Mrs. Flint grew very uneasy over her absent niece as the short
afternoon waned and the fury of the storm increased to positive danger
for any luckless pedestrian. After fidgeting and worrying until the
early twilight fell, she began to say to herself that Cinthia was
probably all right, anyway. She had doubtless gone into some friend’s
for shelter, and would not likely return until morning.
She took her frugal tea alone and in something like sadness, for
Cinthia had seldom been absent from a meal before, and she began to
feel what a loss it was to miss the fair young face about the house.
She suddenly realized the tenderness lying dormant in her heart for the
wilful girl.
She sat down by the cozy fire with her knitting, and listened to the
tempest of wind and rain soughing in the trees outside, and Cinthia’s
rebellion that afternoon kept repeating itself over and over in her
brain until she muttered aloud:
“She wants fine things and parties and lovers, does she? Well, well, I
s’pose it’s natural enough for her mother’s child, and for any young
girl for that matter, but where’s she going to get them? The lovers
would be easy enough--she’s as pretty as a pink--but I don’t want to
encourage her vanity, and it’s better to save the money her father
sends till she needs it worse. What if he should die way off yonder
somewhere, and maybe not leave her a penny? I wish he’d come home, I
do, or I wish she was homely as sin, with red hair and freckles, and a
snub nose like Jane Ann Johnson!”
So she fretted and fumed until past ten o’clock, and that was an hour
beyond her usual bed-time; but somehow she could not get Cinthia out
of her mind, could not bear to retire while she was away, so she kept
glancing at the window, though scarcely expecting her to arrive before
morning. How could she, in such a storm, though the wind had lulled
somewhat, and the patter of the rain was dulled on the drifts of dead
leaves that muffled the sound of carriage-wheels, pausing too, so that
Mrs. Flint almost jumped out of her skin when there suddenly came a
loud rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, upon the front door.
But she was not naturally nervous, so after a moment’s startled
indecision, she flew to the door and demanded, through the key-hole, to
know who was there.
“It is Cinthia, aunt,” returned a sweet, mirthful voice.
With a sigh of relief the old lady unlocked the door, and there stepped
into the narrow hall a vision that took her breath away.
Was it Cinthia Dawn or a fairy princess, this beautiful creature in the
crimson silk and misty lace, the furred white opera-cloak falling from
her shoulders, the rippling lengths of sunny hair enveloping her like a
halo, the dark eyes beaming with “that light that never was on sea or
land,” but only in the glance of the happy and the loving?
“Cinthia Dawn!” she began, in a dazed voice; but just then she became
aware that a tall and handsome young man, hat in hand, was standing on
the threshold. She knew who he was. Her pastor had introduced her last
Sunday, at church, to the master of Idlewild.
“Good-evening, Mrs. Flint,” he began, beamingly. “I have brought
Cinthia home safe to you. My mother took care of her during the storm.”
He paused, faintly hoping that she would ask him to enter, it was so
early yet.
But he did not yet know Mrs. Flint, much as he had heard of her
eccentricities. She simply bridled, and returned, in her stiffest
manner:
“I’m sure we are _very_ much obliged to your mother, and you, too.
Good-evening.”
Thus curtly dismissed, the young man shot a tender glance at his
sweetheart, and bowed himself out into the night again, the lady
slamming the door behind him before he was fairly down the steps.
“Oh, Aunt Beck! how could you be so rude after all their kindness to
me? And he saved my life, too. Didn’t you see his arm in a sling?”
indignantly.
“I don’t know as I noticed it. I was so flustrated seeing you bringing
a beau home, and you nothing but a child yet!” snapped the old lady.
“_Child!_” echoed Cinthia, scornfully, as she held her chilly fingers
to the blaze and the ruddy light played over her beautiful garments.
“But what are you doing with the silk gown, and that grand white cloak,
all brocade and ermine? I don’t understand!” cried the old lady,
suspiciously.
Cinthia laughed out gayly, happily, her eyes shining, her voice as
sweet as silver bells.
“Why, I was caught in the rain and almost drowned, Aunt Beck, and my
wretched old duds were nothing but mud and water, so Mrs. Varian lent
me these things to come home in. Aren’t they becoming? Don’t I look
pretty?” setting her graceful head one side, like a bird.
“Humph! ‘Pretty is as pretty does,’” grunted her aunt, though she could
not keep her eyes off the charming creature as she flung herself back
in an easy-chair and continued, gayly:
“If you are not sleepy, Aunt Beck, I’ll tell you all about it.”
“I guess I can keep my eyes open!” ungraciously, though she was dying
of curiosity.
Thereupon Cinthia related all the events of the evening, from the time
she had left home until she bid Mrs. Varian good-night to return in the
grand carriage with the handsome master of Idlewild. Clasping her tiny
hands, she cried, in an ecstacy:
“Oh, aunt, I can’t tell you how I enjoyed it all! Mrs. Varian is as
proud and beautiful as a queen; but she was so kind and sweet to me
that I felt quite at home in her grand house. As for her son--oh!” and
Cinthia paused and blushed divinely.
Mrs. Flint snapped, irately:
“Now, Cinthia Dawn, don’t you go getting your head turned by idle
flatteries from rich young men. Anybody but a silly child would know
they don’t mean anything.”
“Oh, Aunt Beck, please don’t call me a _child_ any more. I am
as grown up as anybody, and you know it--seventeen last April.
And--and”--wistfully and defiantly all at once--“he _does_ mean it. He
loves me dearly--and--we--are--engaged!”
Aunt Beck gave a jump of uncontrollable surprise.
“Cinthy Dawn, you don’t mean it?”
“Yes, I do, Aunt Beck. I have promised to marry Arthur Varian.”
“But, land sakes, _child_--oh, I forgot; well girl, then--you don’t
hardly know each other!”
“Oh, yes, we do. We have been acquainted some time. We fell in love
weeks ago, and--and--he told me in the carriage he loved me and wanted
to marry me.”