DECLARATION OF LOVE
While Brownie was weeping out her misery alone, and trying to plan what
was best for the future, Isabel Coolidge and her mother were examining,
more at their leisure, the beautiful ornaments, which had so excited
their admiration and astonishment and which they both began now to
covet.
Isabel tried the effect of each separate piece upon herself.
To do the two women justice, they really believed that the jewels had
been stolen.
“Mamma, this tiara of opals, pearls, and diamonds will be just the thing
for me to wear next Wednesday night at Lady Peasewell’s; see how
becoming it is.” And Isabel turned from the mirror, where she had been
catering to her vanity for the last half hour.
“It is lovely, my dear; but I doubt whether your father will be willing
you should wear it. His ideas are peculiar, you know.”
“He won’t be here, mamma. You know he said he should not be home for a
week or ten days; so he need not know anything about it.”
“I am at a loss to know whether it is best to tell him anything about
this affair,” said Mrs. Coolidge, musingly.
“But what excuse will you give him for bouncing Miss Douglas?” asked
Isabel, who had a taste for using slang once in a while.
“Her insolence to me ought to be a sufficient reason, I think,” her
mother answered, flushing as she recalled the governess’ keen shafts and
haughty manner.
“No one knows anything of the matter but you and I; why not keep still
about it?” urged Isabel, eagerly.
“My only fear is, that she will take the law, as she threatened, and
then your father would have to know about it. Besides, he will be very
angry at the way we gained possession of them, and then there will be no
end of trouble.”
She very well knew that if that day’s doings became known to her
honorable husband he would insist upon her returning the casket to Miss
Douglas, and tell her that she was meddling with what was none of her
business.
She began to fear that she had been rash in pursuing the course she had,
and she heartily wished that Isabel had kept her meddlesome fingers at
home. And yet, every time her eyes rested upon the glittering wealth
with which her daughter was toying, the desire to possess them became
stronger.
“Pshaw!” returned Isabel, “she’ll never dare take the law, and, if she
does, who will believe her, providing the jewels cannot be found, and we
are very much astonished and indignant at being accused of taking them
from her!”
The two women gazed at each other in silence for a moment.
“Isabel, you would not dare do such a thing—it would be stealing and
lying,” said her mother, in a whisper.
“Oh, no, mamma; you are too conscientious altogether,” returned the
girl, shrugging her shoulders, and trying on Miss Mehetabel’s beautiful
engagement ring at the same time. “We both agree,” she went on, “that
they have already been stolen, and we only take possession of them for a
little while, until we can find the true owner. I’m sure I would give
them up at once if we could find the person whom they belong to. Of
course, if we should acknowledge that we have them in our possession we
should have to give them up, and, whether Miss Douglas proved her
property or not, we should lose them. At any rate, let us hold on to
them, and wait a while to see what she will do.”
“I am afraid it will not do for you to wear them, Isabel; you may meet
the very person to whom they belong, here in London.”
“So much the better, then, mamma; we shall know that we did right in
taking them from Miss Douglas, and can make our explanations and restore
them. It strikes me that my suggestion is a very wise one, after all,”
concluded the artful girl, who was determined to keep the jewels.
“You may be right, but I don’t feel exactly easy about the matter; above
all things, don’t let Wilbur know anything about it,” returned Mrs.
Coolidge, fearing more and more that there might be trouble ahead for
them.
“No, indeed, mother, and, as I began this business, I’ll take charge of
these jewels, and you need know nothing about them, if your conscience
is troubling you.”
Isabel replaced the jewels in the casket, shut it, and, with a laugh,
started for her own room.
As she opened the door, which had stood ajar ever since Brownie went
out, she encountered Wilbur, face to face.
She would rather have faced an alligator at that moment.
“What is it you don’t wish Wilbur to know, and what jewels are you
talking about?” he smilingly demanded, as he barred her passage.
He had come up just in time to hear their last remarks.
“That is my secret,” she replied, trying to turn the matter off
playfully, though her heart was beating like a trip-hammer.
“Are they in that box? Let me see.”
Before she hardly knew what he was about, he had taken it from her and
opened it.
“Where did you get these?” he asked, in great surprise.
“They are borrowed,” Isabel replied, giving her mother a significant
look.
“Borrowed! who could lend such a valuable collection as this?” he asked,
beginning to feel, from their appearance, that all was not right.
“Ah,” he added, with a start, after he had examined them more carefully,
“here are those ornaments which Miss Douglas wore the other evening. Do
the others belong to her, too?”
They saw that it would be useless to try to keep their secret from him,
and little by little he drew it all from their reluctant lips. A more
indignant mortal never trod the earth than Wilbur Coolidge when he got
at the truth of the matter.
He demanded that the jewels be returned at once to Miss Douglas, and a
suitable apology made for their insulting treatment of her.
An angry scene ensued, which Mrs. Coolidge finally put an end to by
coming forward, taking the casket from her son’s hand, and locking it
within her husband’s safe, which stood in the room.
“Now, Wilbur, be so kind as to hold your tongue,” she said, angrily,
“you have made a fool of yourself with this girl. I intended to keep
these things until your father returns, and see if he believes a poor
governess came by these things lawfully.”
“You women are regular tyrants, and I reckon when father does return
there will be a different state of things,” he replied, with flashing
eyes.
“Oblige me by dropping the subject, my son; you are interfering in what
does not concern you in the least,” returned Mrs. Coolidge, coldly.
“I shall make it my business, madam, mother mine, just as soon as the
law will allow, if the poor, abused darling will let me,” he muttered,
as he angrily left the room.
He watched for Brownie to come down all the evening, but she remained in
her own room, too utterly miserable to desire to meet anyone.
Viola and Alma inquired for her at tea time, but were told that she was
indisposed, and would not come down.
Viola afterward stole upstairs with a cup of tea and a tempting plate of
cold chicken and toast, but Miss Douglas’ door was locked, and she could
not gain admittance, so she was forced to take it back again to the
dining-room.
The next morning Mrs. Coolidge and Isabel started off on a shopping
expedition, and as the carriage drove from the door, Wilbur rang the
library bell, and desired the servant who appeared to ask Miss Douglas
to grant him a few moments’ conversation. The young man was pale and
excited, and after the servant disappeared, he walked the floor
nervously.
Brownie soon came down, looking haggard and wan, her usually bright eyes
heavy and lusterless, and great dark circles underneath them.
Wilbur hastened forward to meet her as she opened the door.
“My dear Miss Douglas,” he said, flushing deeply, “I do not know what to
say to you, but I am more indignant than I can express at the treatment
you received yesterday.”
Brownie smiled wearily, though her lips quivered at his kindly words. It
was so comforting to be treated civilly.
“Can I do anything for you, Miss Douglas?” Wilbur asked, eagerly, his
heart deeply touched by her sorrowful appearance.
“Thank you; I do not suppose it is in your power to do the one thing I
wish—give me back my jewels, for they are mine, Mr. Coolidge,
notwithstanding it seems improbable for a poor girl to own such
valuables,” she replied, her color rising.
“I do not doubt it in the least,” he answered, impulsively. “I know that
you are truth and purity itself, and, believe me, you shall yet have
your own.”
“Ah! can I?” she interrupted, her face lighting up with its wonted
beauty for a moment.
Oh, how he loved her; and how it thrilled him, that any words of his
should have the power to make her beautiful countenance brighten like
that.
“Yes, you shall have them again,” he said. “I cannot restore them to you
to-day, but just as soon as my father returns I shall acquaint him with
what has happened, and he will see that justice is done.”
“Thank you,” Brownie said, appreciating his kindness, yet fearing that
his mother and sister would outwit him, and influence his father against
her.
“I feel deeply mortified,” he went on, dropping his eyes, “that anyone
who is akin to me should be guilty of doing what my sister did
yesterday; and the treatment which you afterward received—there can be
no excuse for it.”
“Do not speak of it again, Mr. Coolidge; it is past and cannot be
recalled. Your kindness and sympathy have lightened my heart already;
and as I go away, it will be a comfort to know that I have your esteem
and friendship.”
“Go away! What do you mean?” he asked looking up startled.
His mother had not told him that she was going away.
“Surely you do not think that I would remain where my truth and honesty
are called in question!” she replied, with dignity.
“Where will you go?” and his brow contracted with pain.
She could not stay; it were folly to think of it, he knew.
But it was like taking the sun from the heavens to have her go.
“I do not know,” she said, with a sigh, and her tone, so sadly sweet,
moved him to his very soul.
She had been with them less than three months, but during that time she
had grown to be the one woman in the world to him.
He had learned to watch and live upon her every motion and expression,
to listen eagerly for her footsteps and even the soft rustle of her
clothing. The lightest sound of her voice, her very presence, thrilled
him as nothing else had ever done before. He had lived a new life since
her coming. He knew he was a better man for it.
She had stirred into being new motives and purposes, and he was
beginning to think of forsaking this idle way of living, and of trying
to fit himself to be useful in the world, and worthy of her.
And now she was being driven away like a criminal, and insulted by his
own kin.
If she should go away thus, with this dreadful cloud hanging over her,
what would become of her? Who would take her in?
His pulses throbbed wildly; he grew desperate with the thought.
“You do not know? Will you let me tell you where to go?” he breathed,
bending eagerly toward her, his face flushing hotly, and his eyes
glowing with the wild love which moved him.
She looked up a little surprised by his manner, and her clear eyes fell
before his passionate gaze.
“Darling,” he cried, seizing her little hands, “you do not know where to
go? Come to me. My dear, my dear, you do not know how I have learned to
love you since you came like a ray of light into this household. Come to
me, Meta—be my wife, and no stain shall touch you; they shall not dare
to breath aught against you; place your hand in mine, and I will plant
myself between you and all harm. My love, my love, I have found you. I
have seen many fair women, but now I have found my fate, the sweetest
fate man ever found. Say, dearest, will you be my wife?”
She sat before him white, and still, and dumb.
“Brownie, you do not answer me. Will you not crown my life with the
blessing of your love? They shall never harm you. We will go away where
they cannot trouble you by so much as a word. Will you not speak and
give me hope?”
She drew back from him, pained and sorrowful.
“Mr. Coolidge, if I speak at all, it must be to crush all hope of any
such thing as you desire,” she said, sadly, with downcast eyes and
crimson cheeks.
“Meta! Miss Douglas! no!” he cried, hoarsely, his handsome face clouding
with pain.
“Yes, Mr. Coolidge; hard as it is for me to wound you thus, when you
offer me the greatest homage a woman can ever receive—the love of an
honest heart—yet I cannot bid you hope, for I do not love you in
return.”
“You have not had time to think of it. I have startled you with my
abruptness; you do not know your own heart yet,” he said, his lips
growing white and quivering.
“I have not, indeed, had time to think, for I did not at once imagine
that you cherished any such feelings toward me. But my heart does not
respond to yours. No, Mr. Coolidge, I cannot be your wife.”
“Are you sure—are you very sure you can never love me, Meta?” he
pleaded, while great drops came out upon his forehead.
“Quite sure,” she said, firmly, though kindly.
“Brownie, Brownie, when I love you so; when I have listened eagerly for
the sound of your footfall; when even the tone of your voice has been
music to me from the first; when every fiber of my being has twined
itself about you! Oh! it is too cruel; I cannot have it so—only give me
one little ray of hope, and I will wait years, if need be.”
His voice sounded like the cry of the lost, and he caught his breath
with a hard, dry sob, that made the young girl’s heart ache with pity
for him.
She arose from the chair where she had been sitting, and the great tears
rolled swiftly over her flushed cheeks.
“Mr. Coolidge, be assured if I could truthfully speak the words you
wish, I would do so; but it cannot be, and as it will only give us both
pain to meet again, let me say good-by to you here, for I go this
evening. Please accept my thanks for your kindness to me, and let me
still be your friend.”
She held out her hand to him and he took it, his whole frame shaking
with the great bitterness which well-nigh crushed him.
He lifted it to his lips, then broke down entirely, and with one quick
movement, gathered her close in his arms, and pressed his lips to her
white brow.
“My darling, my darling,” he groaned, “forgive me, but you can never
know the wretchedness of this moment to me.”
At that moment the library door sprang open, and Mrs. Coolidge and
Isabel stood upon the threshold.