"LADY MACBETH."
"Who that had seen her form so light,
For swiftness only turned,
Would e'er have thought in a thing so slight,
Such a fiery spirit burned."
"And now what am I expected to do next?" said Richmond, looking at his
two companions. "I am entirely at your service, monsieur and
mademoiselle."
"Why, you must help him up to our house," said Georgia, in her
peremptory tone, "and let Miss Jerusha do something for his lame ankle."
"And after that you must transport yourself over to Burnfield with all
possible dispatch, and procure a cart, car, gig, wagon, carriage,
wheelbarrow, or any other vehicle wherein my remains can be hauled to
that thriving town, for walking, you perceive, is a moral and physical
impossibility."
"All right!" said Richmond. "Here, take my arm. How will you manage to
get up this steep bank? Do you think you can walk it?"
"Nothing like trying," said Charley, as leaning on his brother's arm he
limped along, while Georgia went before to show them the way. "Ah, that
was a twinge. The gout must be a nice thing to have if it is at all like
this. I never properly felt for those troubled with that fashionable and
aristocratic disease before, but the amount of sympathy I shall do for
the future will be something terrifying. Here we are; now then, up we
go."
But Master Charley found that "up we go" was easier said than done. He
attempted to mount the bank, but at the first effort he recoiled, while
a flush of pain overspread his pale features.
"No go, trying to do that; get up there I can't if they were to make me
Khan of Tartary for doing it. Ah--h--h! there's another twinge, as if a
red-hot poker had been plunged into it. The way that ankle can go into
the aching business requires to be felt to be appreciated."
Though he spoke lightly, yet two scarlet spots, forced there by the
intense pain, burned on either cheek.
Richmond looked at him anxiously, for he loved his wild, harum-scarum,
handsome young brother with a strong love.
"Oh, he can't walk; I know it hurts him; what _will_ we do?" said
Georgia, in a tone of such intense motherly solicitude that, in spite of
his painful ankle, Charley smiled faintly.
"I know what _I_ shall do," said Richmond, abruptly. "I shall carry
him."
And suiting the action to the word, the elder brother--older only by two
or three years, but much stronger and more compactly built than the
somewhat delicate Charley--lifted him in his arms and proceeded to bear
him up the rocks.
"Why, Richmond, old fellow," remonstrated Charley, "you'll kill
yourself--rupture an artery, and all that sort of thing, you know; and
then there'll be a pretty to do about it. Let go, and I'll walk it, in
spite of the ankle. I can hold out as long as it can, I should hope."
"Never mind, Charley; I'm pretty strong, and you're not a killing
weight, being all skin and bone, and nonsense pretty much. Keep still,
and I will have you up in a twinkling."
"Be it so, then, most obliging youth. Really, it's not such a bad
notion, this being carried--rather comfortable than otherwise."
"Now, don't keep on so, Charley," said Georgia, in a voice of motherly
rebuke. "How is your ankle? Does it hurt you much now?"
"Well, after mature deliberation on the subject, I think I may safely
say it _does_. It's aching just at this present writing as if for a
wager," replied Charley, with a grimace.
Georgia glanced at Richmond, and seeing great drops of perspiration
standing on his brow as he toiled up, said, in all sincerity:
"See here, you look tired to death. _Do_ let me help you. I'm strong,
and he ain't very heavy looking, and I guess I can carry him the rest of
the way."
Richmond turned and looked at her in surprise, but seeing she was
perfectly serious in her offer, he repressed his amusement and gravely
declined; while Charley, less delicate, set up an indecorous laugh.
"Carry me up the hill! Oh, that's good! What would Curtis, and Dorset,
and all the fellows say if they heard that, Rich? 'Pon honor, that's the
best joke of the season! A little girl I could lift with one hand
offering to carry me up hill?"
And Master Charley lay back and laughed till the tears stood in his
eyes.
His laughter was brought to a sudden end by an unexpected sight. Little
Georgia faced round, with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks, and, with a
passionate stamp of her foot, exclaimed:
"How _dare_ you laugh at me, you hateful, ill-mannered fellow? Don't you
ever dare to do it again, or it won't be good for you! If you weren't
hurt now, and not able to take your own part, I'd _tear your eyes
out_!--I just would! Don't you DARE to laugh at me, sir!"
And with another fierce stamp of her foot, and wild flash of her eyes,
she turned away and walked in the direction of the cottage.
For a moment the brothers were confounded by this unexpected and
startling outburst--this new revelation of the unique child before them.
There was in it something so different from the customary pouting anger
of a child--something so nearly appalling in her fierce eyes and
passionate gestures, that they looked at each other a moment in
astounded silence before attempting to reply.
"Really, Georgia, I did not mean to offend," said Charley, at last, as
they by this time reached the high-road, and the exhausted Richmond
deposited him on his feet. "I am very sorry I have angered you, but I'm
such a fellow to laugh, you know, that the least thing sets me off. Why
I'd laugh at an empress, if she did or said anything droll. Come,
forgive me, like a good girl!" and Charley, looking deeply penitent,
held out his hand.
But Georgia was proud, and was not one to readily forgive what she
considered an insult, so she drew herself back and up, and only replied
by a dangerous flash of her great black eyes.
"Come, Georgia, don't be angry; let's make up friends again. Where's the
good of keeping spite, especially when a fellow's sorry for his fault?
One thing I know, and that is, if you don't forgive me pretty soon, I'll
go and heave myself away into an untimely grave, in the flower of my
youth, and then just think of the remorse of conscience you'll suffer.
Come, Georgia, shake hands and be friends."
But Georgia faced round, with a curling lip, and turning to Richmond,
who all this time had stood quietly by, with folded arms, surveying her
with an inexplicable smile, which faded away the moment he met her eye,
she said, shortly:
"You had better come along. I'll go on ahead and tell Miss Jerusha
you're coming." And then, without waiting for a reply, she walked on in
proud silence.
She reached the cottage in a few minutes, and, throwing open the door
with her accustomed explosive bang, went up to where Miss Jerusha sat
sewing diligently, and facing that lady, began:
"Miss Jerusha, look here!"
Miss Jerusha lifted her head, and, seeing Miss Georgia's flushed cheeks
and sparkling eyes, the evidence of one of her "tantrums," said:
"Well who hev you bin a-fightin' with _now_, marm?"
"I haven't been fighting with any one," said Georgia, impatiently, for a
slight skirmish like this was nothing to pitched battle she called
fighting; "but there's a boy that has sprained his ankle down on the
beach, and his brother's bringing him here for you to fix it."
Now, Miss Jerusha, though not noted for her hospitality at any time,
would not, perhaps, on an ordinary occasion make any objection to this
beyond a few grumbles, but on this particular morning everything had
gone wrong, and she was in an (even for her) unusually surly mood, so
she turned round and sharply exclaimed:
"And do you suppose, you little good-for-nothing whipper-snapper, I keep
an 'ospital for every shif'less scamp in the neighborhood? If you do,
you are very much mistaken, that's all. If he's sprained his ankle, let
him go sommer's else, for I vow to Sam he sha'n't come here!"
"He _shall_ come here!" exclaimed Georgia, with one of her passionate
stamps: "you see if he sha'n't. I told him he could come here, and he
shall, too, in spite of you!"
"Why, you little impident hussy you!" said Miss Jerusha, flinging down
her work and rising to her feet, "how dare you have the imperance to
stand up and talk to me like that? We'll see whether he'll come here or
not. _You_ invited him here, indeed! And pray what right have you to
invite anybody here, I want to know? You, a lazy, idle little vagabone,
not worth your salt! Come here, indeed! I wish he may; if he doesn't go
out faster than he came in it won't be my fault!"
"Just you try to turn him out, you cross, ugly old thing! If you do
I'll--I'll _kill_ you; I'll set fire to this hateful old hut, and burn
it down! You see if I don't. There!"
The savage gleam of her eyes at that moment, her face white with
concentrated passion, was something horrible and unnatural in one of her
years. Miss Jerusha drew back a step, and interposed a chair between
them in salutary dread of the little vixen's claw-like nails.
At that moment the form of Richmond Wildair appeared in the door-way.
Both youths had arrived in time to witness the fierce altercation
between the mistress of the house and her half-savage little ward, and
Richmond now interposed.
Taking off his hat, he bowed to Miss Jerusha saying in his calm,
gentlemanly tones:
"I beg your pardon, madam, for this intrusion, but my brother being
really unable to walk, I beg you will have the kindness to allow him to
remain here until I can return from Burnfield with a carriage. You will
not be troubled with him more than an hour."
Inhospitable as she was, Miss Jerusha could not really refuse this, so
she growled out a churlish assent; and Richmond, secretly amused at the
whole thing, helped in Charley, while Georgia set the rocking-chair for
him, and placed a stool under his wounded foot, without, however,
favoring him with a single smile, or word, or glance. She was in no mood
just then either to forget or forgive.
"And now I'm off," said Richmond, after seeing Charley safely disposed
of. "I will be back in as short a time as I possibly can; and meantime,
Miss Georgia," he added, turning to her with a smile as he left the
room, "I place my brother under your care until I come back."
But Georgia, with her back to them both, was looking sullenly out of the
window, and neither moved nor spoke until Richmond had gone, and then
she followed him out, and stood looking irresolutely after him as he
walked down the road.
He turned round, and seeing her there, stopped as though expecting she
would speak; but she only played nervously with the hop-vines crowning
the walls, without lifting her voice.
"Well, Georgia?" he said inquiringly.
"I--I don't want to stay here. I'll go with you to Burnfield, if you
like. Miss Jerusha's cross," she said, looking up half shyly, half
defiantly in his face.
A strange expression flitted for an instant over the grave, thoughtful
face of Richmond Wildair, passing away as quickly as it came. Without a
word he went up to where Georgia stood, with that same light in her
eyes, half shy, half fierce, that one sees in the eyes of a half-tamed
and dangerous animal when under the influence of a master-eye.
"Georgia, look at me," he said, laying one hand lightly on her shoulder.
She stepped back, shook off the hand, and looked defiantly up in his
face. It was not exactly a handsome face, yet it was full of power--full
of calm, deep, invincible power--with keen, intense, piercing eyes,
whose steady gaze few could calmly stand. Child as she was, the hitherto
unconquered Georgia felt that she stood in the presence of a strong
will, that surmounted and overtopped her own by its very depth,
intensity and calmness. She strove to brave out his gaze, but her own
eyes wavered and fell.
"Well?" she said, in a subdued tone.
"Georgia, will you do me a favor?"
"Well?" she said, compressing her lips hard, as though determined to do
battle to the death.
"My brother is alone, he is in pain, he did not mean to offend you, he
is under _your_ roof. Georgia, I want you to stay with him till I come
back."
"He laughed at me--he made fun of me. I _won't_! I hate him!" she said,
with a passionate flush.
"He is sorry for that. When people are sorry for their faults, a
magnanimous enemy always forgives."
"I don't care. I _won't_ forgive him. I was doing everything I could for
him. I would have helped him up hill if I could, and he _laughed at me_!
I won't stay with him!" she exclaimed, tearing the hop branches off and
flinging them to the ground in her excitement.
He caught the destructive little hands in his and held them fast.
"Georgia, you _will_!"
"I _won't_! not if I die for it!" she flashed.
"Georgia!"
"Let me go!" she cried out, trying to wrench her hands from his grasp.
"I never will! Let me go!"
"Georgia, do you know what hospitality means?"
"Yes."
"Well, he is your guest now. Have you ever read about the Arabs of the
desert, my proud little lady?"
"Yes."
"Well, you know once their most deadly enemy entered their house, they
treated him as though he were the dearest friend they had in the world.
Now, Georgia, you will be a lady some day, I think, and----"
"I will stay with your brother till you come back," she said, proudly;
"but I _won't_ be his friend--never again! I liked him then, and I
wanted to do everything I could for him. I would have had _my_ ankle
sprained if it would have made his well. I was so sorry,
and--he--laughed at me!"
In spite of all her evident efforts her lips quivered, and turning
abruptly, she walked away and entered the house.
Richmond Wildair stood for an instant in the same spot, looking after
her, and again that nameless, inexplicable smile flitted over his face.
"_Conquered_!" he said, with a sort of exultation in his voice; "and for
the first time in her life, I believe. Strange, wild child that she is.
I see the germs of a fine but distorted character there."
He walked down the road, whistling "My love is but a lassie yet," while
Georgia re-entered the house, and with a dark cloud still on her face,
walked to the window and looked sullenly after the retreating figure of
Richmond.
Master Charley, who had a taste for strange animals, had been devoting
his time to drawing out Miss Jerusha, practicing all his fascinations on
her with a zeal and determination worthy of a better cause, and at last
succeeded in wheedling that deluded lady into a recital of her many and
peculiar troubles, to all of which he listened with the most
sympathizing, not to say painful attention, and with a look so intensely
dismal that it quite won the old lady's heart. But when he praised
Betsey Periwinkle, and stroked her down, and spoke in terms of
enthusiastic admiration of a pair of moleskin pantaloons Miss Jerusha
was making, bespeaking another pair exactly like them for himself, his
conquest was complete, and he took a firm hold of Miss Jerusha's
unappropriated affections, which from that day he never lost. And on the
strength of this new and rash attack of "love at first sight," Miss
Jerusha produced from some mysterious corner a glass of currant wine and
a plate of sliced gingerbread, which she offered to her guest--a piece
of reckless extravagance she had never been guilty of before, and which
surprised Fly to such a degree that she would have there and then taken
out a writ of lunacy against her mistress, had she known anything
whatever about such a proceeding. Master Charley, being blessed with an
excellent appetite of his own, which his accident had in no way
diminished, graciously condescended to partake of the offered dainties,
and launched out into such enthusiastic praises of both, that the
English language actually foundered and gave out, in his transports.
And all this time Georgia had stood by the window, silent and sullen,
with a cloud on her brow, and a bright, angry light in her eyes, that
warned both Miss Jerusha and Charley Wildair that it was safer to let
her alone than speak to her just then. For though the girl's combustible
nature was something like a blaze of tow, burning fiercely for a moment
and then going out, she did not readily forgive injuries, slights, or
affronts, or what she considered such. No, she brooded over them until
they sank deep among the many other rank things that had been allowed to
take root in her heart, and which only the spirit of true religion could
now ever eradicate.
The child had grown up from infancy neglected, her high spirit
unchecked, her fierce outbursts of temper unrebuked, allowed to have her
own way in all things, ignorant of all religious training whatsoever.
She had heard the words, God, heaven and hell--but they were _only_
words to her, striking the ear, but conveying no meaning, and she had
_never_ bent her childish knee in prayer.
What wonder then that she grew up as we find her, proud, passionate,
sullen, obstinate, and vindictive? The germs of a really fine nature had
been born with her, but they had been neglected and allowed to run to
waste, while every evil passion had been fostered and nurtured.
Generous, frank, and truthful she was still, scorning a lie, _not_
because she thought it a sin, but because it seemed _mean_ and cowardly;
high-spirited, too, she would have gone through fire and flood to serve
any one she loved; _but_, had that one offended her, she would have
hurled her back into the fire and flood without remorse.
Ingratitude was not one of her vices either, though from her conduct to
Miss Jerusha it would appear so; but Georgia could not love the sharp,
snappish, though not bad-hearted old maid, and so she believed she owed
her nothing, a belief more than one in Burnfield took care to foster.
Not a vice that child possessed that a careful hand could not have
changed into a real virtue, for in her sinning there was at least
nothing mean and underhand; treachery and deception she would have
scorned and stigmatized as _cowardly_, for courage, daring, bravery, was
in the eyes of Georgia the highest virtue in earth or heaven.
Richmond Wildair understood her, because he possessed an astute and
powerful intellect, and mastered her, because he had a _will_ equal to
her own, and a mind, by education and cultivation, infinitely superior.
Georgia, almost unknown to herself, had a profound admiration and
respect for _strength_, whether bodily or mental; and the moment
Richmond Wildair let her see he could conquer her, that moment he
achieved a command over the wild girl he never lost.
Yet it galled her, this first link in the chain that was one day to bind
her hand and foot; and, like an unbroken colt on whom the bridle and
curb are put for the first time, she grew restive and angry under the
intolerable yoke.
"What right has he to make me stay?" she thought, with a still darkening
brow. "What business has he to order me to do this or that? Telling me
to stay with his brother, as if he was my master and I was his servant!
I don't see why I did it; he had no _business_ to tell me so. I have a
good mind to run away yet, and when he comes he'll find me gone--but no,
I promised to stay, and I will. I wouldn't have stayed for anybody
else, and I don't see why I did for him. I won't do it again--I never
will; the very next thing he asks me to do I'll say no, and I'll _stick_
to it. I won't be ordered about by anybody!"
And Georgia raised her head proudly, and her eye flashed, and her cheek
kindled, and her little brown hand clenched, as her whole untamed nature
rose in revolt against the idea of servitude. Some wild Indian or gipsy
blood must have been in Georgia's veins, for never did a lord of forest
rock or river resolve to do battle to maintain his freedom with more
fierce determination than did she at that moment.
Her resolution was soon put to the test. Ere another hour had passed
Richmond Wildair returned with a light gig, and entered the house.
Georgia saw him enter, but would not turn round, and Charley, getting
up, bade Miss Jerusha a gay good-by, promising to come and see her again
the first thing after his ankle got well. Then, going over to Georgia,
he held out his hand, saying:
"Come, Georgia, I am going away. _Do_ bid me good-by."
It was hardly in human nature to resist that coaxing tone; so a curt
"good-by" dropped out from between Georgia's closed teeth; but she would
neither look at him nor notice his extended hand.
And with this leave-taking Charley was forced to be content; and,
leaning on Richmond, he went out and took his place in the gig.
Then Richmond returned, and bowing his farewell and his thanks to Miss
Jerusha, slightly surprised at the mollifying metamorphosis that
ancient lady had undergone, he went up to Georgia, saying, in a low
tone:
"Come with me to the door, Georgia; I have something to say to you."
"Say it here."
He hesitated, but Georgia looked as immovable as a rock.
"Well, then, Georgia, I want you to forgive my brother before he goes."
Georgia planted her feet firmly together, compressed her lips, and,
without lifting her eyes to his face, said, in a low, resolute tone:
"Richmond Wildair, I won't!"
"But, Georgia, he is sorry for his fault; he has apologized; you _ought_
to forgive him."
"I won't!"
"Georgia, it is wrong, it is unnatural in a little girl to be wicked and
vindictive like this. If you were a good child, you would shake hands
and be friends."
"I won't!"
"Georgia, for _my_ sake--"
"_I won't!_"
"Obstinate, flinty little thing! Do you like me, Georgia?"
"No!"
"You don't? Why, Georgia, what a shame! You don't like me?"
"No, I don't! I hate you both! You have no business to tease me this
way! I won't forgive him--I never will! I'll _never_ do anything for you
again!"
And, with a fierce flash of the eyes that reminded him of a panther he
had once shot, she broke from his retaining grasp and fled out of the
house.
He was foiled. He turned away with a slight smile, yet there was a
scarcely perceptible shade of annoyance on his high, serene brow, as he
took his place beside his brother and drove off.
"What took you back, Rich?" asked Charley.
"I wanted to bid good-by to that unique little specimen of girlhood in
there, and get her to pardon you."
"And she would not?"
"No."
"Whew! resisted _your_ all-powerful will! The gods be praised that you
have found your match at last!"
Richmond's brow slightly contracted, and he gave the horse a quick cut
with the whip that sent him flying on.
"And yet I will make her do it," he said, with his calm, peculiar,
inexplicable smile.
"Eh?--you will? And how, may I ask?"
"Never you mind--she shall do it! I have conquered her once already, and
I shall do it again, although she _has_ refused this time. I did not
expect her to yield without a struggle."
"By Jove! there's some wild blood in that one. There was mischief in her
eyes as she turned on me there on the hill. I shall take care to give
her a wide berth, and let her severely alone for the future."
"Yes, she is an original--all steel springs--a fine nature if properly
trained," said Richmond, musingly.
"A fine fiddlestick!" said Charley, contemptuously; "she's as sharp as a
persimmon, and as sour as an unripe crab-apple, and as full of stings as
a whole forest of nettle-trees."
"Do you know, Charles, I fancy Lady Macbeth might have been just such a
child?"
"Shouldn't wonder. The little black-eyed gipsy is fierce enough in all
conscience to make a whole batch of Lady Macbeths. May all the powers
that be generously grant I may not be the Duncan she is to send to the
other world."
"If she is allowed to grow up as she is now, she will certainly be some
day capable of even Lady Macbeth's crime. Pity she has no one better
qualified to look after her than that disagreeable old woman."
"Better mind how you talk about the old lady," said Charley; "she and I
are as thick as pickpockets. I flattered her beautifully, I flatter
myself, and she believes in me to an immense extent. As to the young
lady, what do you say to adopting her yourself? You'd be a sweet mentor
for youth, wouldn't you?"
"You may laugh, but I really feel a deep interest in that child," said
Richmond.
"Well, for my part," said Charley, "I don't believe in vixens, young or
old, but you--_you_ always had a taste for monsters."
"Not exactly," said Richmond, untying a knot in his whip; "but she is
something new; she suits me; I like her."