MARK AND HELEN.
There was much talk and wonder in Silverton when it was known that Katy
had come home to stay until her husband returned from the war, and at
first the people were inclined to gossip and hint at some mystery or
possible estrangement; but this was brought to an end when the
postmaster's wife told of a letter which had come to Mrs. Wilford
Cameron from the Army of the Potomac, and of the answer returned within
three days to Lieutenant Wilford Cameron, Co., --th Regt., N. Y. V.,
etc. It must be all right, the gossips said, after that, but they
watched Katy curiously as she came among them again, so quiet, so
subdued, so unlike the Katy of old that they would hardly have
recognized her but for the beauty of her face and the sunny smile she
gave to all, but which rested oftenest on the poor and suffering, who
blessed her as the angel of their humble homes, praying that God would
remember her for all she was to them. The gold was purified at last, the
dross removed, and Katy, in her beautiful consistent life, seemed indeed
like some bright angel straying among the haunts of men, rather than the
weak and ofttimes sorely tempted mortal, which she knew herself to be.
Wilford's letters, though not unkind, were never very satisfactory, and
always brought on a racking headache, from which she suffered intently.
He had censured her at first for going back to Silverton, when he
preferred she should stay in New York, hinting darkly at the reason of
her choice, and saying to her once, when she told him how the Sunday
before her twenty-first birthday she had knelt before the altar and
taken upon herself the vows of confirmation: "Your saintly cousin is,
of course, delighted, and that I suppose is sufficient, without my
congratulations."
Perhaps he did not mean it, but he seemed to take delight in teasing
her, and Katy sometimes felt she should be happier without his letters
than with them. He had never said he was sorry he had left her so
suddenly--indeed he seldom referred to the past in any way; or if he did
it was in a manner which showed that he thought himself the injured
party, if either. Once, indeed, he did admit that, in calmly reviewing
the whole thing, he saw no reason now to believe that in the matter of
Dr. Grant she had been to blame, except in going to him with her trouble
and so bringing about the present unfortunate state of affairs. This was
the nearest to a concession on his part of anything he made; but it did
Katy a world of good, brightening up her face, and making her even dare
to meet Morris alone and speak to him naturally. Ever since her return
to Silverton she had studiously avoided him, and a stranger might have
said they were wholly indifferent to each other; but that stranger would
not have known of Morris' daily self-discipline or of the one little
spot in Katy's heart kept warm and sunny by the knowing that Morris
Grant had loved her, even if the love had died, as she hoped it had. It
would be better for them all, and so, lest by word or deed she should
keep the germ alive, she seldom addressed him directly, and never went
to Linwood unless some one was with her to prevent her being left with
him alone. A life like this could not be pleasant for Morris, and as
there seemed to be a lack of competent physicians in the army, he, after
prayerful deliberation, accepted a situation offered him as surgeon in a
Georgetown hospital, and early in June left Silverton for his new field
of labor.
True to her promise, Bell came at the last of July to Silverton,
proving herself a dreadful romp as she climbed over the rocks in Aunt
Betsy's famous sheep pasture, or raked the hay in the meadow, and
proving herself, too, a genuine woman, as with blanced cheek and anxious
heart she waited for tidings from the battles before Richmond, where the
tide of success seemed to turn, and the North, hitherto so jubilant and
hopeful, wore weeds of mourning from Maine to Oregon. Lieutenant Bob was
there, and Wilford, too; and so was Captain Ray, digging in the marshy
swamps, where death floated up in poisonous exhalations--plodding on the
weary march, and fighting all through the seven days, where the sun
poured down its burning heat and the night brought little rest. No
wonder, then, that the three faces at the farmhouse grew white with
anxiety, or that three pairs of eyes grew dim with watching the daily
papers. But the names of neither Wilford, Mark, nor Bob were ever found
among the wounded, dead, or missing, and with the fall of the first
autumn leaf Bell returned to the city, more puzzled, more perplexed than
ever with regard to Helen Lennox's real feelings toward Captain Ray.
Rapidly autumn went by, bringing at last the week before Christmas, when
Mark came home for a few days, looking ruddy and bronzed from exposure
and hardship, but wearing the disappointed, listless look which Bell was
quick to detect, connecting it in some way with Helen Lennox. Only once
did he call at Mr. Cameron's, and then as Juno was not present Bell had
him all to herself, talking a great deal of Silverton, of Helen and
Katy, in the latter of whom he seemed far more interested than in her
sister. Many questions he asked concerning Katy, expressing his regret
that Wilford had ever left her, and saying he believed Wilford was
sorry, too. He was in the hospital now, with a severe cold and a touch
of the rheumatism, he said; but as Bell knew this already she did not
dwell long upon that subject, choosing rather to talk of Helen--"as much
interested in the soldiers," she said, "as if she had a brother or a
lover in the army," and her bright eyes glanced meaningly at Mark, who
answered carelessly:
"Dr. Grant is there, you know, and that may account for her interest."
Mark knew he must say something to ward off Bell's attacks, and so he
continued talking of Dr. Grant and how much he was liked by the poor
wretches who needed some one as kind and gentle as he to keep them from
dying of homesickness if nothing else. Once, too, he spoke of a nurse, a
second Nightingale, whose shadow on the wall the soldiers had not kissed
perhaps, but who was worshiped by the pale, sick men to whom she
ministered so tenderly.
"She is very beautiful," he added, "and every man of us would willingly
try a hospital cot for the sake of being nursed by her."
Bell thought at once of Marian, but as Mark knew nothing of their
private affairs she would not question him, and after a few bantering
words concerning Lieutenant Bob and the picture he carried into every
battle, buttoned closely over his heart. Mark Ray took his leave, while
Bell, softened by thoughts of Cob, ran upstairs to cry, going to her
mother's room, as a seamstress was occupying her own. Mrs. Cameron was
out that afternoon, and that she had dressed in a hurry was indicated by
the unusual confusion of her room. Drawers were left open and various
articles scattered about, while on the floor just as it had fallen from
a glove box lay a letter which Bell picked up, intending to replace it.
"Miss Helen Lennox," she read in astonishment. "How came Helen Lennox's
letter here in mother's room, and from Mark Ray, too," she continued,
still more amazed as she took the neatly folded note from the envelope
and glanced at the name. "Foul play somewhere. Can it be mother?" she
asked, as she read enough to know that she held in her hand Mark's offer
of marriage which had in some mysterious manner found its way to her
mother's room. "I don't understand it at all," she said, racking her
brain for a solution of the mystery. "But the letter at least is safe
with me. I'll send it to Helen this very day and to-morrow I'll tell
Mark Ray."
Procrastination was not one of Bell Cameron's faults, and for full half
an hour before her mother and Juno came home, the stolen letter had been
lying in the mail box where Bell herself deposited it, together with a
few hurriedly written lines, telling how it came into her hands, but
offering no explanation of any kind.
"Mark is home now on a leave of absence which expires day after
to-morrow," she wrote, "but I am going around to see him, and if you
do not hear from him in person I am greatly mistaken."
Very closely Bell watched her mother when she came from her room, but
the letter had not been missed, and in blissful ignorance Mrs. Cameron
displayed her purchases and then talked of Wilford, wondering how he was
and if it were advisable for any of them to go to him.
The next day a series of hindrances kept Bell from making her call as
early as she had intended doing, so that Mrs. Banker and Mark were just
rising from dinner when told she was in the parlor.
"I meant to have come before," she said, seating herself by Mark, "but
I could not get away. I have brought you some good news. I think--that
is--yes, I know there has been some mistake, some wrong somewhere,
whether intended or not. Mark Ray," and the impetuous girl faced
directly toward him, "if you could have any wish you might name what
would it be? Come now, imagine yourself a Cinderella and I the fairy
godmother. What will you have?"
Mark knew she was in earnest and her manner puzzled him greatly, but he
answered, laughingly: "As a true patriot I should wish for peace on
strictly honorable terms."
"Pshaw!"
The word dropped very prettily from Bell's lips as with a shrug she
continued:
"You men are very patriotic, I know, especially if you wear shoulder
straps, but isn't there something dearer than peace? Suppose, for
instance, Union between the North and South on strictly honorable terms,
as you say, was laid upon one scale and union between yourself and Helen
Lennox was laid upon the other, which would you take?"
Mark's lips were very white now, but he tried to laugh as he replied: "I
should say the Union, of course."
"Yes, but which union?" Bell rejoined, and then as she saw that Mrs.
Banker was beginning to frown upon her she continued: "But to come
directly to the point. Yesterday afternoon I found--no matter where or
how--a letter intended for Helen Lennox, which I am positive she never
saw or heard of; at least her denial to me that a certain Mark Ray had
ever offered himself is a proof that she never saw what was an offer
made just before you went away. I read enough to know that, and then I
took the letter and--"
She hesitated, while Mark's eyes turned dark with excitement, and even
Mrs. Banker, scarcely less interested, leaned eagerly forward, saying:
"And what? Go on, Miss Cameron. What did you do with that letter?"
"I sent it to its rightful owner, Helen Lennox. I posted it myself, so
it's sure this time. But why don't you thank me, Captain Ray?" she
asked, as Mark's face was overshadowed with anxiety.
"I was wondering whether it were well to send it--wondering how it might
be received," he said, and Bell replied:
"She will not answer no. As one woman knows another I know Helen Lennox.
I have sounded her on that point. I told her of the rumor there was
afloat, and she denied it, seeming greatly distressed, but showing
plainly that had such offer been received she would not have refused it.
You should have seen her last summer, Captain Ray, when we waited so
anxiously for news from the Potomac. Her face was a study as her eyes
ran over the list of casualties, searching not for her amiable
brother-in-law, nor yet for Willard Braxton, their hired man. It was
plain to me as daylight, and all you have to do is to follow up that
letter with another, or go yourself, if you have time." Bell said, as
she arose to go, leaving Mark in a state of bewilderment as to what he
had heard.
Who withheld that letter? and why? were questions which troubled him
greatly, nor did his mother's assurance that it did not matter so long
as it all came right at last, tend wholly to reassure him. One thing,
however, was certain. He would see Helen before he returned to his
regiment--he would hear from her own lips what her answer would have
been had she received the letter. He would telegraph in the morning to
Washington, and then run the risk of being a day behind the time
appointed for his return to duty. Never since the day of Aunt Betsy's
revelations had Mark felt as light and happy as he did that night,
scarcely closing his eyes in sleep, but still not feeling tired when
next morning he met his mother at the breakfast table and disclosed in
part his plans. He would not tell her all there was in his mind lest it
should not be fulfilled, but when at parting with her he did say:
"Suppose you have three children when I return instead of two, is there
room in your heart for the third?"
"Yes, always room for Helen," was the reply, as with a kiss of
benediction Mrs. Banker sent her boy away.