CHAPTER XX.

Helen was called home by the illness of her father and did not return

to Rosville. She would write me, she said; but it was many weeks

before I received a letter. Ben Somers about this time took a fit of

industry, and made a plan for what he called a well-regulated life,

averring that he should always abide by it. Every hour had its duty,

which must be fulfilled. He weighed his bread and meat, ate so many

ounces a day, and slept watch and watch, as he nautically termed it.

I guessed that the meaning of his plan was to withdraw from the

self-chosen post of censor. His only alienation was an occasional

disappearance for a few days. I never asked him where he went, and had

never spoken to him concerning his mysterious remark about having

been in Surrey. Neither had I heard anything of his being there from

father. Once he told me that his father had explained the marriage of

old Locke Morgeson; but that it was not clear to him that we were at

all related.

In consequence of his rigorous life, I saw little of him. Though

urged by Alice, he did not come to our house, and we rarely met him

elsewhere. People called him eccentric, but as he was of a rich family

he could afford to be, and they felt no slight by his neglect.

There was a change everywhere. The greatest change of all was in

Charles. From the night of the sleigh-ride his manner toward me was

totally altered. As far as I could discern, the change was a confirmed

one. The days grew monotonous, but my mind avenged itself by night in

dreams, which renewed our old relation in all its mysterious vitality.

So strong were their impressions that each morning I expected to

receive some token from him which would prove that they were not

lies. As my expectation grew cold and faint, the sense of a double

hallucination tormented me--the past and the present.

The winter was over. I passed it like the rest of Rosville, going out

when Alice went, staying at home when she stayed. It was all one what

I did, for my aspect was one of content.

Alice alone was unchanged; her spirits and pursuits were always the

same. Judging by herself, if she judged at all, she perceived no

change in us. Her theory regarding Charles was too firm to be shaken,

and all his oddity was a matter of course. As long as I ate, and

drank, and slept as usual, I too must be the same. He was not at home

much. Business, kept him at the mills, where he often slept, or out of

town. But the home machinery was still under his controlling hand. Not

a leaf dropped in the conservatory that he did not see; not a meal

was served whose slightest detail was not according to his desire. The

horses were exercised, the servants managed, the children kept within

bounds; nothing in the formula of our daily life was ever dropped, and

yet I scarcely ever saw him! When we met, I shared his attentions. He

gave me flowers; noticed my dress; spoke of the affairs of the day;

but all in so public and matter-of-fact a way that I thought I must be

the victim of a vicious sentimentality, or that he had amused himself

with me. Either way, the sooner I cured myself of my vice the better.

But my dreams continued.

"I miss something in your letters," father complained. "What is it?

Would you like to come home? Your mother is failing in health--she may

need you, though she says not."

I wrote him that I should come home.

"Are you prepared," he asked in return, "to remain at home for the

future? Have you laid the foundation of anything by which you can

abide contented, and employed? Veronica has been spending two months

in New York, with the family of one of my business friends. All that

she brings back serves to embellish her quiet life, not to change it.

Will it be so with you?"

I wrote back, "No; but I am coming."

He wrote again of changes in Surrey. Dr. Snell had gone, library and

all, and a new minister, red hot from Andover, had taken his place. An

ugly new church was building. His best ship, the _Locke Morgeson_,

was at the bottom of the Indian Ocean, he had just heard. Her loss

bothered him, but his letters were kinder than ever.

I consulted with Alice about leaving the Academy. She approved

my plan, but begged me not to leave her. I said nothing of my

determination to that effect, feeling a strange disinclination toward

owning it, though I persisted in repeating it to myself. I applied

diligently to my reading, emulating Ben Somers in the regularity of

my habits, and took long walks daily--a mode of exercise I had adopted

since I had ceased my rides with Charles. The pale blue sky of spring

over me, and the pale green grass under me, were charming perhaps;

but there was the same monotony in them, as in other things. I did not

frequent our old promenade, Silver Street, but pushed my walks

into the outskirts of Rosville, by farms bordered with woods. My

schoolmates, who were familiar with all the pleasant spots of the

neighborhood, met me in groups. "Are you really taking walks like the

rest of us?" they asked. "Only alone," I answered.

I bade farewell at last to Miss Prior. We parted with all friendliness

and respect; from the fact, possibly, that we parted ignorant of each

other. It was the most rational relation that I had ever held with any

one. We parted without emotion or regret, and I started on my usual

walk.

As I was returning I met Ben Somers. When he saw me he threw his cap

into the air, with the information that he had done with his plans,

and had ordered an indigestible supper, in honor of his resolve. As

people had truly remarked, he could afford to be eccentric. He was

tired of it; he had money enough to do without law. "Not as much as

your cousin Morgeson, who can do without the Gospel, too."

This was the first time that he had referred to Charles since that

memorable night. Trifling as his words were, they broke into the

foundations of my stagnant will, and set the tide flowing once more.

"You went to Surrey."

"I was there a few hours. Your father was not at home. He asked me

there, you remember. I introduced myself, therefore, and was politely

received by your mother, who sent for Veronica. She came in with an

occupied air, her hands full of what I thought were herbs; but they

were grasses, which she had been re-arranging, she said.

"'You know my sister?' she asked, coming close, and looking at me with

the most singular eyes that were ever on earth." He stopped a moment.

"Not like yours, in the least," he continued. "'Cassandra is very

handsome now, is she?'

"'Why, Veronica,' said your mother, 'you astonish Mr. Somers.'

"'You are not astonished,' she said with vehemence, 'you are

embarrassed.'

"'Upon my soul I am,' I replied, feeling at ease as soon as I had said

so.

"'Tell me, what has Cassandra been taught? Is Rosville suited to her?

We are not.'

"'Veronica!' said your mother again.

"'Mother," and she shook the grasses, and made a little snow fall

round her; 'what shall I say then? I am sure he knows Cassandra. What

did you come here for?' turning to me again.

"'To see you,' I answered foolishly.

"'And has Cassandra spoken of me?' Her pale face grew paler, and an

indescribable expression passed over it. 'I do not often speak of

her.'

"'She does not of you,' I was obliged to answer. And then I said I

must go. But your mother made me dine with them. When I came away

Veronica offered me her hand, but she sent no message to you. She has

never been out of my mind a moment since."

"You remember the particulars of the interview very well."

"Why not?"

"Would she bear your supervision?"

"Forgive me, Cassandra. Have I not been making a hermit of myself,

eating bread and meat by the ounce, for an expiation?"

"How did it look there? Oh, tell me!"

"You strange girl, have you a soul then? It is a grand place, where

it has not been meddled with. I hired a man to drive me as far as any

paths went, into those curving horns of land, on each side of Surrey

to the south. The country is crazy with barrenness, and the sea mocks

it with its terrible beauty."

"You will visit us, won't you?"

"Certainly; I intend to go there."

"Do you know that I left school to-day?"

"It is time."

I hurried into the house, for I did not wish to hear any questions

from him concerning my future. Charlotte, who was rolling up an

umbrella in the hall, said it was tea-time, adding that Mr. Morgeson

had come, and that he was in the dining-room. I went upstairs to leave

my bonnet. As I pulled off my glove the ring on my finger twisted

round. I took it off, for the first time since Charles had given it

to me. A sense of haste came upon me; my hands trembled. I brushed

my hair with the back of the brush, shook it out, and wound it into

a loose mass, thrust in my comb and went down. Charlotte was putting

candles on the tea table. Edward was on his father's knee; Alice was

waiting by the tray.

"Here--is--Cassandra," said Charles, mentioning the fact as if he

merely wished to attract the child's attention.

"Here--is--Cassandra," I repeated, imitating his tone. He started.

Some devil broke loose in him, and looking through his eyes an

instant, disappeared, like a maniac who looks through the bars of his

cell, and dodges from the eye of his keeper. Jesse brought me a letter

while we were at the table. It was from Helen. I broke its seal to see

how long it was, and put it aside.

"I am free, Alice. I have left the Academy, and am going to set up for

an independent woman."

"What?" said Charles; "you did not tell me. Did you know it, Alice?"

"Yes; we can't expect her to be at school all her days."

"Cassandra," he said suddenly, "will you give me the salt?"

He looked for the ring on the hand which I stretched toward him.

He not only missed that, but he observed the disregard of his wishes

in the way I had arranged my hair. I shook it looser from the comb and

pushed it from my face. An expression of unspeakable passion, pride,

and anguish came into his eyes; his mouth trembled; he caught up a

glass of water to hide his face, and drank slowly from it.

"Are you going away again soon?" Alice asked him presently.

"No."

"To keep Cassandra, I intend to ask Mrs. Morgeson to come again. Will

you write Mr. Morgeson to urge it?"

"Yes."

"I shall ask them to give up Cass altogether to us."

"You like her so much, do you, Alice?"

His voice sounded far off and faint.

Again I refrained from speaking my resolution of going home. I would

give up thinking of it even! I felt again the tension of the chain

between us. That night I ceased to dream of him.

"My letter is from Helen, Alice," I said.

"When did you see Somers?" Charles asked.

"To-day. I have an idea he will not remain here long."

"He is an amusing young man," Alice remarked.

"Very," said Charles.

Helen's letter was long and full of questions. What had I done? How

had I been? She gave an account of her life at home. She was her

father's nurse, and seldom left him. It was a dreary sort of business,

but she was not melancholy. In truth, she felt better pleased with

herself than she had been in Rosville. She could not help thinking

that a chronic invalid would be a good thing for me. How was Ben

Somers? How much longer should I stay in Rosville? It would know us no

more forever when we left, and both of us would leave it at the same

time. Would I visit her ever? They lived in a big house with a red

front door. On the left was a lane with tall poplars dying on each

side of it, up which the cows passed every night. At the back of it

was a huge barn round which martins and pigeons flew the year through.

It was dull but respectable and refined, and no one knew that she was

tattooed on the arm.

I treasured this letter and all she wrote me. It was my first

school-girl correspondence and my last.

Relations of Alice came from a distance to pay her a visit. There was

a father, a mother, a son about twenty-one, and two girls who were

younger. Alice wished that they had stayed at home; but she was polite

and endeavored to make their visit agreeable. The son, called by his

family "Bill," informed Charles that he was a judge of horseflesh, and

would like to give his nags a try, having a high-flyer himself at

home that the old gentleman would not hear of his bringing along. His

actions denoted an admiration of me. He looked over the book I was

reading or rummaged my workbox, trying on my thimble with an air of

tenderness, and peeping into my needlebook. He told Alice that he

thought I was a whole team and a horse to let, but he felt rather

balky when he came near me, I had such a smartish eye.

"What am I to do, marm?" asked Jesse one morning when Charles was

away. "That ere young man wants to ride the new horse, and it is jist

the one he mus'n't ride."

"I will speak to Cousin Bill myself," she said.

"He seems a sperrited young feller, and if he wants to break his neck

it's most a pity he shouldn't."

"I think," she said when Jesse had retired, "that Charles must be

saving up that beast to kill himself with. He will not pull a chaise

yet."

"Has Charles tried him?"

"In the lane in an open wagon. He has a whim of having him broken to

drive without blinders, bare of harness; he has been away so of late

that he has not accomplished it."

Bill entered while we were talking, and Alice told him he must not

attempt to use the horse, but proposed he should take her pair and

drive out with me. I shook my head in vain; she was bent on mischief.

He was mollified by the proposal, and I was obliged to get ready. On

starting he placed his cap on one side, held his whip upright, telling

me that it was not up to the mark in length, and doubled his knuckles

over the reins. He was a good Jehu, but I could not induce him to

observe anything along the road.

"Where's Mr. Morgeson's mills?"

We turned in their direction.

"He is a man of property, ain't he?"

"I think so."

"He has prime horses anyhow. That stallion of his would bring a

first-rate price if he wanted to sell. Do you play the piano?"

"A little."

"And sing?"

"Yes."

"I have not heard you. Will you sing '_A place in thy memory,

dearest,'_ some time for me?"

"Certainly."

"Are you fond of flowers and the like?"

"Very fond of them."

"So am I; our tastes agree. Here we are, hey?"

Charles came out when he saw us coming over the bridge, and Bill

pulled up the horses scientifically, giving him a coachman's salute.

"You see I am quite a whip."

"You are," said Charles.

"What a cub!" he whispered me. "I think I'll give up my horses and

take to walking as you have."

On the way home Bill held the reins in one hand and attempted to take

mine with the other, a proceeding which I checked, whereupon he was

exceedingly confused. The whip fell from his clutch over the dasher,

and in recovering it his hat fell off; shame kept him silent for the

rest of the ride.

I begged Alice to propose no more rides with Cousin Bill. That night

he composed a letter which he sent me by Charlotte early the next

morning.

"Why, Charlotte, what nonsense is this?"

"I expect," she answered sympathizingly, "that it is an offer of his

hand and heart."

"Don't mention it, Charlotte."

"Never while I have breath."

In an hour she told Phoebe, who told Alice, who told Charles, and

there it ended. It was an offer, as Charlotte predicted. My first! I

was crestfallen! I wrote a reply, waited till everybody had gone to

breakfast, and slipping into his room, pinned it to the pincushion.

In the evening he asked if I ever sang "_Should these fond hopes e'er

forsake thee."_ I gave him the "_Pirate's Serenade_" instead, which

his mother declared beautiful. I saw Alice and Charles laughing,

and could hardly help joining them, when I looked at Bill, in whose

countenance relief and grief were mingled.

It was a satisfaction to us when they went away. Their visit was

shortened, I suspected, by the representations Bill made to his

mother. She said, "Good-by," with coldness; but he shook hands with

me, and said it was all right he supposed.

The day they went I had a letter from father which informed me that

mother would not come to Rosville. He reminded me that I had been

in Rosville over a year. "I am going home soon," I said to myself,

putting away the letter. It was a summer day, bright and hot. Alice,

busy all day, complained of fatigue and went to bed soon after tea.

The windows were open and the house was perfumed with odors from

the garden. At twilight I went out and walked under the elms, whose

pendant boughs were motionless. I watched the stars as they came out

one by one above the pale green ring of the horizon and glittered in

the evening sky, which darkened slowly. I was coming up the gravel

walk when I heard a step at the upper end of it which arrested me. I

recognized it, and slipped behind a tree to wait till it should pass

by me; but it ceased, and I saw Charles pulling off a twig of the

tree, which brushed against his face. Presently he sprang round the

tree, caught me, and held me fast.

"I am glad you are here, my darling. Do you smell the roses?"

"Yes; let me go."

"Not till you tell me one thing. Why do you stay in Rosville?"

The baby gave a loud cry in Alice's chamber which resounded through

the garden.

"Go and take care of your baby," I said roughly, "and not busy

yourself with me."

"Cassandra," he said, with a menacing voice, "how dare you defy me?

How dare you tempt me?"

I put my hand on his arm. "Charles, is love a matter of temperament?"

"Are you mad? It is life--it is heaven--it is hell."

"There is something in this soft, beautiful, odorous night that makes

one mad. Still I shall not say to you what you once said to me."

"Ah! you do not forget those words--'_I love you_.'"

Some one came down the lane which ran behind the garden whistling an

opera air.

"There is your Providence," he said quietly, resting his hand against

the tree.

I ran round to the front piazza, just as Ben Somers turned out of the

lane, and called him.

"I have wandered all over Rosville since sunset," he said "and at last

struck upon that lane. To whom does it belong?"

"It is ours, and the horses are exercised there."

"'In such a night,

Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls,

And sighed his soul towards the Grecian tents,

Where Cressid lay that night.'"

'"In such a night,

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand,

Upon the wild sea banks, and waved her love

To come again to Carthage.'"

"Talk to me about Surrey, Cassandra."

"Not a word."

"Why did you call me?"

"To see what mood you were in."

"How disagreeable you are! What is the use of venturing one's mood

with you?"

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