THE SWEETNESS OF LOVE
"Still, I'm glad you inquired," Mrs. Forbes said to her husband. "And
that there's nothing derogatory to the young man. He's likely now to
settle down, and he will have a fine chance with Mr. Carrick, who
certainly is taking fortune at the flood tide. And one can guess what
will happen."
"A woman generally guesses that. I hoped it would be Langdale. He is a
fine fellow, and will make his mark," was the reply.
"Daffodil isn't in love with military life. Most girls are;" laughing.
"Why, I never had two thoughts about the matter. I must give them a
little tea again."
"Ask Jack Remsen and Peggy Ray, and make them happy, but leave out the
lieutenant. Something surely happened between them."
Andsdell came to the Carricks according to agreement. How cosy the
place looked, with the great blaze of the logs in the fireplace, that
shed a radiance around. He was formally presented to Mrs. Carrick and
the Bradins. Daffodil and her mother sat in the far corner, with two
candles burning on the light stand. The girl was knitting some fine
thread stockings, with a new pattern of clocks, that Jane had sent her
from Philadelphia. Felix had a cold, and had gone to bed immediately
after supper, and they were all relieved at that.
Jeffrey Andsdell had stated his case. He was tired of desultory
wandering, and seven-and-twenty was high time to take up some life
work. He was the fourth son of a titled family, with no especial
longing for the army or the church, therefore he, like other young men
without prospects, had emigrated. The heir to the title and estates,
the elder brother, was married and had two sons, the next one was
married also, but so far had only girls, and the entail was in the
male line. The brother next older than Jeffrey had been a sort of
imbecile, and died. But there was no chance of his succeeding, so he
must make his own way. He had spent two years at Richmond and
Williamsburg, then at Philadelphia. At Williamsburg he had taken quite
a fancy to the stage, and achieved some success, but the company had
disbanded. It was a rather precarious profession at best, though he
had tried a little of it in London.
The straightforward story tallied with Captain Forbes' information.
True, there was one episode he had not dwelt upon, it would never come
up in this new life. How he had been crazy enough to take such a step
he could not now imagine. But it was over, and done with, and
henceforward life should be an honorable success.
Daffodil listened between counting her stitches. She stole shy glances
now and then, he sat so the firelight threw up his face in strong
relief. The brown hair had a little tumbled look, the remnant of some
boyish curls. The features were good, rather of the aquiline order,
the eyes well opened, of a sort of nondescript hazel, the brown beard
worn in the pointed style, with a very narrow moustache, for the upper
lip was short and the smiling aspect not quite hidden.
When he rose to go the ladies rose also. He shook hands, and held
Daffodil's a moment with a pressure that brought a faint color to her
soft cheek.
"He is very much of a gentleman," commented Mrs. Bradin. "And, taking
up a steady occupation is greatly to his credit. Though it seems as if
a soldier's life would have been more to his taste."
"I am glad he did not fight against us," said Barbe.
"Some have, and have repented," added her husband, with a touch of
humor in his tone. "And we are large-minded enough to forgive them."
Daffodil did not see him until she went over to the Fort. Langdale
dropped in to see her, but there was no cordial invitation to remain.
He knew later on that Andsdell was there, and in his heart he felt it
was not Archie who would be his strongest rival. If there was
something that could be unearthed against the Englishman!
The Remsens, mother and son, were very agreeable people, quite
singers, but there was no piano for accompaniment, though there were
flutes and violins at the Fort. Andsdell, after some pressing, sang
also, and his voice showed training. Then he repeated a scene from
"The Tempest" that enchanted his hearers. Daffodil was curiously proud
of him.
"You did not haunt the woods much," he began on the way home. "I
looked for you."
"Did you?" Her heart beat with delicious pleasure. "But I did not
promise to come."
"No. But I looked all the same, day after day. What were you so busy
about?"
"Oh, I don't know. I thought--that perhaps it wasn't quite--right;"
hesitatingly.
"It will be right now." He pressed the arm closer that had been
slipped in his. Then they were silent, but both understood. There was
something so sweet and true about her, so delicate, yet wise, that
needed no blurting out of any fact, for both to take it into their
lives.
"And who was there to-night?" asked her mother, with a little fear.
For Mrs. Forbes would hardly know how matters stood between her and
Lieutenant Langdale.
"The Remsens only. And they sing beautifully together. Oh, it was
really charming. Mrs. Remsen asked me to visit her. It's odd, mother,
but do you know my friends have mostly fallen out! So many of the
girls have married, and I seem older than the others. Does a year or
two change one so? I sometimes wonder if I was the eager little girl
who went to Philadelphia, and to whom everything was a delight."
"You are no longer a little girl."
"And at the nutting the other day, I went to please Felix, you know.
But the boys seemed so rough. And though I climbed a tree when they
all insisted, I--I was ashamed;" and her face was scarlet.
Yes, the Little Girl was gone forever.
Her mother kissed her, and she felt now that her child would need no
one to tell her what love was like. For it took root in one's heart,
and sprang up to its hallowed blooming.
It was too soon for confidences. Dilly did not know that she had any
that could be put into words. Only the world looked beautiful and
bright, as if it was spring, instead of winter.
"You've changed again," Felix said observantly. "You're very sweet,
Dilly. Maybe as girls grow older they grow sweeter. I shan't mind your
being an old maid if you stay like this. Dilly, didn't you ever have a
beau? It seems to me no one has come----"
"Oh, you silly child!" She laughed and blushed.
There were sleighing parties and dances. It is odd that in some
communities a girl is so soon dropped out. The dancing parties, rather
rough frolics they were, took in the girls from twelve to sixteen, and
each one strove boldly for a beau. She was not going to be left behind
in the running. But Daffodil Carrick was already left behind, they
thought, though she was asked to the big houses, and the dinners, and
teas at the Fort.
Andsdell dropped in now and then ostensibly to consult Mr. Carrick.
Then he was invited to tea on Sunday night, and to dinner at the
holidays, when he summoned courage to ask Bernard Carrick for his
daughter.
For he had begun a new life truly. The past was buried, and never
would be exhumed. And why should a man's whole life be blighted by a
moment of folly!
They grew brave enough to look at one another in the glowing
firelight, even if the family were about. One evening she stepped out
in the moonlight with him. There was a soft snow on the ground, and
some of the branches were yet jewelled with it. Half the lovers in the
town would have caught a handful of it and rubbed crimson roses on her
cheeks. He said, "Daffodil," and drew her closely in his arms, kissed
the lips that throbbed with bashful joy and tremulous sweetness.
"Dear, I love you. And you--you are mine."
There was a long delicious breath. The story of love is easily told
when both understand the divine language.
She came in glowing, with eyes like stars, and went straight to her
mother, who was sitting alone. Both of the men had gone to some
borough business. She kissed her joyous secret into the waiting heart.
"You love him. You know now what love is? That is the way I loved your
father."
"It is wonderful, isn't it? You grow into it, hardly knowing, and then
it is told without words, though the words come afterward. Oh, did you
think----"
"Foolish child, we all saw. He carried the story in his eyes. Your
father knew. He has been very honest and upright. Oh, my dear, I am so
glad for you. Marriage is the crown of womanhood."
Her mother drew her down in her lap. Daffodil's arms were around her
neck, and they were heart to heart, a happy mother and a happy child.
"You will not mind if I go to bed? I--I want to be alone."
"No, dear. Happy dreams, whether you wake or sleep."
She lay in a delicious tremor. There was a radiant light all about
her, though the room was dark. This was what it was to be loved and to
love, and she could not tell which was best.
Then at home he was her acknowledged lover. He came on Wednesday night
and Sunday to tea. But Norry soon found it out, and was glad for her.
Grandad teased her a little.
"And you needn't think I'm going to leave you any fortune," he said,
almost grumblingly. "The blamed whiskey tax is eating it up every
year, and the little left will go to Felix. You have all that land
over there that you don't need more than a dog needs two tails. Well,
I think there are times when a dog would be glad to wag both, if he
had 'em. That will be enough for you and your children. But I'll dance
at the wedding."
Barbe Carrick looked over the chest of treasures that she had been
adding to year after year. There was _her_ wedding gown, and it had
been her mother's before her. The lace was exquisite, and no one could
do such needlework nowadays. What if it had grown creamy by age, that
only enhanced it.
Here were the other things she had accumulated, sometimes with a pang
lest they should not be needed. Laid away in rose leaves and lavender
blooms. Oh, how daintily sweet they were, but not sweeter than the
girl who was to have them. And here were some jewels that had been
great-grandmother Duvernay's. She would have no mean outfit to hand
down again to posterity.
Barbe was doubly glad that she would live here. She could not bear
the thought of her going away, and a soldier's wife was never quite
sure where he might be called, or into what danger. There would be a
nice home not very far away, there would be sweet, dainty
grandchildren. It was worth waiting for.
Jeffrey Andsdell was minded not to wait very long. Love was growing by
what it fed upon, but he wanted the feast daily. They could stay at
home until their new house was built.
"We ought to go over across the river," she said, "and be pioneers in
the wilderness. And, oh, there is one thing that perhaps you won't
like. Whoever married me was to take the name of Duvernay, go back to
the French line."
"Why, yes, I like that immensely." That would sever the last link. He
would be free of all the old life.
"It isn't as pretty as yours."
"Oh, do you think so? Now, I am of the other opinion;" laughing into
her lovely eyes.
She grew sweeter day by day, even her mother could see that. Yes, love
was the atmosphere in which a woman throve.
Barbe settled the wedding time. "When the Daffodils are in bloom," she
said, and the lover agreed.
Archie Langdale wrote her a brotherly letter, but said, "If you could
put it off until my vacation. I'm coming back to take another year,
there have been so many new discoveries, and I want to get to the very
top. Dilly--that was the child's name, I used to have a little dream
about you. You know I was a dull sort of fellow, always stuffing my
head with books, and you were sweet and never flouted me. I loved you
very much. I thought you would marry Ned, and then you would be my
sister, you could understand things that other girls didn't. I am
quite sure he loved you, too. But your happiness is the first thing to
be considered, and I hope you will be very happy."
The engagement was suspected before it was really admitted. There were
various comments, of course. Daffodil Carrick had been waiting for
something fine, and she could afford to marry a poor man with her
possible fortune, and her father's prosperity. And some day a girl
would be in luck to get young Sandy Carrick.
Lieutenant Langdale took it pretty hard. He had somehow hoped against
hope, for he believed the Carricks would refuse a man who had come a
stranger in the place. If he could call him out and shoot him down in
a duel! He shut himself up in his room, and drank madly for two days
before he came to his senses.
March came in like the lion and then dropped down with radiant suns
that set all nature aglow. There were freshets, but they did little
damage. Trees budded and birds came and built in the branches. Bees
flew out in the sunshine, squirrels chattered, and the whole world was
gay and glad.
One day the lovers went up the winding path to the old hill-top, where
Jeffrey insisted he had first lost his heart to her. They sat on the
same tree trunk, and he said verses to her, but instead of Clorinda it
was Daffodil. And they talked sweet nonsense, such as never goes out
of date between lovers. And when they came down they looked at the
daffodil bed. The buds had swollen, some were showing yellow.
"Why, it can be next week!" cried the lover joyously.
"Yes," said the mother, with limpid eyes, remembering when the child
was born.
There was not much to make ready. The cake had been laid away to
season, so that it would cut nicely. There was a pretty new church
now, and the marriage would be solemnized there, with a wedding feast
at home, and then a round of parties for several evenings at different
houses. The Trents had just finished their house, which was considered
quite a mansion, and the carpets had come from France. They would give
the first entertainment.
She had written to her guardian, who sent her a kindly letter, wishing
her all happiness. The winter had been a rather hard one for him, for
an old enemy that had been held in abeyance for several years,
rheumatism, had returned, and though it was routed now, it had left
him rather enfeebled, otherwise he would have taken the journey to see
his ward, the little girl grown up, whose visit he had enjoyed so
much, and whom he hoped to welcome in his home some time again.
And with it came a beautiful watch and chain. Presents were not much
in vogue in those days, and their rarity made them all the more
precious.
They dressed the house with daffodils, but the bride-to-be was all in
white, the veil the great-grandmother had worn in Paris, fastened with
a diamond circlet just as she had had it.
"Oh!" Daffodil exclaimed, "if great-grandfather could see me!"
Jeffrey Andsdell took her in his arms and kissed her. This was,
indeed, a true marriage, and could there ever be a sweeter bride?
She was smiling and happy, for every one was pleased, so why should
she not be! She even forgot the young man pacing about the Fort
wishing--ah, what could he wish except that he was in Andsdell's
place? For surely he was not mean enough to grudge _her_ any
happiness.
She walked up the church aisle on her lover's arm and next came her
parents. Once Andsdell's lips compressed themselves, and a strange
pallor and shudder came over him.
Her father gave her away. The clergyman pronounced them man and wife.
Then friends thronged around. They were privileged to kiss the bride
in those days.
"My wife," was what Jeffrey Andsdell said in a breathless, quivering
tone.
They could not rush out in modern fashion. She cast her smiles on
every side, she was so happy and light-hearted.
They reached the porch just as a coach drove up at furious speed. A
woman sprang out, a tall, imperious-looking person, dressed in grand
style. Her cheeks were painted, her black eyes snapped defiance. One
and another fell back and stared as she cried in an imperious tone,
looking fiercely at the bride, "Am I too late? Have you married him?
But you cannot be his wife. I am his lawful, legal wife, and the
mother of his son, who is the future heir of Hurst Abbey. I have come
from England to claim him. His father, the Earl of Wrexham, sends for
him, to have him restored to his ancestral home."
She had uttered this almost in a breath. Daffodil, with the utmost
incredulity, turned to her husband and smiled, but the lines almost
froze in her face. For his was deadly white and his eyes were fixed on
the woman with absolute terror.
"It is God's own truth," she continued. "I have your father's letter,
and you will hardly disown his signature. Your son is at Hurst
Abbey----"
"Woman!" he thundered, "it is a base trumped-up lie! There are four
lives between me and the succession, and there may be more."
"There _were_, but last autumn they were all swept suddenly out of
existence. The Earl was crazed with grief. I went to him and took his
grandson, a beautiful child, that would appeal to any heart. And at
his desire I have come to America for you."
Jeffrey Andsdell placed his wife in her father's arms. "Take her
home," he said hoarsely, "I will follow and disprove this wild,
baseless tale."
Then he pressed her to his heart. "Whatever happens, you are the only
woman I have ever loved, remember that;" and taking the woman's arm,
entered her coach with her.
The small group dispersed without a word. What could be said! There
was consternation on all faces. Bernard Carrick took his daughter
home. Once her mother kissed the pallid cheek, and essayed some word
of comfort.
"Oh, don't!" she cried piteously. "Let me be still. I must wait and
bear it until----"
She did not cry or faint, but seemed turning to stone. And when they
reached the house she went straight through the room where the feast
was spread, to her own, and threw herself on the bed.
"Oh, acushla darlin'," cried Norah, "sure we had the warning when the
pear tree bloomed. I said it was trouble without reason, and though I
broke them all off it couldn't save you."
"Oh, my darlin', God help us all."