"He's weaker. Haven't you noticed it?"
"Yes, I have noticed that. He's worked down; that's all."
"No, that isn't all. But if you don't think so--"
"I want to know what you think, Cynthy," said Jeff, with the amorous
resentment all gone from his voice. "Sometimes folks outside notice the
signs more--I don't mean that you're an outsider, as far as we're
concerned--"
She put by that point. "Father's noticed it, too; and he's with Jackson a
good deal."
"I'll look after it. If he isn't so well, he's got to have a doctor. That
medium's stuff can't do him any good. Don't you think he ought to have a
doctor?"
"Oh yes."
"You don't think a doctor can do him much good?"
"He ought to have one," said the girl, noncommittally.
"Cynthia, I've noticed that Jackson was weak, too; and it's no use
pretending that he's simply worked down. I believe he's worn out. Do you
think mother's ever noticed it?"
"I don't believe she has."
"It's the one thing I can't very well make up my mind to speak to her
about. I don't know what she would do." He did not say, "If she lost
Jackson," but Cynthia knew he meant that, and they were both silent. "Of
course," he went on, "I know that she places a great deal of dependence
upon you, but Jackson's her main stay. He's a good man, and he's a good
son. I wish I'd always been half as good."
Cynthia did not protest against his self-reproach as he possibly hoped
she would. She said: "I think Jackson's got a very good mind. He reads a
great deal, and he's thought a great deal, and when it comes to talking,
I never heard any one express themselves better. The other night, we were
out looking at the stars--I came part of the way home with him; I didn't
like to let him go alone, he seemed so feeble and he got to showing me
Mars. He thinks it's inhabited, and he's read all that the astronomers
say about it, and the seas and the canals that they've found on it. He
spoke very beautifully about the other life, and then he spoke about
death." Cynthia's voice broke, and she pulled her handkerchief out of her
belt, and put it to her eyes. Jeff's heart melted in him at the sight; he
felt a tender affection for her, very unlike the gross content he had
enjoyed in her presence before, and he put his arm round her again, but
this time almost unconsciously, and drew her toward him. She did not
repel him; she even allowed her head to rest a moment on his shoulder;
though she quickly lifted it, and drew herself away, not resentfully, it
seemed, but for her greater freedom in talking.
"I don't believe he's going to die," Jeff said, consolingly, more as if
it were her brother than his that he meant. "But he's a very sick man,
and he's got to knock off and go somewhere. It won't do for him to pass
another winter here. He must go to California, or Colorado; they'd be
glad to have him there, either of them; or he can go to Florida, or over
to Italy. It won't matter how long he stays--"
"What are you talking about, Jeff Durgin?" Cynthia demanded, severely.
"What would your mother do? What would she do this winter?"
"That brings me to something, Cynthia," said Jeff, "and I don't want you
to say anything till I've got through. I guess I could help mother run
the place as well as Jackson, and I could stay here next winter."
"You?"
"Now, you let me talk! My mind's made up about one thing: I'm not going
to be a lawyer. I don't want to go back to Harvard. I'm going to keep a
hotel, and, if I don't keep one here at Lion's Head, I'm going to keep it
somewhere else."
"Have you told your mother?"
"Not yet: I wanted to hear what you would say first."
"I? Oh, I haven't got anything to do with it," said Cynthia.
"Yes, you have! You've got everything to do with it, if you'll say one
thing first. Cynthia, you know how I feel about you. It's been so ever
since we were boy and girl here. I want you to promise to marry me. Will
you?"
The girl seemed neither surprised nor very greatly pleased; perhaps her
pleasure had spent itself in that moment of triumphant expectation when
she foresaw what was coming, or perhaps she was preoccupied in clearing
the way in her own mind to a definite result.
"What do you say, Cynthia?" Jeff pursued, with more injury than misgiving
in his voice at her delay in answering. "Don't you-care for me?"
"Oh yes, I presume I've always done that--ever since we were boy and
girl, as you say. But----"
"Well?" said Jeff, patiently, but not insecurely.
"Have you?"
"Have I what?"
"Always cared for me."
He could not find his voice quite as promptly as before. He cleared his
throat before he asked: "Has Mr. Westover been saying anything about me?"
"I don't know what you mean, exactly; but I presume you do."
"Well, then--I always expected to tell you--I did have a fancy for that
girl, for Miss Vostrand, and I told her so. It's like something that
never happened. She wouldn't have me. That's all."
"And you expect me to take what she wouldn't have?"
"If you like to call it that. But I should call it taking a man that had
been out of his head for a while, and had come to his senses again."
"I don't know as I should ever feel safe with a man that had been out of
his head once."
"You wouldn't find many men that hadn't," said Jeff, with a laugh that
was rather scornful of her ignorance.
"No, I presume not," she sighed. "She was beautiful, and I believe she
was good, too. She was very nice. Perhaps I feel strangely about it. But,
if she hadn't been so nice, I shouldn't have been so willing that you
should have cared for her."
"I suppose I don't understand," said Jeff, "but I know I was hard hit.
What's the use? It's over. She's married. I can't go back and unlive it
all. But if you want time to think--of course you do--I've taken time
enough--"
He was about to lift the reins on the mare's back as a sign to her that
the talk was over for the present, and to quicken her pace, when Cynthia
put out her hand and laid it on his, and said with a certain effect of
authority: "I shouldn't want you should give up your last year in
Harvard."
"Just as you say, Cynthy;" and in token of intelligence he wound his arm
round her neck and kissed her. It was not the first kiss by any means; in
the country kisses are not counted very serious, or at all binding, and
Cynthia was a country girl; but they both felt that this kiss sealed a
solemn troth between them, and that a common life began for them with it.