"Ah, that sounds very amiable here; but in five minutes you'll be
murmuring in Miss Bandoline's earm--'I've been pining to come to you
this half hour, but I was obliged to take out that Miss Wilder, you
see--countrified little thing enough, but not bad-looking, and has a
rich aunt; so I've done my duty to her, but deuse take me if I can
stand it any longer."
Mr. Evan joined in Debby's merriment; but Mr. Joe was so appalled at
the sudden attack that he could only stammer a remonstrance and beat a
hasty retreat, wondering how on earth she came to know that his
favorite style of making himself agreeable to one young lady was by
decrying another.
"Dora, my love, that is very rude, and 'Deuse' is not a proper
expression for a woman's lips. Pray, restrain your lively tongue, for
strangers may not understand that it is nothing but the sprightliness
of your disposition which sometimes runs away with you."
"It was only a quotation, and I thought you would admire anything Mr.
Leavenworth said, Aunt Pen," replied Debby, demurely.
Mrs. Carroll trod on her foot, and abruptly changed the conversation,
by saying, with an appearance of deep interest,--
"Mr. Evan, you are doubtless connected with the Malcoms of Georgia; for
they, I believe, are descended from the ancient Evans of Scotland. They
are a very wealthy and aristocratic family, and I remember seeing their
coat-of-arms once: three bannocks and a thistle."
Mr. Evan had been standing before them with a composure which impressed
Mrs. Carroll with a belief in his gentle blood, for she remembered her
own fussy, plebeian husband, whose fortune had never been able to
purchase him the manners of a gentleman. Mr. Evan only grew a little
more erect, as he replied, with an untroubled mien,--
"I cannot claim relationship with the Malcoms of Georgia or the Evans
of Scotland, I believe, Madam. My father was a farmer, my grandfather
a blacksmith, and beyond that my ancestors may have been
street-sweepers, for anything I know; but whatever they were, I fancy
they were honest men, for that has always been our boast, though, like
President Jackson's, our coat-of-arms is nothing but 'a pair of
shirt-sleeves.'"
From Debby's eyes there shot a bright glance of admiration for the
young man who could look two comely women in the face and serenely own
that he was poor. Mrs. Carroll tried to appear at ease, and, gliding
out of personalities, expatiated on the comfort of "living in a land
where fame and fortune were attainable by all who chose to earn them,"
and the contempt she felt for those "who had no sympathy with the
humbler classes, no interest in the welfare of the race," and many more
moral reflections as new and original as the Multiplication-Table or
the Westminster Catechism. To all of which Mr. Evan listened with
polite deference, though there was something in the keen intelligence
of his eye that made Debby blush for shallow Aunt Pen, and rejoice when
the good lady got out of her depth and seized upon a new subject as a
drowning mariner would a hen-coop.
"Dora, Mr. Ellenborough is coming this way; you have danced with him
but once, and he is a very desirable partner; so, pray, accept, if he
asks you," said Mrs. Carroll, watching a far-off individual who seemed
steering his zigzag course toward them.
"I never intend to dance with Mr. Ellenborough again, so please don't
urge me, Aunt Pen;" and Debby knit her brows with a somewhat irate
expression.
"My love, you astonish me! He is a most agreeable and accomplished
young man,--spent three years in Paris, moves in the first circles, and
is considered an ornament to fashionable society.
"What can be your objection, Dora?" cried Mrs. Carroll, looking as
alarmed as if her niece had suddenly announced her belief in the Koran.
"One of his accomplishments consists in drinking champagne till he is
not a 'desirable partner' for any young lady with a prejudice in favor
of decency. His moving in 'circles' is just what I complain of; and if
he is an ornament, I prefer my society undecorated. Aunt Pen, I cannot
make the nice distinctions you would have me, and a sot in broadcloth
is as odious as one in rags. Forgive me, but I cannot dance with that
silver-labelled decanter again."
Debby was a genuine little piece of womanhood; and though she tried to
speak lightly, her color deepened, as she remembered looks that had
wounded her like insults, and her indignant eyes silenced the excuses
rising to her aunt's lips. Mrs. Carroll began to rue the hour she ever
undertook the guidance of Sister Deborah's headstrong child, and for an
instant heartily wished she had left her to bloom unseen in the shadow
of the parsonage; but she concealed her annoyance, still hoping to
overcome the girl's absurd resolve, by saying, mildly,--
"As you please, dear; but if you refuse Mr. Ellenborough, you will be
obliged to sit through the dance, which is your favorite, you know."
Debby's countenance fell, for she had forgotten that, and the Lancers
was to her the crowning rapture of the night. She paused a moment, and
Aunt Pen brightened; but Debby made her little sacrifice to principle
as heroically as many a greater one had been made, and, with a wistful
look down the long room, answered steadily, though her foot kept time
to the first strains as she spoke,--
"Then I will sit, Aunt Pen; for that is preferable to staggering about
the room with a partner who has no idea of the laws of gravitation."
"Shall I have the honor of averting either calamity?" said Mr. Evan,
coming to the rescue with a devotion beautiful to see; for dancing was
nearly a lost art with him, and the Lancers to a novice is equal to a
second Labyrinth of Crete.
"Oh, thank you!" cried Debby, tumbling fan, bouquet, and handkerchief
into Mrs. Carroll's lap, with a look of relief that repaid him fourfold
for the trials he was about to undergo. They went merrily away
together, leaving Aunt Pen to wish that it was according to the laws of
etiquette to rap officious gentlemen over the knuckles, when they
introduce their fingers into private pies without permission from the
chief cook. How the dance went Debby hardly knew, for the conversation
fell upon books, and in the interest of her favorite theme she found
even the "grand square" an impertinent interruption, while her own
deficiences became almost as great as her partner's; yet, when the
music ended with a flourish, and her last curtsy was successfully
achieved, she longed to begin all over again, and secretly regretted
that she was engaged four deep.
"How do you like our new acquaintance, Dora?" asked Aunt Pen, following
Joe Leavenworth with her eye, as the "yellow-haired laddie" whirled by
with the ponderous Miss Flora.
"Very much; and I'm glad we met as we did, for it makes things free and
easy, and that is so agreeable in this ceremonious place," replied
Debby, looking in quite an opposite direction.
"Well, I'm delighted to hear you say so, dear, for I was afraid you had
taken a dislike to him, and he is really a very charming young man,
just the sort of person to make a pleasant companion for a few weeks.
These little friendships are part of the summer's amusement, and do no
harm; so smile away. Dora, and enjoy yourself while you may."
"Yes, Aunt, I certainly will, and all the more because I have found a
sensible soul to talk to. Do you know, he is very witty and well
informed, though he says he never had much time for self-cultivation?
But I think trouble makes people wise, and he seems to have had a good
deal, though he leaves it for others to tell of. I am glad you are
willing I should know him, for I shall enjoy talking about my pet
heroes with him as a relief from the silly chatter I must keep up most
of the time."
Mrs. Carroll was a woman of one idea; and though a slightly puzzled
expression appeared in her face, she listened approvingly, and
answered, with a gracious smile,--
"Of course, I should not object to your knowing such a person, my love;
but I'd no idea Joe Leavenworth was a literary man, or had known much
trouble, except his father's death and his sister Clementina's
runaway-marriage with her drawing-master."
Debby opened her brown eyes very wide, and hastily picked at the down
on her fan, but had no time to correct her aunt's mistake, for the real
subject of her commendations appeared at that moment, and Mrs. Caroll
was immediately absorbed in the consumption of a large pink ice.
"That girl is what I call a surprise-party, now," remarked Mr. Joe
confidentially to his cigar, as he pulled off his coat and stuck his
feet up in the privacy of his own apartment. "She looks as mild as
strawberries and cream till you come to the complimentary, then she
turns on a fellow with that deused satirical look of hers, and makes
him feel like a fool. I'll try the moral dodge to-morrow and see what
effect that will have; for she is mighty taking, and I must amuse
myself somehow, you know."
"How many years will it take to change that fresh-hearted little girl
into a fashionable belle, I wonder?" thought Frank Evan, as he climbed
the four flights that led to his "sky-parlor."
"What a curious world this is!" mused Debby, with her nightcap in her
hand. "The right seems odd and rude, the wrong respectable and easy,
and this sort of life a merry-go-round, with no higher aim than
pleasure. Well, I have made my Declaration of Independence, and Aunt
Pen must be ready for a Revolution if she taxes me too heavily."
As she leaned her hot cheek on her arm, Debby's eye fell on the quaint
little cap made by the motherly hands that never were tired of working
for her. She touched it tenderly, and love's simple magic swept the
gathering shadows from her face, and left it clear again, as her
thoughts flew home like birds into the shelter of their nest.
"Good night, mother! I'll face temptation steadily. I'll try to take
life cheerily, and do nothing that shall make your dear face a
reproach, when it looks into my own again."
Then Debby said her prayers like any pious child, and lay down to dream
of pulling buttercups with Baby Bess, and singing in the twilight on
her father's knee.
The history of Debby's first day might serve as a sample of most that
followed, as week after week went by with varying pleasures and
increasing interest to more than one young debutante.
Mrs. Carroll did her best, but Debby was too simple for a belle, too
honest for a flirt, too independent for a fine lady; she would be
nothing but her sturdy little self, open as daylight, gay as a lark,
and blunt as any Puritan. Poor Aunt Pen was in despair, till she
observed that the girl often "took" with the very peculiarities which
she was lamenting; this somewhat consoled her, and she tried to make
the best of the pretty bit of homespun which would not and could not
become velvet or brocade. Seguin, Ellenborough, & Co. looked with
lordly scorn upon her, as a worm blind to their attractions. Miss
MacRimsy and her "set" quizzed her unmercifully behind her back, after
being worsted in several passages of arms; and more than one successful
mamma condoled with Aunt Pen upon the terribly defective education of
her charge, till that stout matron could have found it in her heart to
tweak off their caps and walk on them, like the irascible Betsey
Trotwood.
But Debby had a circle of admirers who loved her with a sincerity few
summer queens could boast; for they were real friends, won by gentle
arts, and retained by the gracious sweetness of her nature. Moon-faced
babies crowed and clapped their chubby hands when she passed by their
wicker-thrones; story-loving children clustered round her knee, and
never were denied; pale invalids found wild-flowers on their pillows;
and forlorn papas forgot the state of the moneymarket when she sang for
them the homely airs their daughters had no time to learn. Certain
plain young ladies poured their woes into her friendly ear, and were
comforted; several smart Sophomores fell into a state of chronic
stammer, blush, and adoration, when she took a motherly interest in
their affairs; and a melancholy old Frenchman blessed her with the
enthusiasm of his nation, because she put a posy in the button-hole of
his rusty coat, and never failed to smile and bow as he passed by. Yet
Debby was no Edgworth heroine preternaturally prudent, wise, and
untemptable; she had a fine crop of piques, vanities, and dislikes
growing up under this new style of cultivation. She loved admiration,
enjoyed her purple and fine linen, hid new-born envy, disappointed
hope, and wounded pride behind a smiling face, and often thought with a
sigh of the humdrum duties that awaited her at home. But under the
airs and graces Aunt Pen cherished with such sedulous care, under the
flounces and furbelows Victorine daily adjusted with groans, under the
polish which she acquired with feminine ease, the girl's heart still
beat steadfast and strong, and conscience kept watch and ward that no
traitor should enter in to surprise the citadel which mother-love had
tried to garrison so well.
In pursuance of his sage resolve, Mr. Joe tried the "moral dodge," as
he elegantly expressed it, and, failing in that, followed it up with
the tragic, religious, negligent, and devoted ditto; but acting was not
his forte, so Debby routed him in all; and at last, when he was at his
wit's end for an idea, she suggested one, and completed her victory by
saying pleasantly,--
"You took me behind the curtain too soon, and now the paste-diamonds
and cotton-velvet don't impose upon me a bit. Just be your natural
self, and we shall get on nicely, Mr. Leavenworth."
The novelty of the proposal struck his fancy, and after a few relapses
it was carried into effect and thenceforth, with Debby, he became the
simple, good-humored lad Nature designed him to be, and, as a proof of
it, soon fell very sincerely in love.
Frank Evan, seated in the parquet of society, surveyed the dress-circle
with much the same expression that Debby had seen during Aunt Pen's
oration; but he soon neglected that amusement to watch several actors
in the drama going on before his eyes, while a strong desire to perform
a part therein slowly took possession of his mind.
Debby always had a look of welcome when he came, always treated him
with the kindness of a generous woman who has had an opportunity to
forgive, and always watched the serious, solitary man with a great
compassion for his loss, a growing admiration for his upright life.
More than once the beach-birds saw two figures pacing the sands at
sunrise with the peace of early day upon their faces and the light of a
kindred mood shining in their eyes. More than once the friendly ocean
made a third in the pleasant conversation, and its low undertone came
and went between the mellow bass and silvery treble of the human voices
with a melody that lent another charm to interviews which soon grew
wondrous sweet to man and maid. Aunt Pen seldom saw the twain
together, seldom spoke of Evan; and Debby held her peace, for, when she
planned to make her innocent confessions, she found that what seemed
much to her was nothing to another ear and scarcely worth the telling;
so, unconscious as yet whither the green path led, she went on her way,
leading two lives, one rich and earnest, hoarded deep within herself,
the other frivolous and gay for all the world to criticize. But those
venerable spinsters, the Fates, took the matter into their own hands,
and soon got the better of those short-sighted matrons, Mesdames Grundy
and Carroll; for, long before they knew it, Frank and Debby had begun
to read together a book greater than Dickens ever wrote, and when they
had come to the fairest part of the sweet story Adam first told Eve,
they looked for the name upon the title-page, and found that it was
"Love."
Fight weeks came and went,--eight wonderfully happy weeks to Debby and
her friend; for "propinquity" had worked more wonders than poor Mrs.
Carroll knew, as the only one she saw or guessed was the utter
captivation of Joe Leavenworth. He had become "himself" to such an
extent that a change of identity would have been a relief; for the
object of his adoration showed no signs of relenting, and he began to
fear, that, as Debby said, her heart was "not in the market." She was
always friendly, but never made those interesting betrayals of regard
which are so encouraging to youthful gentlemen "who fain would climb,
yet fear to fall." She never blushed when he pressed her hand, never
fainted or grew pale when he appeared with a smashed trotting-wagon and
black eye, and actually slept through a serenade that would have won
any other woman's soul out of her body with its despairing quavers.
Matters were getting desperate; for horses lost their charms, "flowing
bowls" palled upon his lips, ruffled shirt-bosoms no longer delighted
him, and hops possessed no soothing power to allay the anguish of his
mind. Mr. Seguin, after unavailing ridicule and pity, took compassion
on him, and from his large experience suggested a remedy, just as he
was departing for a more congenial sphere.
"Now don't be an idiot, Joe, but, if you want to keep your hand in and
go through a regular chapter of flirtation, just right about face, and
devote yourself to some one else. Nothing like jealousy to teach
womankind their own minds, and a touch of it will bring little Wilder
round in a jiffy. Try it, my boy, and good luck to you!"--with which
Christian advice Mr. Seguin slapped his pupil on the shoulder, and
disappeared, like a modern Mephistopheles, in a cloud of cigar-smoke.
"I'm glad he's gone, for in my present state of mind he's not up to my
mark at all. I'll try his plan, though, and flirt with Clara West;
she's engaged, so it won't damage her affections; her lover isn't here,
so it won't disturb his; and, by Jove! I must do something, for I
can't stand this suspense."
Debby was infinitely relieved by this new move, and infinitely amused
as she guessed the motive that prompted it; but the more contented she
seemed, the more violently Mr. Joe flirted with her rival, till at last
weak-minded Miss Clara began to think her absent George the most
undesirable of lovers, and to mourn that she ever said "Yes" to a
merchant's clerk, when she might have said it to a merchant's son.
Aunt Pen watched and approved this stratagem, hoped for the best
results, and believed the day won when Debby grew pale and silent, and
followed with her eyes the young couple who were playing battledore and
shuttle-cock with each other's hearts, as if she took some interest in
the game. But Aunt Pen clashed her cymbals too soon; for Debby's
trouble had a better source than jealousy, and in the silence of the
sleepless nights that stole her bloom she was taking counsel of her own
full heart, and resolving to serve another woman as she would herself
be served in a like peril, though etiquette was outraged and the
customs of polite society turned upside down.
"Look, Aunt Pen! what lovely shells and moss I've got! Such a splendid
scramble over the rocks as I've had with Mrs. Duncan's boys! It seemed
so like home to run and sing with a troop of topsy-turvy children that
it did me good; and I wish you had all been there to see." cried Debby,
running into the drawing-room, one day, where Mrs. Carroll and a circle
of ladies sat enjoying a dish of highly flavored scandal, as they
exercised their eyesight over fancy-work.
"My dear Dora, spare my nerves; and if you have any regard for the
proprieties of life, don't go romping in the sun with a parcel of noisy
boys. If you could see what an object you are, I think you would try
to imitate Miss Clara, who is always a model of elegant repose."
Miss West primmed up her lips, and settled a fold in her ninth flounce,
as Mrs. Carroll spoke, while the whole group fixed their eyes with
dignified disapproval on the invader of their refined society. Debby
had come like a fresh wind into a sultry room; but no one welcomed the
healthful visitant, no one saw a pleasant picture in the bright-faced
girl with windtossed hair and rustic hat heaped with moss and
many-tinted shells; they only saw that her gown was wet, her gloves
forgotten, and her scarf trailing at her waist in a manner no well-bred
lady could approve. The sunshine faded out of Debby's face, and there
was a touch of bitterness in her tone, as she glanced at the circle of
fashion-plates, saying with an earnestness which caused Miss West to
open her pale eyes to their widest extent,--
"Aunt Pen, don't freeze me yet,--don't take away my faith in simple
things, but let me be a child a little longer,--let me play and sing
and keep my spirit blithe among the dandelions and the robins while I
can; for trouble comes soon enough, and all my life will be the richer
and the better for a happy youth."
Mrs. Carroll had nothing at hand to offer in reply to this appeal, and
four ladies dropped their work to stare; but Frank Evan looked in from
the piazza, saying, as he beckoned like a boy,--
"I'll play with you, Miss Dora; come and make sand pies upon the shore.
Please let her, Mrs. Carroll; we'll be very good, and not wet our
pinafores or feet."
Without waiting for permission, Debby poured her treasures into the lap
of a certain lame Freddy, and went away to a kind of play she had never
known before. Quiet as a chidden child, she walked beside her
companion, who looked down at the little figure, longing to take it on
his knee and call the sunshine back again. That he dared not do; but
accident, the lover's friend, performed the work, and did him a good
turn beside. The old Frenchman was slowly approaching, when a
frolicsome wind whisked off his hat and sent it skimming along the
beach. In spite of her late lecture, away went Debby, and caught the
truant chapeau just as a wave was hurrying up to claim it. This
restored her cheerfulness, and when she returned, she was herself again.
"A thousand thanks; but does Mademoiselle remember the forfeit I might
demand to add to the favor she has already done me?" asked the gallant
old gentleman, as Debby took the hat off her own head, and presented it
with a martial salute.
"Ah, I had forgotten that; but you may claim [text missing in original
copy] do something more to give you pleasure;" and Debby looked up into
the withered face which had grown familiar to her, with kind eyes, full
of pity and respect.
Her manner touched the old man very much; he bent his gray head before
her, saying, gratefully,--
"My child, I am not good enough to salute these blooming checks; but I
shall pray the Virgin to reward you for the compassion you bestow on
the poor exile, and I shall keep your memory very green through all my
life."
He kissed her hand, as if it were a queen's, and went on his way,
thinking of the little daughter whose death left him childless in a
foreign land.
Debby softly began to sing, "Oh, come unto the yellow sands!" but
stopped in the middle of a line, to say,--
"Shall I tell you why I did what Aunt Pen would call a very unladylike
and improper thing, Mr. Evans?"
"If you will be so kind;" and her companion looked delighted at the
confidence about to be reposed in him.
"Somewhere across this great wide sea I hope I have a brother," Debby
said, with softened voice and a wistful look into the dim horizon.
"Five years ago he left us, and we have never heard from him since,
except to know that he landed safely in Australia. People tell us he
is dead; but I believe he will yet come home; and so I love to help and
pity any man who needs it, rich or poor, young or old, hoping that as I
do by them some tender-hearted woman far away will do by Brother Will."
As Debby spoke, across Frank Evan's face there passed the look that
seldom comes but once to any young man's countenance; for suddenly the
moment dawned when love asserted its supremacy, and putting pride,
doubt, and fear underneath its feet, ruled the strong heart royally and
bent it to its will. Debby's thoughts had floated across the sea; but
they came swiftly back when her companion spoke again, steadily and
slow, but with a subtile change in tone and manner which arrested them
at once.
"Miss Dora, if you should meet a man who had known a laborious youth, a
solitary manhood, who had no sweet domestic ties to make home beautiful
and keep his nature warm, who longed most ardently to be so blessed,
and made it the aim of his life to grow more worthy the good gift,
should it ever come,--if you should learn that you possessed the power
to make this fellow-creature's happiness, could you find it in your
gentle heart to take compassion on him for the love of 'Brother Will'?"
Debby was silent, wondering why heart and nerves and brain were stirred
by such a sudden thrill, why she dared not look up, and why, when she
desired so much to speak, she could only answer, in a voice that
sounded strange to her own ears,--
"I cannot tell."
Still, steadily and slow, with strong emotion deepening and softening
his voice, the lover at her side went on,--
"Will you ask yourself this question in some quiet hour? For such a
man has lived in the sunshine of your presence for eight happy weeks,
and now, when his holiday is done, he finds that the old solitude will
be more sorrowful than ever, unless he can discover whether his summer
dream will change into a beautiful reality. Miss Dora, I have very
little to offer you; a faithful heart to cherish you, a strong arm to
work for you, an honest name to give into your keeping,--these are all;
but if they have any worth in your eyes, they are most truly yours
forever."
Debby was steadying her voice to reply, when a troop of bathers came
shouting down the bank, and she took flight into her dressing-room,
there to sit staring at the wall, till the advent of Aunt Pen forced
her to resume the business of the hour by assuming her aquatic attire
and stealing shyly down into the surf.
Frank Evan, still pacing in the footprints they had lately made,
watched the lithe figure tripping to and fro, and, as he looked,
murmured to himself the last line of a ballad Debby sometimes sang,--
"Dance light! for my heart it lies under your feet, love!"
Presently a great wave swept Debby up, and stranded her very near him,
much to her confusion and his satisfaction. Shaking the spray out of
her eyes, she was hurrying away, when Frank said,--
"You will trip, Miss Dora; let me tie these strings for you;" and,
suiting the action to the word, he knelt down and began to fasten the
cords of her bathing shoe.
Debby stood Looking down at the tall head bent before her, with a
curious sense of wonder that a look from her could make a strong man
flush and pale, as he had done; and she was trying to concoct some
friendly speech, when Frank, still fumbling at the knots, said, very
earnestly and low,--
"Forgive me, if I am selfish in pressing for an answer; but I must go
to-morrow, and a single word will change my whole future for the better
or the worse. Won't you speak it, Dora?"
If they had been alone, Debby would have put her arms about his neck,
and said it with all her heart; but she had a presentiment that she
should cry, if her love found vent; and here forty pairs of eyes were
on them, and salt water seemed superfluous. Besides, Debby had not
breathed the air of coquetry so long without a touch of the infection;
and the love of power, that lies dormant in the meekest woman's breast,
suddenly awoke and tempted her.
"If you catch me before I reach that rock, perhaps I will say 'Yes,'"
was her unexpected answer; and before her lover caught her meaning, she
was floating leisurely away.
Frank was not in bathing-costume, and Debby never dreamed that he would
take her at her word; but she did not know the man she had to deal
with; for, taking no second thought, he flung hat and coat away, and
dashed into the sea. This gave a serious aspect to Debby's foolish
jest. A feeling of dismay seized her, when she saw a resolute face
dividing the waves behind her, and thought of the rash challenge she
had given; but she had a spirit of her own, and had profited well by
Mr. Joe's instructions: so she drew a long breath, and swam as if for
life, instead of love. Evan was incumbered by his clothing, and Debby
had much the start of him; but, like a second Leander, he hoped to win
his Hero, and, lending every muscle to the work, gained rapidly upon
the little hat which was his beacon through the foam. Debby heard the
deep breathing drawing nearer and nearer, as her pursuer's strong arms
cleft the water and sent it rippling past her lips, something like
terror took possession of her; for the strength seemed going out of her
limbs, and the rock appeared to recede before her; but the
unconquerable blood of the Pilgrims was in her veins, and "Nil
desperandum" her motto; so, setting her teeth, she muttered,
defiantly,--
"I'll not be beaten, if I go to the bottom!"
A great splashing arose, and when Evan recovered the use of his eyes,
the pagoda-hat had taken a sudden turn, and seemed making for the
farthest point of the goal. "I am sure of her now," thought Frank; and,
like a gallant seagod, he bore down upon his prize, clutching it with a
shout of triumph. But the hat was empty, and like a mocking echo came
Debby's laugh, as she climbed, exhausted, to a cranny in the rock.
"A very neat thing, by Jove! Deuse take me if you a'n't 'an honor to
your teacher, and a terror to the foe,' Miss Wilder," cried Mr. Joe, as
he came up from a solitary cruise and dropped anchor at her side.
"Here, bring along the hat, Evan; I'm going to crown the victor with
appropriate what-d'ye-call-'ems," he continued, pulling a handful of
sea-weed that looked like well-boiled greens.
Frank came up, smiling; but his lips were white, and in his eye a look
Debby could not meet; so, being full of remorse, she naturally assumed
an air of gayety, and began to sing the merriest air she knew, merely
because she longed to throw herself upon the stones and cry violently.
"It was 'most as exciting as a regatta, and you pulled well, Evan; but
you had too much ballast aboard, and Miss Wilder ran up false colors
just in time to save her ship. What was the wager?" asked the lively
Joseph, complacently surveying his marine millinery, which would have
scandalized a fashionable mermaid.
"Only a trifle," answered Debby, knotting up her braids with a
revengeful jerk.
"It's taken the wind out of your sails, I fancy, Evan, for you look
immensely Byronic with the starch minus in your collar and your hair in
a poetic toss. Come, I'll try a race with you; and Miss Wilder will
dance all the evening with the winner. Bless the man, what's he doing
down there? Burying sunfish, hey?"
Frank had been sitting below them on a narrow strip of sand, absently
piling up a little mound that bore some likeness to a grave. As his
companion spoke, he looked at it, and a sudden flush of feeling swept
across his face, as he replied,--
"No, only a dead hope."
"Deuse take it, yes, a good many of that sort of craft founder in these
waters, as I know to my sorrow;" and, sighing tragically. Mr. Joe
turned to help Debby from her perch, but she had glided silently into
the sea, and was gone.
For the next four hours the poor girl suffered the sharpest pain she
had ever known; for now she clearly saw the strait her folly had
betrayed her into. Frank Evan was a proud man, and would not ask her
love again, believing she had tacitly refused it; and how could she
tell him that she had trifled with the heart she wholly loved and
longed to make her own? She could not confide in Aunt Pen, for that
worldly lady would have no sympathy to bestow. She longed for her
mother; but there was no time to write, for Frank was going on the
morrow,--might even then be gone; and as this fear came over her, she
covered up her face and wished that she were dead. Poor Debby! her
last mistake was sadder than her first, and she was reaping a bitter
harvest from her summer's sowing. She sat and thought till her cheeks
burned and her temples throbbed; but she dared not ease her pain with
tears. The gong sounded like a Judgment-Day trump of doom, and she
trembled at the idea of confronting many eyes with such a telltale
face; but she could not stay behind, for Aunt Pen must know the cause.
She tried to play her hard part well; but wherever she looked, some
fresh anxiety appeared, as if every fault and folly of those months had
blossomed suddenly within the hour. She saw Frank Evan more sombre and
more solitary than when she met him first, and cried regretfully within
herself, "How could I so forget the truth I owed him?"--She saw Clara
West watching with eager eyes for the coming of young Leavenworth, and
sighed,--"This is the fruit of my wicked vanity!" She saw Aunt Pen
regarded her with an anxious face, and longed to say, "Forgive me, for
I have not been sincere!" At last, as her trouble grew, she resolved to
go away and have a quiet "think,"--a remedy which had served her in
many a lesser perplexity; so, stealing out, she went to a grove of
cedars usually deserted at that hour. But in ten minutes Joe
Leavenworth appeared at the door of the summer house, and, looking in,
said, with a well-acted start of pleasure and surprise,--
"Beg pardon, I thought there was no one here, My dear Miss Wilder, you
look contemplative; but I fancy it wouldn't do to ask the subject of
your meditations, would it?"
He paused with such an evident intention of remaining that Debby
resolved to make use of the moment, and ease her conscience of one care
that burdened it; therefore she answered his question with her usual
directness,--
"My meditations were partly about you."
Mr. Joe was guilty of the weakness of blushing violently and looking
immensely gratified; but his rapture was of short duration, for Debby
went on very earnestly,--
"I believe I am going to do what you may consider a very impertinent
thing; but I would rather be unmannerly than unjust to others or untrue
to my own sense of right. Mr. Leavenworth, if you were an older man, I
should not dare to say this to you; but I have brothers of my own, and,
remembering how many unkind things they do for want of thought, I
venture to remind you that a woman's heart is a perilous plaything, and
too tender to be used for a selfish purpose or an hour's pleasure. I
know this kind of amusement is not considered wrong; but it is wrong,
and I cannot shut my eyes to the fact, or sit silent while another
woman is allowed to deceive herself and wound the heart that trusts
her. Oh, if you love your own sisters, be generous, be just, and do not
destroy that poor girl's happiness, but go away before your sport
becomes a bitter pain to her!"
Joe Leavenworth had stood staring at Debby with a troubled countenance,
feeling as if all the misdemeanors of his life were about to be paraded
before him; but, as he listened to her plea, the womanly spirit that
prompted it appealed more loudly than her words, and in his really
generous heart he felt regret for what had never seemed a fault before.
Shallow as he was, nature was stronger than education, and he admired
and accepted what many a wiser, worldlier man would have resented with
anger or contempt. He loved Debby with all his little might; he meant
to tell her so, and graciously present his fortune and himself for her
acceptance; but now, when the moment came, the well-turned speech he
had prepared vanished from his memory, and with the better eloquence of
feeling he blundered out his passion like a very boy.
"Miss Dora, I never meant to make trouble between Clara and her lover;
upon my soul, I didn't, and wish Seguin had not put the notion into my
head, since it has given you pain. I only tried to pique you into
showing some regret, when I neglected you; but you didn't, and then I
got desperate and didn't care what became of any one. Oh, Dora, if you
knew how much I loved you, I am sure you'd forgive it, and let me prove
my repentance by giving up everything that you dislike. I mean what I
say; upon my life I do; and I'll keep my word, if you will only let me
hope."
If Debby had wanted a proof of her love for Frank Evan, she might have
found it in the fact that she had words enough at her command now, and
no difficulty in being sisterly pitiful toward her second suitor.
"Please get up," she said; for Mr. Joe, feeling very humble and very
earnest, had gone down upon his knees, and sat there entirely
regardless of his personal appearance.
He obeyed; and Debby stood looking up at him with her kindest aspect,
as she said, more tenderly than she had ever spoken to him before,--
"Thank you for the affection you offer me, but I cannot accept it, for
I have nothing to give you in return but the friendliest regard, the
most sincere good-will. I know you will forgive me, and do for your
own sake the good things you would have done for mine, that I may add
to my esteem a real respect for one who has been very kind to me."
"I'll try,--indeed, I will, Miss Dora, though it will be powerful hard
without yourself for a help and a reward."
Poor Joe choked a little, but called up an unexpected manliness, and
added, stoutly,--
"Don't think I shall be offended at your speaking so or saying 'No' to
me,--not a bit; it's all right, and I'm much obliged to you. I might
have known you couldn't care for such a fellow as I am, and don't blame
you, for nobody in the world is good enough for you. I'll go away at
once, I'll try to keep my promise, and I hope you'll be very happy all
your life."
He shook Debby's bands heartily, and hurried down the steps, but at the
bottom paused and looked back. Debby stood upon the threshold with
sunshine dancing on her winsome face, and kind words trembling on her
lips; for the moment it seemed impossible to part, and, with an
impetuous gesture, he cried to her,--
"Oh, Dora, let me stay and try to win you! for everything is possible
to love, and I never knew how dear you were to me till now!"
There were sudden tears in the young man's eyes, the flush of a genuine
emotion on his cheek, the tremor of an ardent longing in his voice,
and, for the first time, a very true affection strengthened his whole
countenance. Debby's heart was full of penitence; she had given so
much pain to more than one that she longed to atone for it--longed to
do some very friendly thing, and soothe some trouble such as she
herself had known. She looked into the eager face uplifted to her own
and thought of Will, then stooped and touched her lover's forehead with
the lips that softly whispered, "No."
If she had cared for him, she never would have done it; poor Joe knew
that, and murmuring an incoherent "Thank you!" he rushed away, feeling
very much as he remembered to have felt when his baby sister died and
he wept his grief away upon his mother's neck. He began his
preparations for departure at once, in a burst of virtuous energy quite
refreshing to behold, thinking within himself, as he flung his
cigar-case into the grate, kicked a billiard-ball into a corner, and
suppressed his favorite allusion to the Devil,--
"This is a new sort of thing to me, but I can bear it, and upon my life
I think I feel the better for it already."
And so he did; for though he was no Augustine to turn in an hour from
worldly hopes and climb to sainthood through long years of inward
strife, yet in aftertimes no one knew how many false steps had been
saved, how many small sins repented of, through the power of the memory
that far away a generous woman waited to respect him, and in his secret
soul he owned that one of the best moments of his life was that in
which little Debby Wilder whispered "No," and kissed him.
As he passed from sight, the girl leaned her head upon her hand,
thinking sorrowfully to herself,--
"What right had I to censure him, when my own actions are so far from
true? I have done a wicked thing, and as an honest girl I should undo
it, if I can. I have broken through the rules of a false propriety for
Clara's sake; can I not do as much for Frank's? I will. I'll find him,
if I search the house,--and tell him all, though I never dare to look
him in the face again, and Aunt Pen sends me home to-morrow."
Full of zeal and courage, Debby caught up her hat and ran down the
steps, but, as she saw Frank Evan coming up the path, a sudden panic
fell upon her, and she could only stand mutely waiting his approach.
It is asserted that Love is blind; and on the strength of that popular
delusion novel heroes and heroines go blundering through three volumes
of despair with the plain truth directly under their absurd noses: but
in real life this theory is not supported; for to a living man the
countenance of a loving woman is more eloquent than any language, more
trustworthy than a world of proverbs, more beautiful than the sweetest
love-lay ever sung.
Frank looked at Debby, and "all her heart stood up in her eyes," as she
stretched her hands to him, though her lips only whispered very low,--
"Forgive me, and let me say the 'Yes' I should have said so long ago."
Had she required any assurance of her lover's truth, or any reward for
her own, she would have found it in the change that dawned so swiftly
in his face, smoothing the lines upon his forehead, lighting the gloom
of his eye, stirring his firm lips with a sudden tremor, and making his
touch as soft as it was strong. For a moment both stood very still,
while Debby's tears streamed down like summer rain; then Frank drew her
into the green shadow of the grove, and its peace soothed her like a
mother's voice, till she looked up smiling with a shy delight her
glance had never known before. The slant sunbeams dropped a
benediction on their heads, the robins peeped, and the cedars
whispered, but no rumor of what further passed ever went beyond the
precincts of the wood; for such hours are sacred, and Nature guards the
first blossoms of a human love as tenderly as she nurses May-flowers
underneath the leaves.
Mrs. Carroll had retired to her bed with a nervous headache, leaving
Debby to the watch and ward of friendly Mrs. Earle, who performed her
office finely by letting her charge entirely alone. In her dreams Aunt
Pen was just imbibing a copious draught of champagne at the
wedding-breakfast of her niece, "Mrs. Joseph Leavenworth," when she was
roused by the bride elect, who passed through the room with a lamp and
a shawl in her hand.
"What time is it, and where are you going, dear?" she asked, dozily
wondering if the carriage for the wedding-tour was at the door so soon.
"It's only nine, and I am going for a sail, Aunt Pen."
As Debby spoke, the light flashed full into her face, and a sudden
thought into Mrs. Carroll's mind. She rose up from her pillow, looking
as stately in her night-cap as Maria Theresa is said to have done in
like unassuming head-gear.
"Something has happened, Dora! What have you done? What have you
said? I insist upon knowing immediately," she demanded, with somewhat
startling brevity.
"I have said 'No' to Mr. Leavenworth and 'Yes' to Mr. Evan; and I
should like to go home to-morrow, if you please," was the equally
concise reply.
Mrs. Carroll fell flat in her bed, and lay there stiff and rigid as
Morlena Kenwigs. Debby gently drew the curtains, and stole away
leaving Aunt Pen's wrath to effervesce before morning.
The moon was hanging luminous and large on the horizon's edge, sending
shafts of light before her till the melancholy ocean seemed to smile,
and along that shining pathway happy Debby and her lover floated into
that new world where all things seem divine.