IT IS FROM A GIRL.
The arrival of letters, both for myself and Miss May, the next day, made
me forget everything else till mine were read and answered. I had not
looked for them so soon and do not know yet what course they took to
reach us. It is supposed to be a rule of the postal department to
forward all mail by the most expeditious route, but previous experience
in the Caribbean had taught me that the rule is reversed there in most
cases.
Eggert brought the things to us, having had sense enough to inquire at
the office when he knew a steamer was in. Miss May had taken the
precaution to have hers addressed "Care Miss M. Carney," after I told
her she would be weighted with this title, and her friends supposed, no
doubt, that the unfamiliar name represented the proprietress of a hotel
or boarding house. She gave a joyful cry as I held two letters out to
her, made the usual feminine inquiry if that was all, and retired to a
corner by herself to read them, like a dog with a bone.
The first letter I opened was from Tom Barton, the second from his
sister. Tom's was merely a recital of the latest happenings that he
thought might interest me, and expressions of hope that I would derive
great benefit from my cruise. Statia's was a homily on the beauty of
holiness and a sermon on the alleged fact that wicked deeds are often
punished nearer home than in that subterranean place of extreme heat of
which most moderns have begun to doubt. She was evidently in about the
same frame of mind as when I last saw her, but I was too glad to know
that she cared enough about me to write at all to be severely critical.
I liked Statia. She filled a place in my heart that had been vacant
before--a sort of sisterly place, as near as I can tell--and I resolved
while reading to curb my tendency to joke when I answered her and take a
weight off her mind if I could.
The next letter was a formal one from Uncle Dugald, reading like an
official document. And the only remaining one was--of all things--from
Miss Alice Brazier, who had adopted my suggestion and renewed her
injunctions at the expense of a five cent stamp. I expected something
from Harvey Hume, and when I looked over the odd packages of printed
matter I detected his handwriting on several of them. Like Mary of old,
he had chosen the better part, and had contributed as much to my
happiness as either of the others. Six daily papers and three magazines,
besides a new novel, bore his fist on their wrappers, and he had broken
the laws of the postoffice by scribbling on stray corners certain "God
bless you's!" for which I hope he will be forgiven.
"Do you want to read a letter I have received, warning me against you?"
I asked, laughingly, going to where Miss May sat. "Or perhaps, to state
it more accurately, warning you against me; at least, warning us against
each other."
She looked rather startled at my first observation and held out her hand
for the missive as I finished.
I sat down beside her, prefacing an actual exhibition of the note from
Miss Brazier by a reminder that I had informed her early in our
acquaintance of the lady's answer to my Herald advertisement. She read
the note through, as I held it in my hands, and when she had finished
wore a very sober face.
"This seems to amuse you," she said, regarding me with a strange look.
"I do not see why it should. The person who wrote that is actuated by
the sincerest regard for your welfare. It would have been much better
for you had you taken her on this journey instead of me."
"But," I answered, lightly, "it would not have been half so well for
you, which is why I did not do it. I want you to understand that I am
not here for my own health, but yours. As for Alice Brazier, she wrote
me, when she found I would not take her, anyway--that she was surprised
at the 'nerve' of the successful applicant."
"I am surprised at it myself," said Miss May, refusing to laugh. "I grow
more and more surprised at it every day."
"I suppose you wish me to believe you are sorry," I said, bridling just
the least bit.
"No, my dear Don," she replied, gently, "I am very glad I came. It is
not that which troubles me. It is the thought that some day it will
end."
"That thought would spoil the pleasure of life itself," I said, much
mollified nevertheless. "I would advise you not to become a monomaniac.
Take some of these papers and get into touch again with the planet on
which we used to live."
She looked them all over, scanning the dates.
"Why, who sent you these ancient things?" she said. "The very latest is
dated January 18th."
"Well, did you expect yesterday morning's?" I asked. "Have you forgotten
that we are some little distance from Manhattan Island?"
She smiled at last, as the recollection of our situation with regard to
news came over her, and thanking me, began to look over the papers,
beginning with the day after we left. I took the next one and for some
time this occupied us. When either encountered anything of general
interest there was an interruption, followed by prolonged silence.
"Are you going to answer that letter of Miss Brazier's?" Miss May asked,
all of a sudden.
"Why? Would you?"
"Yes; in a very formal way."
Was she attacked with incipient jealousy of this unknown one, even while
she approved of her counsel?
"All right," I said. "I will let you dictate the words."
"What other letters did you get?" she inquired.
I showed them to her. She wanted to know what each contained; and when I
spoke of Statia, though I did not mention her name, the same smouldering
fire flashed up slightly as in Miss Brazier's case.
"Who is that lady?" she asked.
"The sister of my dearest masculine friend."
"Why does she write to you?"
"For the same reason as the other girl, to give me good advice."
She had to ask the next question.
"Is there no love affair between you?"
"Not the slightest. I did not think she would even condescend to write a
line."
Miss May drew a long breath, and then, as if ashamed of the interest she
had shown, buried her face in the newspaper.
"If you have finished with your cross-questionings," I remarked, "I will
take a hand. Who are your letters from?"
She clung to the envelopes as if she feared I would try to wrest them
from her.
"A friend," she answered, frigidly.
"Two friends, at least. One is directed in the handwriting of a man.
Now, Marjorie, I am not going to permit that sort of thing. I draw the
line at male correspondents while you are travelling with me."
Hesitating an instant she laid the envelope of which I spoke in my lap.
"Read it," she said, looking me full in the eyes.
"Not unless you wish me to," I answered.
"I do wish it."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I must refuse to oblige you, for the first time, and I hope the last. I
would not read that letter, under any circumstances," I replied.
"Then I will read it to you," said Miss May, and she read as follows:
Dear Marjorie:--I hope you are well and happy in that far-off land,
with the gentleman who has engaged you as secretary, and that you
have had no cause to regret accepting his offer. I have no great
fears for you, believing that a wise girl will so conduct herself as
to disarm the most persistent man, if temptation comes. If Mr.
Camwell is all you believed him when last I saw you, your journey
must be a continuous delight. If he proves the contrary I shall be
sorry, for he can make your path a miserable one, but my confidence
in you will be unshaken.
The other girls all send love and best wishes. I shall look
anxiously for the first letter from you.
Mr. Barnard, the cashier, has promised to address my envelope and
put on the right stamp.
Your Friend,
HELEN.
I glanced at the writing, which was certainly that of a woman, and again
at the envelope, quite as surely in the penmanship of a man.
"It is from a girl who used to write in the same office as I," said Miss
May. "Now you must hear the other one."
But this I absolutely refused to do. She was putting me in a position I
did not covet. I said I had some letters to write and would go to my
room for awhile. Miss May did not press her point further, but said she
would take the time to answer her own letters, if I did not need her.
For the next hour I pushed my pen over the stationery, replying to the
missives I had received, and also sending brief notes to several of my
other friends. When this was finished I went to Miss May's door to speak
to her, and found her absent. Looking over the veranda railing I saw her
at some distance, frolicking with Laps, the dog, apparently having
recovered her spirits, which were rather low when I left her.
Glancing back into her room I noticed that a letter she had just written
lay open upon the table. To save my soul I could not resist going in,
taking it up and reading it. My curiosity about her was intense. There
might be something in this letter, either to confirm my belief in her or
to dash it to the ground. At any rate, though the act was repulsive to
my nature, I could not help taking advantage of the opportunity.
Dear Helen [was the way the letter read]:--Many thanks for your
sweet note. I am glad to say I can set your mind at rest at once
regarding my fate. Mr. C. is one of the kindest men I ever knew. I
have lost the apprehension which I had in regard to him during the
first few days of our voyage and am as happy as I hoped to be when I
told you of the engagement. I only wish you could have seen him
before we sailed. You would not wonder I was so pleased to go,
though, of course, I had to hide my feelings when talking with him
about it.
I will try to describe him to you. He is rather above the medium
height, four or five inches taller than I, I should think. His hair
is brown. He wears a mustache, but no beard--a nearly blonde
mustache that adds a charm to a sensitive and finely cut mouth. His
eyes are hazel. He is slightly pale, owing to the illness of which I
told you, but he has gained immensely since we started. When he
smiles I never saw a more engaging countenance; when he is troubled
the clouds are like those of a summer sky, and the first puff of
wind blows them away.
I do not mean to tell you he is perfect in everything. He has not
led the best life always, I am afraid, and with a different woman
for his constant companion there might be a another story to tell.
But when he shows signs of getting unruly, I never fail to quiet him
with the right word. He is a gentleman, after all, and I am sure he
will never be else than that to me.
Helen, dear, I must tell you a great secret. I have all I can do to
prevent myself falling head over ears in love with the man. If I
were an unscrupulous young woman I believe I could make him care a
great deal for me. As I look at it, such a course would be wholly
disreputable. He is impulsive and might say things he would regret
later in his life. So I keep my heart as quiet as I can, in his
presence. He will not guess what I have confided to you and what I
never shall tell to another.
If I were of his social grade--if I could have retained the position
in which I was born, he would be my ideal as a husband. Such
thoughts, alas! are not for
Your Poor Friend,
MARJORIE.
St. Thomas, W.I., Jan. 29, 1898.
My hand trembled so before I had half read this letter that I could not
make out the lines. I had to put it down to finish it. Twice I crept to
the door to see if Miss May was still on the lawn, playing with Laps.
She was there, absorbed in her amusement and I finally finished it
unchallenged. Then I left the room and went to my own, where I fell from
sheer weakness upon my bed.
Marjorie loved me!
The reflection was overpowering. She was battling not only against me
but against her own affections. I was absolutely dumfounded. What a
train of thought swept through my heated brain!
At one instant I resolved to offer her my hand in marriage that very day
and have the ceremony performed in the evening, by one of the clergymen
of Charlotte Amelie, with Eggert and his wife as witnesses. At the next
I planned a slow campaign to win her, which, with the evidence in my
possession, could have but one result. The slower way would bring the
most pleasure, if I could persuade myself to patience. Again, the vision
of my Uncle Dugald rose before me, mutely protesting against an alliance
with one of whom I knew practically nothing. Then Tom Barton and Statia
joined the procession, shaking their heads dolefully.
Miss May's voice at my door aroused me to a sense of my condition and I
bade her come in, if she was not afraid. She came quietly, removing as
she did so her straw hat. A steamer had just entered the harbor, she
said, that I might like to see. I always wanted to inspect each craft,
and she supposed I would not like to miss this one.
I sat up and listened to her in a half daze. How little she knew that
the burning secret under her calm exterior was already in my possession.
"Marjorie! Marjorie!"
I could only repeat the name in the joy of my discovery; repeat it to
myself, lock it in the recesses of my inmost bosom.
I bathed my face, after which she took my brush and arranged my hair for
me. How delicious her hands on my head! Some day they would be mine,
and forever!
I suffered her to lead me out of doors and set me a chair before the
telescope, which she arranged to command a view of the incoming steamer.
Eggert came while we were there, with a little trouble on his mind. The
book that had annoyed Marjorie so--that copy of "Our Rival, the Rascal,"
had disappeared from his bookcase, and he wanted to know if either of us
had seen it. Miss May shook her head with disgust, while I responded
that I had left it on the table the night he showed it to me, and had
never picked it up again.
Eggert turned to the steamer I was watching through the glass and said
he had known for an hour what it was--his seaman's eye had told him that
when only the tops of her smokestacks were visible.
It was going down the islands, he said, and would make its next stop at
St. Croix.
An idea sprang into my head. Here was an opportunity to escape the daily
visits of Mr. Wesson!
I asked how soon she would leave. Eggert said probably in an hour.
"We must pack our things at once, then," I exclaimed. "I have reasons
for wanting to get to St. Croix to-day, and this is a chance not to be
missed."
Eggert pleaded with me to wait for the Pretoria, as I had first
intended, but I would not listen. I wanted action; the excitement of
departure was just the thing in my state of mind. Miss May dutifully
went to her chamber and put her things in their receptacles, coming
afterward to mine and helping me appreciably. The covers were down, the
keys turned in the locks, the typewriting machine in its bag, and
everything ready in thirty minutes.
As I left my room my attention was attracted to Miss May, who was
talking earnestly with some one from the adjoining veranda. I soon saw
that little Thorwald was below, with a handsome mongoose in a trap,
which he was exhibiting to her with much pride.
"What are you going to do with that poor creature?" she asked the lad.
"Going to kill him," he answered, in his sharp, clear way.
"Why do you want to kill that helpless thing?"
"Why I want to kill the mongoose?" he repeated. "You better ask why the
mongoose want to kill my chickens. No, that little mongoose will never
trouble my chickens any more."
"Will you sell him to me?" she asked, earnestly.
"You want to buy a mongoose?" asked the boy, incredulously. "No, you can
never tame him. He will only bite you. See:" (he put down the trap and
pushed a stick into the wire cage, which the animal bit ferociously.) "I
don't think you want to buy that mongoose."
"But I do want to buy him," she insisted. "I will give you a dollar for
him."
(It is a strange fact that the terms of trade are generally spoken of in
United States money in these islands, even where the only coins are
European.)
"You will give me a dollar for the mongoose?" said Thorwald's bright
voice.
"Yes, I will gladly give you a dollar for him."
"You may have him," said the child, hanging up the cage and receiving
the money, evidently hardly able to credit his eyes. "But the mongoose
is not worth one cent."
Taking the trap to the ground on the other side of the house, Miss May
lost no time in releasing the little prisoner from his bondage,
whereupon he vanished with all speed in the shrubbery. She gave Thorwald
his dollar, and as she came to where I stood, there were tears in her
bright eyes.
I kissed the children hastily, handing them at the same time some small
pieces of silver, settled my bill, directed the negroes who were
summoned about the baggage, said good-by to everybody, from the Master
to the scullery maid, and started down the long path to the boat. In ten
minutes more we were being rowed toward the steamer, and a quarter of an
hour later were safe on board.
As soon as our chairs were arranged on deck and we had dropped into them
I felt the old weakness coming on. I could not endure such a strain
without showing evidence that I had not yet wholly recovered my form. I
asked a steward who happened to pass, to get me a brandy-and-soda.
"Close your eyes and try to sleep," said my companion, soothingly, as to
a sick child. "You have been overdoing for the last hour."
I took her hand and tried to obey her. That dear little hand on which I
would one day put the symbol of a love to last through eternity!