“THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE”
The course of true love never yet ran smooth;
For either ’twould be different in blood,
Or else misgrafted in respect of years.
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;
Or, if there is a unity in all,
War, death or sickness will lay siege to it.
SHAKESPEARE.
But the family had not yet assembled. There was but One person in the
room, and he sprang to meet her, caught both of her hands, and would
have saluted her with a kiss but that the quick, forbidding look in the
young girl’s eyes arrested him.
“Well, well, I won’t, then!” he said; “but, oh, Em., I am so enraptured
to see you! And did I not manage beautifully? As soon as I had got home
from Annapolis, where that interminable investigation detained me so
long, I was postively determined to have you here! So, my dear, having
purposely left the bulk of my wardrobe behind, I told my mother that I
had scarcely the thread of a garment left and must have several made up
immediately. My poor mother, who is as new to this neighborhood as you
or I, was immediately driven to her wit’s end for the wants of a
seamstress. I knew she would be! So I recommended John Palmer’s
daughters, knowing full well that there was but one among them who could
suit my mother. So here you are, my love; and if I succeed in my plans,
from here you will never go again without me! But hush! here is somebody
else,” said Ronald, as old Commodore Bruce came into the room.
He was very much bowed and broken—his head was bald on the top, with a
light fringe of silver-gray hair around his temples and the nape of his
neck. He wore a dressing-gown of flowered India silk, wadded and lined
and confined around the waist with a crimson silk cord and tassel. He
stooped over his large, gold-headed cane as he walked.
Some men soon recover from severe bereavements, others never do.
Commodore Bruce belonged to the latter class. He had never rallied from
the overwhelming grief of Lonny’s loss.
Every year, on his son’s birthday, he had said:
“If my Lonny were now alive he would be this old.”
And only in the beginning of _that_ year he had said:
“Ah, if my poor Lonny were alive now he would be thirty-five years old.
In the very prime and pride of life, in the vigor and glory of his
manhood!”
Commodore Bruce came in slowly, leaning on his cane, as I said, and
looking keenly from side to side as if to see who was in the room, for
his sight was always dim.
“Ah, nobody here scarcely. These women are always unpunctual. They need
a little navy discipline to train them. But who is this? Who is this,
Ronald?” he exclaimed as his eyes fell upon Em.
“This is Miss Palmer, a young lady my mother has staying with her,” said
young Bruce not quite frankly.
“Oh, how do you do, my dear. I am very glad to see you. I hope you will
enjoy yourself among us,” said the old man with formal politeness,
taking her hand, yet scarcely looking in her face.
“I thank you, sir, but I am only Mrs. Bruce’s seamstress,” said Em.,
amending Ronald’s little error.
“Eh?” exclaimed the commodore, looking more attentively in her face.
Em. repeated her assertion.
But Commodore Bruce was not listening to her words or caring for them.
He was gazing in her face as if he were transfixed.
At length he recovered himself, found his voice and said:
“I beg your pardon, my dear, but I seem to have seen you somewhere else
long before this.”
“Yes, sir, you did—in the city, more than a year ago, when you were at
the Indian Queen Hotel, and I carried home some shirts to you,” said Em.
“Ay—ay—ay—ay! I remember that! But this was long, long before! Yet no,
you could not be so told! It must be some one whom you closely resemble
that I remember and am thinking of! Yes—yes! I know now! Ah, that poor,
unhappy one! What has ever become of her? Where lies her broken heart?
And she was my Lonny’s last charge to me before he left me for the last
time. ‘Father,’ he said, ‘for my sake be kind to poor Emolyn!’ Ah! she
was my poor boy’s sweetheart, I doubt! But she is gone! gone! This girl
looks like her! Looks as she did before that blasting calamity fell upon
her! An accidental likeness! The world is full of such! Yet I wish I had
not seen it!” murmured the old man in a musing tone.
Ronald Bruce led him to a chair, placed him in it, took the cane from
his hand and set it up and then gave him a glass of wine.
When the old man had drank this he seemed to be revived, for he turned
to Em. and said:
“Do not let my lucubrations disturb you, child!”
At that moment Mrs. Bruce and two other ladies entered the room.
Em. looked up, and to her intense amazement caught the eye of her former
teacher, Mrs. Templeton.
“Why, Emolyn Palmer!” she exclaimed in astonishment equal to Em.’s own.
“Is it possible that this is _you_, my dear? Why, how came you to be
here?”
“I am Mrs. Bruce’s new seamstress,” answered Em. simply.
“You are! Well, I knew that she had taken a young girl in the house to
sew, and I believe I heard she was the daughter of one Palmer, who was
overseer at the Wilderness Manor; but I had no idea that it was _you_,
my dear! I am _very_ glad to see you again! And here is Hermia, who will
be equally well pleased to meet her old schoolmate,” concluded Mrs.
Templeton, as her daughter joined them.
“Yes, indeed, I am very happy to see you so unexpectedly, Em.,”
cordially exclaimed Miss Templeton, who had developed into a tall,
queenly brunette of about nineteen years of age.
“And oh! I am _so_ glad and so _very_ much surprised to see you, Miss
Hermia,” heartily exclaimed Em., squeezing the offered hand of the young
lady.
“Why, did you not know that my mother was Commodore Bruce’s only sister?
And that when he retired from the navy and settled down here he took her
from her school and brought her here to keep house for him?” inquired
Hermia, still holding the hand of her little schoolmate.
“Oh, I knew, at least I had heard, that Mrs. Templeton had a brother in
the navy who had sent her son to the Naval Academy, and afterwards I
heard that she had resigned her situation as teacher of the public
school, and had gone to live with her brother; but I had not the least
suspicion that it was Commodore Bruce!” said Em., still gazing with
surprised eyes.
“Oh, yes!” said Hermia, laughing. “And here we found my aunt, Mrs. David
Bruce, his brother’s widow and her son Ronald. They are not rival
queens, although this is but one kingdom and cannot be divided. No;
though they are both here, there is no rivalry, and you will soon know
the reason,” concluded Hermia as she gave her friend’s hand a hearty
squeeze.
Mrs. Templeton, who had crossed the room to speak to Mrs. Bruce, now
came back to Em., and again expressed her joy in meeting the girl.
As for Em., she was bewildered with happiness.
Every one spoke gently to her; every one smiled on her. She was received
into the family circle more like a dear young relative than as a
dependent.
But then the girl was so fair and lovely in person and manner that no
one could have treated her with coldness or indifference.
And as for Ronald Bruce, who looked on all this from the opposite side
of the room with the air of a careless spectator, he was really filled
with delight at the success of his experiment.
“She will win all hearts,” he said to himself; “and being quick-witted
as well as gentle and refined, she will soon catch the ‘shibboleth’ of
our set—the thousand and one almost inscrutable and quite indescribable
absurdities—
“‘That mark the caste of Vere de Vere.’
“Dear girl! For myself I should only be too glad to introduce her into
any society. And as to the old folks putting their heads together and
setting their hearts on making a match between me and my Cousin
Hermia—that is perfect nonsense! We like each other well enough; but we
won’t marry each other. We’d die first!”
While Ronald Bruce was ruminating the old commodore was growing
impatient for his lunch.
“Well, well, Catherine! Well, well, Margaret! what are we waiting for
now?” he testily inquired.
“Only for Mrs. and Miss Warde,” replied Mrs. Bruce. “These women! These
women! They have no idea of the duty of punctuality! Ah! a little
training on board a man-o’-war would improve their habits.”
As the old man spoke Belinda Warde entered the room, apologizing, and
saying:
“Mamma is not very well; but she will be down in a few moments, and begs
that you will not wait.”
“I am sorry to hear that. But take your seats. She will join us
presently,” said the commodore.
Belinda was now about thirty-five years old, a superb brunette, like her
mother, and being well-preserved and well-dressed, she still passed
among those who did not know her age as a young lady.
She stared for an instant at the little stranger in their midst, until
Hermia said:
“This is a schoolmate of mine—Miss Palmer—who has come to assist Aunt
Bruce.”
“Oh!” said the young lady, and took her seat at the table, which was now
full but for the vacant chair waiting for Mrs. Warde.
The meal progressed, but the absent lady did not make her appearance.
A servant was sent up to ask her if she would have refreshments served
in her room.
An answer was returned declining the offer with thanks, and desiring
that the company would excuse her.
“Whimsical,” whispered the old commodore confidentially to his own white
beard as he finished his “mayonnaise.”
The luncheon was an informal meal, and one by one the party around the
table dropped off, until no one was left but the commodore, his
sister-in-law and Em., who, though she had finished eating, sat there
because she was too timid to get up and leave while Mrs. Bruce remained.
Finally the three arose together, and Em. was about to hurry up to her
needlework when the old commodore arrested her steps by saying:
“Stop, my dear; with my sister’s leave here, I want you to read the
newspapers for me; the boy brought them from the post-office just before
we sat down to lunch and they are not opened yet. Follow me to my
study.”
Em. stood still in perplexity and looked from the commodore to the lady.
“My dear brother, I, Ronald, or, indeed, any of us, will be most happy
to be your reader, as we always have been,” said Mrs. Bruce
hesitatingly.
“Oh, yes, I know! I know! But this child has a sweet, fresh voice very
pleasant to hear. So I am sure she can read most agreeably. I prefer to
try her at any rate—that is, if you have no objection, madam,” added the
old man in a tone that warned his sister-in-law she must make no more
opposition to his wishes.
“Oh, _of course_, I have no objection, sir. I am only too happy if any
one in my employment can be of the least service to you, to whom I owe
so much. Miss Palmer,” she said, turning to Em., “attend Commodore Bruce
to his study.”
“Come here on my left, child,” said the old man.
Em. obeyed.
Then, leaning with his right hand upon his stick and with his left upon
Em.’s shoulder, he walked slowly from the dining-room, crossed the hall
and passed into his study, which was in fact a handsome library in the
southwest corner of the first floor.
Supported by Em. and his stick he walked to a long table in the middle
of the room and dropped into a large chair beside it.
On the table before him lay several newspapers still in their envelopes.
He opened them one by one and spread them out.
“Now, my child, draw up a chair and seat yourself on my right side—I am
as deaf as a post on my left—and begin to read me the news.”
“Where shall I begin?” softly inquired Em. when she had seated hemself
and unfolded the paper. “Shall I read the speech of——”
“Oh, bother, no; don’t; read the news—the murders, suicides, arsons,
burglaries, robberies, and so forth; and if you can find any, the
opposite sorts of things—the rescues, the reconciliations, the
benefactions, and so on! Only don’t read speeches!” replied the
commodore.
Em. looked all over the paper and found a long sensational account of a
great fire and the rescue of a family of children by a brave fireman,
who saved them at the imminent hazard of his own life.
Next she read of the discovery of a silver mine in the mountains of
Virginia, which the old man instantly pronounced to be a hoax.
Then of the laying of the corner-stone of a poor children’s hospital.
But before she got through with this Em.’s flute-like voice had lulled
the old man to rest.
Missing his comments at last, she looked up, and found him fast asleep
in his chair, and Ronald Bruce standing before her with his eyes full of
laughter.
“You have been reading to closed ears for about ten minutes, Em.,” said
the young man.
“Oh! is he asleep? Must I go?” inquired the girl, dropping her paper and
preparing to rise.
“He is asleep; but you must not upon any account go until he wakes up
and dismisses you! Don’t be afraid, however! _I’ll_ stay and keep your
company.”
Em. looked perplexed, confused and utterly uncertain what to say.
“Dear Em., keep your seat; I have got something that I must tell you in
a plain, honest, straightforward way, even although you may know it well
enough already. May I tell you now, this moment?” inquired the young
man, as he drew a foot-stool and seated himself at the feet of the
sleeping veteran, and very near to her also, it must be confessed.
“Dear Em., dearest Em., may I tell you now?” he repeated.
“Ronald, is it anything you would tell me in the presence of my mother?”
timidly questioned the girl.
“Yes! in the presence of the whole world, if necessary.”
“Well, then—say on,” whispered Em.
“Em. Palmer, I haven’t been like other young fellows, falling in and out
of love with almost every pretty girl I ever saw since I was five years
old! No! I have been to sea ever since I was a child, and I never,
never, _never_ knew what it was to love a girl, the least in the world,
until I met you.”
“Oh! _do_ please don’t talk so! I _know_ you wouldn’t talk so to me if
my mother was sitting there right before us!” murmured Em., beginning to
tremble.
“May I never be saved if I would not! I would tell you I love you if all
the mothers, fathers, aunts, and uncles, and guardians in Christendom
were sitting on stiff, high-backed chairs in a circle around us! There!
For it is the blessed truth! I _do_ love you, Em., with all my heart and
soul and life! I began to love you from the first moment I ever saw you!
Yes, and I perceived that you also began to love me about the same
time!” he added triumphantly.
“Oh, Ronald,” breathed Em., her face dyed with blushes, “was I so
forward?”
“‘Forward!’ No. You little, sensitive plant. The opposite of all that—so
shrinking you were! But, oh, Em., I began to love you from the first
moment I ever saw you, and I have loved you more and more ever since;
and the more I have loved you the more my spirit has gone forth in
good-will to all the world. My heart was as pure and fresh as your own,
Em., and no heart could be purer and fresher when I gave it to you; and
that heart has remained as true and constant as your own, Em., through
these years of absence and silence, when no word of love or of plighted
faith had passed between us!”
“Oh, Ronald, Ronald, I am so frightened,” she murmured.
“Why should you be even uneasy? Listen, love! Listen, loveliest! By all
the signs I have told you do I know that ours is the real, true, holy,
heavenly love, and not one of its plausible counterfeits.”
“Oh, Ronald, is it right for you to talk to me in this way?” she
breathed.
“Right? It is righteous!”
“Ah, how can it end? You are a young gentleman of rank and wealth; I, a
poor, half educated girl, the child of a man of the laboring classes.”
“I do not care! I will tell you how it will end, Em. It will end in our
happy marriage. In the first place, let me tell you that I am of age,
and NO ONE, however near and dear, however rich and influential, shall
control my choice in that which would be the most important act of my
life and the nearest to my heart. I will not lead _you_ into any
disobedience, Em. If the old folks do object to our union I will wait
until you are of age, and then I will marry you, love—I will Em., I
will, ‘Though mammy and daddy and a’ gang mad!’ Yes! though my crotchety
old kinsman here should disinherit and turn me out of the house, get me
discharged from the navy, and leave me to earn our living by breaking
stones on the highway. If you will only be constant, Em., as I know you
will be, I will marry you in spite of them all. I will marry you in
spite of fate and fortune; and I don’t care a button who hears me say
so! OH!”
This last exclamation was called forth by the sight of old Commodore
Bruce sitting straight up in his chair, very wide awake, and staring at
them.