OSWALD MEETS ESTHER
Late on the following morning a servant called with breakfast. In about
an hour Sir Donald paid Oswald a visit.
Replying to a question as to his night's rest, he complained of severe
pains across his lungs. Sir Donald suggested that a physician be called,
but Oswald declined medical assistance.
After some pleasant talk, Sir Donald informed him that the servant would
be at his command until evening; that in the afternoon Esther would
return from London, and expected her father at the station, adding:
"These little girls must be carefully attended."
Oswald felt a shade of disappointment at this fatherly allusion to
little Esther. Having pictured a graceful young woman of faultless face,
form, and manner, how strong his protest against the displacement of
this ideal, by a rollicking little "tot," full of spoiled temper and
domineering caprice.
Oswald now sees in Sir Donald Randolph less to admire. Mentally
arraigning this aristocrat for his poor taste, he blames the silly
father for having such a daughter. Finally, deciding not to be unduly
harsh in his judgment, as there might have been mitigating
circumstances, he is feeling a sense of self-approval, when voices are
heard.
Looking from the window, he sees that pictured ideal coming up the
graveled walk, clasping the hand of Sir Donald, talking as though time
were covenant essence, with forfeiture imminent.
At once all resentment vanishes. This noble father is promptly
reinstated.
Oswald now feels an impulse to apologize for his former verdict and
judgment, but decides, as neither had been announced, to suppress both.
His pleased fancy pictures pleasant moonlight strolls, long rides on
horseback, frequent sails upon a wooded lake, numerous tete-a-tetes in
secluded bowers, a sweet girl's tender, wistful smiles, a whispered
proposal, with happy, conditional acceptance, soon followed by a grand
marriage ceremony.
For nearly an hour little matters kept Sir Donald from visiting his
guest.
Oswald chafed under this prolonged neglect. Why should he, Oswald
Langdon, with assured honors waiting acceptance, receive such shabby
treatment? To leave promptly would be showing proper spirit.
However, there is little hazard of such commendable spiritual
manifestation.
Strange, Miss Randolph has no more curiosity and shows so little
interest.
Soon Sir Donald called, and asked if Oswald felt able to go downstairs.
"Fully, thank you!" is the animated response.
Leaning on Sir Donald's arm, the young man descends, and enters the
family sitting-room, where he is presented to Esther Randolph.
Habitually at ease in exchange of formal social greetings, Oswald feels
a slight tremor of embarrassment upon his presentation to this beautiful
blushing girl. Such mixture of childish curiosity, impulsive girlish
candor, and unconscious grace, with hesitating modesty, womanly dignity,
and restraints of good breeding, all modulated by eye and accent,
blending with expressive facial lights and shades, is to Oswald a new
creation.
The look of questioning admiration is mutual, each evidently seeing in
the other an interesting enigma.
Wonderfully fascinated by this girl of twenty, Oswald spends a
delightful evening. So absorbed is he, that bodily pain and Sir Donald
are in abeyance. This fine specimen of mature, aristocratic manhood now
is interesting only as father of a unique daughter.
While pleased at Oswald's manly refinement and evident interest, the
girl feels no warmer thrill.
Esther's education had progressed under her father's care. Competent
teachers of high character were employed for so important work. The
mental culture, social training, and refined accomplishments of Esther
Randolph to such a father were matters of import. Nor were the subtle
interwoven relations of the intellectual and ethical with bodily
conditions, disregarded. She learned much by study wisely directed;
became proficient in the languages, vocal and instrumental music;
absorbed valuable general information from frequent talks with her
father; read with discrimination some of the best works of poetry,
romance, and literature; was familiar with the amenities of polite
society; yet this girl of twenty seemed totally unconscious of her rare
accomplishments, or bewitching perfections of face and form.
When she first met Oswald Langdon, Esther had not felt any symptoms of
the tender sentiment. Was not this handsome, refined, enthusiastic,
cultured young fellow, so strangely placed in her path, almost an ideal
of manly perfection?
In Oswald's life there had been little social sentiment. The formal
courtesies of polite society were hollow and tiresome. Though thought by
friends and acquaintances to be a young man of strong mind, fascinating,
magnetic manners, and high aspirations, with a brilliant prospective
career, he seemed careless of that dubious prestige whose uncertain
tenure is subject to the whims of the alleged "select."
Oswald had met many well-connected, eligible young ladies. Their manners
had been kindly gracious. Most courteously and with instinctive chivalry
he had responded, but never felt any lasting interest. Now,
providentially, he has met Esther Randolph. Oswald Langdon and
providence cannot fail.
Sir Donald listened with pleasure to the animated talk of Esther and
Oswald.
Though fascinated with the girl, Oswald's manner toward the father was
respectfully considerate. Sir Donald was his kind benefactor, and had a
most charming daughter. Oswald Langdon had too much self-respect--and
tact--to ignore Sir Donald Randolph.
At ten o'clock the family and guest retired, the father to indulge his
soul's long habit of speculative conjecture, the daughter to sleep,
Oswald to think of Esther.
The stay of Oswald at Northfield was prolonged for a period of six
weeks. For nearly half of this time he was detained by his injuries and
the advice of the physician. Fearing hemorrhages as a result of the
injuries to his breast, Oswald finally had consented to receive medical
attendance.
Enjoying the society of this interesting invalid, Sir Donald and Esther
had assured him that he was welcome to the extended hospitality of
Northfield.
There were many delightful talks upon all sorts of subjects, profound
and otherwise. Esther often played, with exquisite skill, selections
from musical masters. At his request she sang songs of grand, refined
sentiment and of most entrancing melody.
Oswald was not at ease. Though Esther promptly responded to his
invitations to sing and play, even anticipating his wishes in
selections, seeming perfectly happy in his presence, Oswald saw that
this grand girl had thoughts and purposes in which he had no part.
The form of this barrier was shadowy, but real.
To some natures, vague, dim outlines of shapes are more potent than
those of an heroic mold.
There was in Oswald's high-strung, impulsive being, not tense, imperious
energy alone, but that craft which in emergency could plan and wait.
But how mass the forces of a masterful spirit against an evasive square?
Though perplexed by this intangible obstacle to his purposes, Oswald
continued, by varying tactics, his subtle bombardment, still floundering
in the mazes of the siege.
While impressed with her father's liberal views regarding the infinite
wideness of divine compassion toward human frailty, Esther had a most
exacting sense of personal obligation to a higher power.
It never occurred to this generous, conscientious girl that her moral
delinquencies should tax the healing properties or sensitive texture of
the "seamless robe." Her conscience was peculiarly responsive to all
religious appeals wherein duty was imperative, and her sentiments were
so generous toward human want, that the natural effect of such ethical
experiences would be a life of self-sacrifice in some line of charitable
service.
This conscientious leaning was toward practical charity. At London,
during her recent visit, Esther had listened to eloquent, stirring
appeals from a brilliant pulpit orator, upon the subjects of charity and
sacrifice. Prominence was given to local endeavor in behalf of the
helpless poor.
"Such are," said he, "exalted objects of divine solicitude. Hopeless
looks and dwarfish lives are fearful protests against the pitiless
avarice of the faithless rich. This or that conception of the
redemptive economy, or concerning the personnel of its central figure,
may be tolerated, but there can be no hopeful sign for him who actively
or passively oppresses God's 'little ones.'
"A story has been told of One whose weary, homeless head, often envied
hole of fox and nest of bird; 'despised and rejected,' yet making
autocratic claims to kingly prerogatives over an empire more limitless
than that of Caesar Augustus; having in marked degree, a high-born soul's
characteristic indifference to personal affronts, yet terribly indignant
at slights to the poor; Who, standing with His imperial brow bared in
oriental sun, His right hand resting in benediction upon curly-headed
babe, the other thrilling with prophetic instinct of the leftward
gesture of 'Depart,' uttered this sentiment, Better a millstone necklace
and deep-sea grave than offense against the helpless.
"How heartless, for one reared in luxury, placed beyond the reach of
want, having refinements and accomplishments of intellectual drill,
leading a life of selfish ease, pampering every personal taste, while
millions of these needy wards lack common bread."
Names and sacrifices of noted philanthropists were eloquently commented
upon, and pathetic instances were narrated of noble women who had spent
their lives in this human ministry.
These appeals had awakened in Esther's mind a fixed resolve to devote
herself to some form of home missionary work. She fully had determined
to forego all associations and environments not conducive to greatest
usefulness in her chosen mission.
Trustingly waiting providential direction, Esther had returned from
London, doubting not that a life of contented service would unfold with
the years.
Thus panoplied with mail of self-consecration to an ideal, Esther
Randolph met and withstood the suit of Oswald Langdon.
Oswald never overtly exceeded the bounds of social propriety, nor
boorishly inflicted his presence upon Esther's attention. The high
constraints of native manliness and gentlemanly instinct precluded such
coarse tactics.
Esther's failure to appreciate this rare chance, and to acquiesce in her
lover's evident interest, resulted not from any strange apathy or
dislike, such as sometimes influences girlish choice. To her father she
said: "I see in Oswald's remarkable individuality much to admire. His
refined, magnetic enthusiasm is contagious, and at times most
fascinating. His delicately guarded, subtle compliments, yet earnest,
sincere speech, interest me greatly." It was but natural that the
tender, wistful courtesies and considerate deference of this masterful
suitor should be pleasing to Esther's womanly spirit. This
high-principled girl, strong for self-sacrifice upon the altar of duty,
was intensely human. Oswald felt this charm, and readily yielded to its
power.
As Esther became sensitive of her interest in Oswald's future, she
became more conscientiously determined upon absolute dedication of self
to higher purposes than earthly pleasures.
Being perplexed at the strange girl's conduct, Oswald concluded to learn
its cause. His waking hours, while alone, were spent in framing all
sorts of delicately worded questions and comments about subjects which
he thought of interest to Esther, calculated to draw out this hidden
secret.
Unconscious of his craft, Esther's responses were void of light as
Egyptian sphinx.
Oswald became wildly curious as to this mystery. It occurred to him that
there might have been a case of early infatuation.
To his skillfully framed, delicately propounded questions about her past
life, Esther answered frankly, with happy enthusiasm, giving each glad
reminiscence.
Perhaps her aristocratic father had confided to Esther cherished plans
concerning proper social alliances, and this loyal daughter yielded to
the parental will.
Oswald's tactful delving unearthed no coercive "find" of restraining or
constraining parental influence designedly swaying Esther's choice
toward any fixed social status.
It was apparent that this girl felt toward her father a loving sense of
filial reverence. That Esther would defer to Sir Donald's unexpressed or
spoken will, Oswald doubted not.
There seemed to be such habitual interchange of parental and filial
regard, so much of loving care and trusting dependence between this
father and child, that Oswald knew in any emergency these would be far
more autocratic in power of high constraint than any dogmatic assertions
of authority or sentimental excesses.
Does she divine his purposes and evade the issue? Are any peculiar
English property entailments obstacles to his suit? Is this hateful
barrier some high family scheme of marital intrigue or establishment?
These and other less probable possible causes are canvassed by Oswald
with much tact and persistence.
Much of information derived by this resourceful inquisitor was not
through question or reply, but was elicited by adroitly worded opinions
upon remotely similar subjects adapted to time and occasion of their
utterance. Still the mystery deepened.
Oswald had been at Northfield for about three weeks, and was entirely
recovered from his injuries.
Though loth to leave this interesting home, he concluded to go. With
evident reluctance he stated his purpose to Sir Donald and Esther. These
so cordially urged longer stay that Oswald readily consented.
"Why not stay here longer, and see more of Northfield?"
He had no wish to find any sufficient answer to this question. To his
visual survey Northfield was then in smiling review.
Sir Donald suggested a ride on horseback. The air was pleasant and the
sky cloudless. Oswald admired the picturesque variety of wood, stream,
hill, and level field, with their blending, many-colored shades. Esther
commented with enthusiasm upon the incidents of each loved spot, seeming
a little girl again among the sweet scenes of her childhood home. Sir
Donald listened with pleased smile to Esther's minute description of
each coincidence of the past. At times there crossed his refined, mobile
face tremulous shades, suggestive of pathetic memories. The panorama of
twenty-five years was passing before his reminiscent gaze, softened and
blended by subdued tints of receding lights.
Turning a wooded curve, they came upon a grassy nook by a pebbly stream
shaded with trees. The granite inscriptions with choicely selected
bushes and flowers needed no interpreter.
Esther saw that Sir Donald wished to be alone. Without spoken sign, she
rode on, accompanied by Oswald.
Sir Donald dismounted. This strong, mature, chastened man never thought
of wife and child as sleeping there. They dwelt too far and safe for
such pulseless rest. With clarified visions and adjusted lenses these
gazed from their high mounts of observation upon "those graves called
human existence, not yet resurrected unto life."
Esther led the way along a narrow path to an open space, where she and
Oswald dismounted. Neither referred to Sir Donald's whim in remaining
behind.
Oswald had spent a half-hour alone with this interesting girl without
reference to the mystery which had eluded his subtle, absorbing inquiry
for the past three weeks.
Upon being joined by Sir Donald, the party rode on for some distance
along the bank of a lake, until coming to a graveled road and following
its meandering course, they returned to the Northfield mansion.
Next day was the Sabbath. Oswald attended the parish church with Sir
Donald and Esther.
Having from early childhood felt the restraints of religious training,
Oswald yielded to the sweet solemnity of the hour. Though his
controlling aspirations, in their uncurbed impetuosity and youthful
conceit, were little consciously tinged with the higher sentiments of
ethical teaching, yet Christian principles were entitled to unquestioned
homage. Feeling slight commendation for that meek attitude of majestic
patience, "led like a lamb to the slaughter," he thrilled at sight of an
heroic warrior figure, clad in royal Bozrah-vintage-tinted purple, with
powerful victor tread, returning from "Edom" conquest. There was not
much of "comeliness" in the "marred face" of an unresenting Christ, but
how fascinating the autocratic, prophet-painted, empire-inscribed pose
of Redemption's Champion, clad in ermine of final decree, alternately
welcoming his ancient "Elect," and with awful leftward gesture upon
countless millions pronouncing the changeless judgment of "Depart."
Esther's lips quivered with sympathetic emotion at the divine tenderness
for human despair. In the miracles she saw heavenly interposition to
relieve earthly want. Barley loaves, fish, and wine were for the hungry,
thirsty, ravenous crowd. Clay anointings were for the blind, quickened
ears for deaf mutes, leprous healings for diseased outcasts, and
recalled vital breath to pulseless mortality, responsive to human
prayer. Esther faintly comprehended the inexorable justice of final
judgment, but pitied poor, erring, bewildered, helpless human wanderers,
gravitating so swiftly and surely to drear, friendless caverns of
eternal night.
Afterward, in comment to Oswald and Esther, Sir Donald said:
"Is not patience royalty's most crucial test? How easy, kingly
assertion! How hard, autocratic forbearance! How little evidence of
omnipotence in vindictive wrath! Are not human weaknesses rightful
claimants to a divine protectorate? Are not the crowning glories of
these grand figures of Hebrew imagery in their pathetic antitypes? Is
not the progressive evolution of the ages more sublime than spontaneous
precocity? Restoring to normal functions ear, eye, and tongue is not so
miraculous as are continuous creations of auricular and visual senses,
with all the wondrous resulting harmonies of speech, sound, and song.
Healing an 'unclean' wretch of his foul disorder ranks not the healthy
rhythm of an infant's pulse. The inexplicable life of an interesting
young girl is more mysterious than was the resurrection of Lazarus."
The ritual had an unspeakable charm for Esther and Oswald.
Monday, Oswald saw Esther only briefly, as some matters of household
supervision absorbed her care. He felt lonely, but improved the time in
writing several letters which had been delayed. Such employment would do
when Esther was out of sight. It seemed a day lost.
Many years had receded into vague retrospect before the absorbing
interests of three brief weeks.
Upon Tuesday Sir Donald and Esther drove to the station. A girl friend
was expected on a visit from London.
Oswald spent the day in walking about the grounds and viewing the rare
beauties of Northfield. Aware that much of interest was being seen by
him for the first time, yet he experienced a strange sense of
familiarity with many objects in this changing panorama. He took an
extended stroll along the banks of the lake. He stops and soliloquizes:
"Still the same unaccountable sensation! When and where have I witnessed
the counterpart of that timbered bank beyond the curve, with the jutting
wooded point in the distance? Why should the waters of a running stream,
with the glare of myriad lights, appear in the background of this real
landscape view? What have I done that a fleeing, skulking form like my
own flits back and forth in the distant outlines? Where have I seen that
despairing female face?"
With insistent sense of some fateful impending ill, Oswald returned to
Northfield.
Having been gone several hours, the sun was setting when he reached the
mansion grounds. Coming up a flower-fringed path, wondering at the
chimeras of the afternoon, he saw Esther seated on a bench near a
rosebush, and stepped toward her with a pleasant greeting, but cut it
short with a startled, "Well!"
The surprised cause of Oswald's exclamation blushed as she looked into
his strangely excited countenance.
Thinking there was some mistake of identity at the base of this
incident, Esther presented Oswald to her friend from London, Miss Alice
Webster.
With much pleasant tact, Esther managed to divert the minds of her young
friends from this little mistaken affair to subjects more agreeable.
"Miss Webster has lived in London several years, and is an intimate
friend of my cousins dwelling there. She called upon them during my
recent visit. I pressed Alice to spend a few weeks at Northfield. We
look for a most delightful time.
"How nice it will be that Mr. Langdon can be here and help us to enjoy
this treat! What lovely trips on horseback! Such sails on the lake! Miss
Webster sings divinely."
Esther's exquisite face shone with genuine anticipation, and Alice
seemed hopeful of perfect happiness.
Oswald did not just like the prospect. Though this London acquisition to
Northfield's select circle was an uncommonly pretty young woman of
twenty-two, tall, and a most strikingly interesting brunette, Oswald had
little disposition to be promiscuous in his tastes for female charms. To
his discriminating vision Esther Randolph was the ideal of all he deemed
desirable in womanly loveliness. If Oswald Langdon had been consulted as
to the advisability of this expected visit, Alice Webster at that time
would have been in London.
However, there were matters in the Randolph social set which had taken
shape without his molding hand.
Oswald considerately decided not to veto any absolute decrees of fate,
but felt that innocent, generous-hearted Alice Webster was an interloper
and a positive barrier to his purposes.
Let none fancy that this chafing, impetuous suitor, so impatient toward
any and all obstacles, permitted ocular evidence of these sentiments to
casual view. All was masked by the most refined, manly courtesy and held
in check by habitual self-control.
From the first Alice admired Oswald Langdon. His conduct toward her was
the perfection of manly consideration. Conscious of his unreasonable
resentment against her presence at Northfield at this particular time,
he made amends by strenuous efforts to entertain this handsome girl.
For nearly two weeks the time of these interesting young people was
occupied in varying rounds of social pleasure. The three seldom were
separated, except when Esther was called away to superintend some
household matter or joined Sir Donald.
Oswald planned many ways to be alone with Esther, but found such
seclusion impossible. Not that there was apparent disposition on her
part to thwart any of his plans, but on the contrary, Esther seemed
acquiescent in every whim of her guests.
Alice was happy in Oswald's company, and did not disguise her
sentiments.
Having been so considerate, Oswald could not now be indifferent without
causing sensitive pain.
Though Esther had concluded that her life's purpose never would permit
anything more than Platonic regard for Oswald Langdon, yet she often
wished that duty's path might be less narrow and exacting. The cost of
living with sole reference to a high spiritual ideal never seemed so
great as when she saw this fascinating, manly suitor, evidently seeking
her hand, but failing of proper encouragement, turning his attention to
another. Beyond this suppressed pain, evidenced by slightly quivering
lips, there was little to disturb Esther's fixed resolve.
When Oswald had despaired of again seeing Esther except in company of
Alice, and was thinking of going home to await further plans, all were
surprised by the appearance of a young man from London.
That evening Sir Donald told Oswald the following story:
"For many years Paul Lanier has known Alice, and they are quite
friendly. He was a frequent caller at her London home. Though Alice
never felt toward him much of interest and doubted his sincerity of
purpose, yet this tireless suitor persistently continued his attentions.
"Paul is the son of a rich broker, who until recently has been the
guardian of Alice Webster.
"Alice's father, William Webster, acquired wealth in India. Pierre
Lanier was his partner.
"Reverses came. In a fit of insane madness over his losses, resort was
had to the suicide's refuge. Pierre Lanier settled the complicated
affairs of his dead partner. All was absorbed but a small estate in
England, yielding an annual rental of one hundred pounds. This income
has been devoted to the care and education of the orphan daughter, Alice
Webster, who at the time of her father's death was four years old. Her
mother died when Alice was a babe, and was buried at Calcutta.
"Paul is the only son of Pierre Lanier, and until he reached the age of
sixteen lived with his father in India. Nine years ago his father
brought Paul to London, where he has since resided. Through his father's
finesse, Paul moved in select London circles. He attended the same
church as Alice Webster. The father being wealthy and of pleasant
address, Paul was regarded as a promising young man with good prospects,
but both, for some reason, seem interested in the future of this young
orphan girl with the moderate allowance.
"Alice and Paul were much together, and became quite good friends.
Paul's father still resided abroad, but made frequent visits to London.
The growing friendship between these two young people seemed to meet his
hearty approval. About nine months ago Paul joined his father at
Calcutta, and Alice thought he was still there until she was surprised
by his unheralded appearance.
"Less than a year previous to this meeting, Pierre Lanier was in
London. At this time Paul proposed to Alice that they be married during
his father's stay. Alice gently but positively declined this proposal.
Paul insisted, and was fiercely indignant at her continued refusal.
Finally, seeing there was then no hope of a favorable answer, his
tactics took more subtle form, and Paul said:
"'It is unreasonable that I should expect an immediate answer. You have
known me as a boy, and have seen little of society. You will like me
better after seeing the hollow mockery of social compliments. My love
for you will be constant. Will you not kindly leave me some hope, and
wait a year before final decision? I will go abroad, hoping that at the
end of twelve anxious months Alice Webster will consent to become my
bride.'
"Thus appealed to, this generous-hearted girl consented to grant the
desired time, and to defer until then the final reply. Soon after this
Pierre Lanier left London, and in a few weeks Paul went to India."
Oswald was much interested in this romance and awaited developments.
Alice experienced much uneasiness because of her promise to wait. She
felt determined upon refusing to become the wife of Paul Lanier, but
dreaded the ordeal. She doubted his sincerity, and felt dread of both
father and son. For several weeks before her visit at Northfield Alice
had experienced an unaccountable sense of being watched, and often in
her walks met a strange man with familiar, furtive, shifting glances.
Fully determined forever to end this unwelcome affair, Alice gladly
accepted Esther's invitation to visit Northfield. In the sweet
infatuation of the past few weeks Alice almost had forgotten her former
distresses, and was experiencing a sense of unmitigated pleasure at this
beautiful home. Her growing interest in Oswald Langdon would make easier
dismissal forever of Paul's attentions.
Though when in company of Esther and Oswald, Alice often had experienced
a temporary sense of being watched, yet her pleasure was too genuine
long to feel the presence of unreal objects. More than once had the
reflected shadow of Paul Lanier appeared in startling clearness. Far
from being homely or of unpleasant features, judged by approved
standards of manly beauty, yet compared with Oswald Langdon, Paul Lanier
was to Alice Webster an uninteresting deformity.
The two girls were sitting upon the lawn, in shade of a tree, listening
to Oswald's full, well-modulated voice reading from the opening chapter
of "Aurora Leigh," when a neatly dressed, stylish-appearing young man
stood before them. Lifting his hat with a low bow, he responded to
Alice's startled "Mr. Lanier!" with "Good-evening, Alice."
With apparent fear, Alice presented Paul to Esther and Oswald as her
friend from London, "Mr. Paul Lanier."
Noting the dismay of Alice at his sudden appearance, and quickly
divining that her sentiments toward him had not improved, Paul bit his
lips with suppressed ire, but otherwise was outwardly impassive. Paul
made a hurried explanation to Alice's unspoken inquiries: "I returned
from India sooner than expected. I learned of you being at Northfield,
and came from London to see you."
Alice endeavored to appear cheerful, but her efforts were apparent to
all.
Paul attributed her conduct to the presence of Oswald, and from that
moment became an implacable foe.
Oswald saw in the presence of Paul Lanier at Northfield, for the avowed
purpose of meeting Alice Webster, a chance to renew his quest. So, far
from attempting to supplant Paul, he wished him success, and hoped Alice
would think kindly of her old-time friend, who had traveled from far
India to see this capricious girl. Was not the infatuated Paul handsome,
stylish, and evidently sincere? Oswald felt a sense of pity for the
foolish prejudices of the silly Alice. His sympathies were aroused in
behalf of the slighted Paul, who would be justified in cutting the
acquaintance of such a perverse sweetheart. Oswald trusted that Paul
would consider before taking such a course. It would be well for
strong-minded, decisive men to practice forbearance with girlish whims
and fancies.
Ignoring the coolness of Alice, Paul was very courteous, seeming not to
notice her evident dislike.
The efforts of both young men to be alone with their objects of interest
were thwarted by the tact of Alice, who was attracted to the side of
Oswald or Esther, as varying circumstances required.
The evening was passed in conversation and instrumental music, yet there
were feelings of bitterness in that apparently happy group. Sir Donald
and Esther felt the pleasure growing out of generous, hospitable
entertainment, but there was much of unspoken recrimination between
their guests.
What pent malice often is masked by smiling social courtesies!
Upon the next day Sir Donald proposed that all take a sail on the lake
and enjoy some excellent fishing.
To reach the water at a convenient spot near the boat, the gay party,
with lunch and fishing outfit, took a double carriage, Sir Donald
occupying a seat with the driver. All entered the boat, Sir Donald with
much skill handling the canvas. After an extended ride the party landed
on a shaded bank, where a fire was kindled. The fish and coffee soon
were steaming on a table before used by the family on similar lake
excursions.
After the meal Sir Donald lay down at a little distance and took a nap.
The rest of the party strolled together through the timber skirting the
shore.
Esther and Alice became separated by a narrow ravine, which gradually
widened until its sides became steep. Oswald had followed Esther, who
seemed perfectly happy, and unconscious of the widening breach between
them and her friend.
Paul had seen his chance to be alone with Alice. The girl had not
noticed how their path was being separated from that of her friends
until they had gone some distance. Then she thought of retracing her
steps, but Paul suggested that they might get farther away in this
manner, and that by continuing up the ravine a crossing soon would be
found. They kept on their way, Paul evincing his desire to find Esther
and Oswald by frequent calls. There were no responses. After an hour of
wandering, Alice became tired, and sat down to rest.
Paul now seemed worried over not finding Esther and Oswald. He suggested
that they wait to see if their friends would not come that way. They
more easily could get back to the point of separation by not traveling
farther. Alice approved of this plan, and both waited in the shade of an
overhanging tree on the bank of the ravine.
Paul was very kind, treating her anxiety with marked solicitude. He
succeeded in allaying her doubts as to the outcome of this incident, and
they talked freely upon little events of their past.
Gradually Paul approached the subject uppermost in his mind. Alice tried
to divert him until some better time. Her ingenuity was not equal to the
occasion in dealing with Paul Lanier. She became aware of this, and
tremblingly awaited the attack.
With softened accents and apparent deference, Paul asked:
"Do you remember, Alice, the promise made me about a year ago?"
"That I would wait a year before deciding?"
"Yes, I believe you did say a year."
"But, Mr. Lanier, that was only nine months ago."
"While I have no right to hurry you, Alice, yet when a man's dearest
hopes are at stake, waiting three long months is a great trial."
"Still, Mr. Lanier, to decide such an important question is a year too
long?"
Mistaking her trembling earnestness for genuine interest in the proper
solution of this heart problem, Paul gravely urged:
"In the time already passed since my proposal, you surely have reached a
decision, and it is cruel longer to keep me in suspense."
Alice began to cry.
Paul attributed her tearful, hesitating manner to yielding consent, and
said:
"It will be better for me to now know my fate than to suffer the
uncertainties of three long months."
As Alice still hesitated, Paul boorishly insisted:
"Do here and now decide my fate."
Thus pressed, Alice replied:
"Mr. Lanier, I am so sorry to say that I never can become your wife."
Alice continued in a stammering way to tell Paul why she could not
accept his proposal.
Seeing that the frightened girl had power to refuse, Paul Lanier
listened with stoic, dogged silence. His craft did not forsake him, but
encouraging Alice freely and fully to state her whole mind, he
helplessly acquiesced.
Apparently dazed, Paul was some time silent; then with resigned air
said:
"I wonder why Mr. Langdon and Miss Randolph have not found us? Perhaps
it would be wise to return before it is late."
They started back, Paul showing no lack of courtesy toward this girl who
had crushed his hopes.
Alice felt rebuked by his conduct, and tried to be very kind in her
manner.
They met their friends near the point of separation. There were mutual
exchanges of surprises, but no one was pressed for explanations. A
strange self-abstraction seemed to control all. Without many words, the
four went together to the place where they had left Sir Donald. The
party was soon on the lake, sailing homeward. Finding the carriage in
waiting, they reached the Northfield residence at sunset.
Evidently all had enjoyed the outing, but they were weary, and soon
retired.
Both Paul and Oswald had reason to ponder the eventful experiences of
that day. Each felt keen disappointment, chafing at the perversity of
fate.
Esther and Oswald had strolled along pleasantly for some time before
missing their friends. Not doubting but that the absent ones soon would
appear, Esther enjoyed being alone with Oswald for the first time since
the arrival of Alice. There was something in the refined manner of this
earnest man that strongly appealed to Esther's womanly sentiments. But
for duty's requirements, she would have yielded to the evident wish of
Oswald Langdon. Her conduct seemed less restrained, and there was an
absence of that preoccupied air so puzzling to Oswald. Realizing that
their lives would drift apart, Esther felt a sense of loneliness. Her
smiles were wistful in anticipation of solemn adieus.
Oswald observed this change in Esther's manner, vigilantly noting each
significant sign. Would he ever have another such favorable opportunity
to learn Esther's mind concerning the subject which so engrossed all his
interest? The time would be too brief for him to know by the slow
processes of the last four weeks. Might not this mystery be solved and
his own fate be determined by frank avowal of his love?
There was to Oswald's thoughts a decisive directness which could not
brook the slow action of less positive minds. He resolved to know his
future in the hopeful present.
They sat down in an embowered spot, under a small tree, upon a grassy
knoll. Oswald's manner was nervously excited, despite strenuous effort
to appear circumspect. He began in low voice to express his sense of
pleasure since coming to Northfield.
"The happiest days of my life have been passed in your society. I have
often congratulated myself on the fortunate accident which detained me
at such a hospitable home, where the associations have been so pleasant.
Of my stay here I shall ever have most tender memories. It seems to me
that I have always known you, Miss Randolph. I never can tell you and
your father my appreciation of your kindnesses."
Here Esther interrupted his earnest talk by saying:
"Father and I are the debtors. We have been overpaid by the pleasure of
your stay at Northfield. Mr. Langdon, there will be a void in our home
when you have gone away."
Oswald eagerly replied:
"Why should I go away? Why not always be with you, Miss Randolph?"
Startled by these sudden questions, Esther was speechless. She saw the
drift, but the form was too dubious to admit of responsive reply.
Then, with impetuous frankness, Oswald avowed his love for Esther and
interest in her future plans.
"My love has grown stronger every day since we met. I have not known you
long, but what has time to do with such sentiments? I have so hoped that
you would reciprocate my love and think kindly of my suit. I have often
wondered at your preoccupation, but hope there is nothing in your plans
or purposes which will prevent our being forever united."
Pausing, Oswald noted Esther's tremor, but awaited her response.
In hesitating, plaintive voice, Esther said:
"Mr. Langdon, I greatly appreciate your sentiments toward me, and feel
much interest in your future. No light consideration would influence me
in such an important decision. I have no words to tell you how it pains
me to decline such an honorable proposal. I too will always have tender
recollections of your stay at Northfield. My life will be devoted to
alleviating the sorrows of the poor and wretched. This vow was taken
before you came to Northfield, and I must not break it, though the trial
be indeed very hard. My life as your wife would be against the plain
dictates of duty and a breach of covenant with Heaven."
Completely stunned, Oswald felt the decisive solemnity of Esther's
words, but could find no fitting reply. He had too much respect for her
good opinion, even though she crush his fondest hopes, to argue against
the grounds of her decision. There was something so intangible, yet
solemnly real, in this decisive consecration to holy ends that Oswald
experienced a sense of bewilderment and awe, rendering nerveless his
imperious will.
Following some further explanations by Esther for her fixed resolve,
they had returned and joined their friends without more than a few
words.
Having retired to his room, Oswald pondered long and bitterly over the
unwelcome revelations of the day. Esther had told him that for a long
time she had been thinking of her chosen life-work, but was fully
decided in this resolve by the solemn words of a minister spoken while
she was at London. Oswald had no censure for this high-principled,
conscientious girl's infatuation, but indignantly railed against her
spiritual advisers. These promoters of high ethical philosophy were safe
from undue force of their own appeals, though more susceptible hearts
might be crushed through conscientious compliance. It maddened Oswald
that this lovely girl, with all her perfections of mind, face, and form,
should be cast, like a common worm, into the great, vulgar, carnivorous
mouth of human want. If Christ's ultimate aim were alleviation of
physical suffering, why not feed and heal all earth's hungry, diseased
millions, through diviner, broad-gauged philanthropy than lagging
processes of personal devotion?
Oswald recalled the hateful, cruel, bigoted zeal of a Calchas, pressing
upon Agamemnon at Aulis the unappeased wrath of the gods, until to fill
the canvas of Grecian fleet for Troy sail this so-called "King of Men"
could yield his household's idol to butcher-blade of human sacrifice.
Could it be that the courteous, indulgent Sir Donald Randolph, with his
wealth of cultured, intellectual power, was such a cruel, heartless,
moral idealist as to approve of his daughter's immolation on this
slow-torturing funeral pyre?
Then, too, Esther's infatuation for such dreary life! Esther seemed to
think the infinite plans would fail without her cooeperation. Diana's
intervention saved the weeping, trembling Iphigenia, but how find
available substitute or Tauris asylum for deluded Esther Randolph?
Thus chafing against the day's revelations, Oswald continued, until
wearied he relaxed from such tense state into uneasy sleep.
Paul Lanier's quickened sense of personal humiliation struggled with the
promptings of overpowering craft. At times his vindictive malice planned
revengeful surprises for the man who was in some way responsible for
Paul's treatment. True, Paul saw little in Oswald's conduct toward Alice
evincing any absorbing interest, and could detect that Esther was the
attraction; but had not this fascinating Englishman come between him and
the girl of his choice? With set lips he recalled each slight received
at Northfield, and meditated sure revenge. "The time is short," he
mutters, "and I must not long temporize upon methods, but there must be
cautious anticipation of all the consequences."
In his malicious ire Paul could have found it easy forever to silence
the voices of that sleeping household.
"My manners shall mask devilish craft until success is assured. There
will be smiling, hypocritical acquiescence in Northfield plans, then
prompt, decisive action upon the part of Paul Lanier."
For hours Paul continued revolving in his mind various plans, but
reached no definite conclusion as to his course of action.
With all his survey of the situation in its remotest bearings, and
determination to practice dissembling, cautious craft, Paul's decisive
acts in this brooding tragedy were to be the result of passionate
impulse.