_
pleasant-looking. Pet's exclamation was of joy, this time, and she ran
forward to meet him. Then Mr. Linden brought him up to Faith.
"Mignonette, this is my dear friend, Mr. Olyphant." And Mr. Olyphant
took both her hands and kissed her on both cheeks, as if he meant to be
her friend too: then looked at her without letting go. "Endecott!" he
said, turning to Mr. Linden, "whatever you undertake you always do
well!" And he shook Faith's hands again, and told her he could wish her
joy with a clear conscience.
The timid little smile which this remark procured him, might have
confirmed the old gentleman in his first-expressed opinion. Mr.
Olyphant studied her a minute, not confusingly, but with a sort of
touched kindliness.
"_What_ do you call her, Endecott?" he said.--"Any sweet name I can
think of," said Mr. Linden, smiling, "just now, Mignonette." Which
remark had a merciless effect upon Faith's cheeks.
"It suits her, Mr. Olyphant," said Pet.
"So I see, Miss Pet. Do you think I have lost my eyes? Endecott, are
you going to bring her to the White Mountains?"--"I think so, sir: that
is my present inclination."
"How would you like it, Mrs. Linden?"--"I think I should like it, sir."
"Not afraid of the cold?"--Faith's smile clearly was not afraid of
anything. So was her answer.
"You must have a house midway on the slope," said Mr. Olyphant; "half
your parish above your heads, half at your feet: and you will have
plenty of snow, and plenty of work, and not much else, but each other.
Endecott's face says that is being very rich but he always was an
unworldly sort of fellow, Mrs. Linden; I don't think he ever saw the
real glitter of gold, yet."
Did her eyes? But they were unconsciously looking at riches of some
kind; there was no poverty in them. "I like work, sir."
"Do you think she could bear the cold, Mr. Olyphant? how are the
winters there? That is what I have thought of most."
"I am no more afraid of the cold than you are, Endecott." How gently
the last word was spoken! But Faith clearly remembered her lesson.
Mr. Linden smiled. "She is a real little Sunbeam," he said. "You know
they make light of cold weather."
"Light of it in two ways," said Mr. Olyphant. "No, I don't think you
need fear the winters for her; we'd try and protect her."
"Do you see how much good the Sunbeam has done him, Mr. Olyphant?" said
Pet.--"I see it, Miss Pet; it does me good. I meant to have been here
to see you married, Endecott, and missed the train. I shall miss it
again, now, if I am not careful. But you must come up and stay with us,
and we'll arrange matters. Such neighbours may tempt me to winter in
the mountains myself, and then I shall take charge of you, Miss Pet."
"I should like that," said Pet.
"I see, my dear Mrs. Linden," said Mr. Olyphant, smiling at her, "I see
you follow one of the old Jewish laws."
"What is that, sir?"--"You know it was required of the Jews that they
should bear the words of the law 'as frontlets between the eyes'.
Now--if you will forgive me for saying so--in your eyes is written one
of the proverbs."
"Look up, Mignonette, and let me see," said Mr. Linden. But oddly,
Faith looked down first; then the eyes were lifted.
"Is truth a proverb?" said Pet laughing.--"O you see too many things
there!" said Mr. Olyphant,--"this is what I see, Endecott--'The heart
of her husband doth safely trust in her.'"
A little veil of shyness and modesty suddenly fell around Faith. Even
her head drooped. But Mr. Linden's lips touched the fair brow between
those very fair eyes.
"I cannot praise your discernment, sir," he said. "It is not more true
than evident."
"I cannot half congratulate either of you," said Mr. Olyphant, smiling,
"so I'll go. Good-bye, Miss Pet--remember next winter. Mrs. Linden, we
shall expect to see you long before that time. Let me have a word with
you, Endecott." And Faith was again left alone, entirely this time, for
Miss Linden went up stairs to attend Mrs. Iredell.
As they turned to go out, Faith turned the other way, and sat down,
feeling overwhelmed. Everything was very still. Pet's light steps
passed off in the distance; through the open windows came the song of
kildeers and robins, the breath of roses, the muslin-veiled sunshine.
Then she heard Mr. Olyphant's carriage drive off, and Mr. Linden came
back. Faith started up, and very lovely she looked, with the timid
grace of those still dyed cheeks and vailed brow.
"My poor little tired Mignonette!" he said as he came up to her. Then
lifted her face, and looking at it a moment with a half smile, pressed
his lips again where they had been so lately. But this time that did
not satisfy him.
"Endy," she said presently, "please don't praise me before other
people!"
"What dreadful thing did I say?" inquired Mr. Linden, laughing. "Do you
know I have hardly seen my wife yet?"--To judge by Faith's face,
neither had she.
"If I speak of her at all I must speak the truth. But Mr. Olyphant
knows me of old; he will not take my words for more than they are
worth."
A slight commentary of a smile passed, but Faith did not adventure any
repartee.
"Are you very tired?"--"Oh no!"
"Little bird!" said Mr. Linden, holding her close. "What sort of a
sweet spirit was it that said those words at my side this morning?"
There was no answer at first; and then, very quaint and soft the
words--"Only Faith Derrick."
"'Only.'--Faith, did you hear my parting direction to Miss
Essie?"--"Yes."
"Do you agree to it, Mrs. Linden?"
He had spoken that name a good many times that day, and to be sure her
cheeks had more or less acknowledged it; but this time it brought such
a rush of colour that she stooped her face to be out of sight.
"Do you want Miss Reason to answer that question, sir?"--"No, nor Miss
anybody."
"Prudence would say, there are shortcakes," said Faith.
"Where?"--"In--hypothesis."
"If your shortcakes outweigh my study, Faith, they will be heavier than
I ever saw them!"
"You wouldn't take Reason's answer," said Faith.
"What would it have been?"
She looked up, a swift little laughing glance into his face.
"Parlez, Madame, s'il vous plaît."
Her look changed. "You know, Endy, I would rather be there than
anywhere else in the world."
It moved him. The happiness to which his look bore witness was of a
kind too deep for words.
"Do you know, love, if we had been going at once to our work in the
mountains, I should have asked a great many people to come here to-day."
"Would you? why, Endy?"--"To let them see my wife. Now, I mean to take
her to see them."
Faith was willing he should take her where he pleased, though she made
no remark. Her timidity moved in a small circle, and touched
principally him. Mingling with this, and in all she did, ever since
half past one o'clock to-day, there had been a sort of dignity of grave
happiness; very rare, very beautiful.
"I wonder if you know half how lovely and dear you are?" said Mr.
Linden, studying the fair outlines of character, as well as of feature.
But Faith's eye went all down the pattern of embroidery on her white
robe, and never dared meet his. "Have you any idea, little Mignonette
of sweetness, after what fashion that proverb is true?"
She looked up, uncertain what proverb he meant; but then immediately
certain, bent her head again. Faith never thought of herself as Mr.
Linden thought of her. Movings of humility and determination were in
her heart now, but she knew he would not bear to hear her speak them,
and her own voice was not just ready. So she was only silent still.
"What will make you speak?" said Mr. Linden, smiling. "I am like Ali
Baba before the storehouse of hid treasure. Is this the 'Sesame' you
are waiting for?" he added, raising her face and trying two or three
persuasive kisses.
"There was nothing in the storehouse," said Faith laughingly. "No words
I mean."--"I am willing to take thoughts."
"How?"--"Which way you like!"
"Then you will have to wait for them, Endy."
"Mignonette, I am of an impatient disposition."
"Yes I know it."
"Is it to be your first wifely undertaking to cure me?" he said,
laughing.--"It takes time to put thoughts into action," said Faith,
blushing.--"Not all thoughts, Mignonette."
She coloured beautifully; but anything more pure and sweet than those
first wifely kisses of Faith could not be told. Did he know, had he
felt, all the love and allegiance they had so silently and timidly
spoken? She had reason to think so.