FRIENDS, NOT LOVERS.
Colonel Cleveland had the best surgical aid and counsel that could be
had in London. A consultation was held over his case by the most
eminent surgeons; his recovery pronounced absolutely hopeless. The
injury to the spine was fatal; and life could be sustained by the
utmost care and for only a few years.
The house on Wimbledon Common, which he had rented for a few months,
was taken for a term of years, as it was thought impossible to remove
Colonel Cleveland to his house in the country, even if he had wished
it. But he did not wish to banish himself from the near neighborhood
of London, and of his friends who were able to visit him when only a
few miles distant. Sidney Martin, who transacted all his business, was
obliged to see him almost daily. Never before had Sidney come so near
the feeling of having a home. When he saw the lights shining through
the uncurtained windows of Colonel Cleveland's suite of rooms on the
first floor, his pace always quickened, and his heart beat faster.
Margaret would be sure to start up at the first sound of his horse's
hoofs on the gravel, and run downstairs to open the hall-door to him.
The pleasant picture of her face looking out through the half-open door
often flashed vividly across his brain as he sat in his dark office,
with the myriad threads of business passing swiftly through his
skillful hands. Margaret's little hand stretched out to be enfolded in
his own; Margaret's voice bidding him welcome; he would think of these
as his eye mechanically read his business letters, till they brought a
glow and a brightness into his heart which he had never known before.
They were friendly only; so he said. He ought not to wish for more
than her friendship, as matters stood. "That woman," as he called
Sophy in his hours of unwelcome reminiscence, had never shown any sign
of existence. He could only hope, with all the strength of a great
desire, that she was dead; though to attempt to prove it might bring an
avalanche of troubles on his head. But there was no need to take any
step, so long as he had no thought of marrying. He would ask for
nothing from Margaret but friendship.
His manner to her was that of an elder brother toward a favorite
sister. He never sought to see her alone, or to have any private
intercourse with her. The frank cordiality of his behavior at once won
her confidence and made her altogether at home with him. She knew no
other young man; and had no idea that it was the fashion of the world
to sneer at any simple friendship existing between a young man and a
young woman. Her intercourse with him was as simple and as open as
with her father.
Margaret soon confided to Sidney her wish to know more of her
fellow-men, especially those who were unfortunate and unhappy. She
knew she could not herself neglect her father, now wholly dependent
upon her, for any of the work she might once have undertaken. But to
please her Sidney placed his name on the committees of sundry
charities, and brought reports of them that were both interesting and
entertaining to her in her seclusion. He was astonished himself to
find how full of interest these philanthropic missions were; and he
threw himself into them with a great deal of energy. This new phase of
his life brought him into closer contact with his cousin, George
Martin, who was an East End curate, and was working diligently among
the lowest classes of the London poor. Sidney brought George to visit
Margaret and her father, and a warm friendship sprang up among them.
When Sidney was out of the way, George could not extol him too highly.
"He is better to me than most brothers are to each other," he said one
evening, his eyes growing bright and his voice more animated than
usual. "The best fellow in the world, is Sidney. He does not make any
profession of religion, and I'm sorry for it, for his life is a
Christian life. You know his immense business might well make him a
little careless of the poor; but it does not. He is one of our best
workers and helpers. Do you know, Colonel Cleveland, he spends one
night a week with me, seeking outcasts sleeping in the streets? And he
has such wonderful tact with them; he speaks to them really like a
brother. He has the soul of a missionary; and yet he is as shrewd a
man of business as anyone in the City. So I hear."
When Margaret was alone with him, George added still further praises.
"I am engaged to one of the dearest girls," he said, "but there was no
chance of our marrying for years; not till I got a living. But as soon
as our uncle died, Sidney settled £10,000 upon me; settled it, you
know, for fear of my dropping it into the gulf at the East End; and
Laura's parents have consented to our being married as soon as I get my
holiday. There never was anyone like Sidney."
Margaret listened with shining eyes and a smiling face. It seemed
wonderful to her that such a man as Sidney should have been brought to
her to be her friend. He looked to her like one who went about being
good and doing good, lifting into a higher region every pursuit in
which he was engaged; even the details of his business assumed an
aspect of romance and dignity when he spoke of them. It was a full
life, this one of Sidney's; fuller than that of George, who was only a
curate, and could never be more than the rector of a parish. And as
far as a girl could share the fullness of his life, he was making her
share his. She could hardly realize now how her days had passed away
before she knew him.
Now and then Colonel Cleveland spared Margaret to accompany Sidney to
some gathering of the poor in George Martin's parish in the East End.
She could sing well; and she sang for them simple English songs, which
the most ignorant could understand, and which went home to the saddest
hearts. There was an inexpressible charm to Sidney in the unaffected,
single-hearted, almost childish grace of the girl, as she stood facing
these poor brothers and sisters of hers, and singing with her clear,
pure voice words that she would have found it difficult to speak. She
was accustomed to dress plainly, and after a fashion of her own; and
there was nothing incongruous about her, nothing to excite the envy of
the poorest. She might have been one of themselves, but for the simple
refinement and unconscious dignity of her bearing.
Sidney was a good speaker, and could hit upon the exact words with
which to address any kind of audience, without offending the most
critical taste. His speeches were naturally less religious, and more
secular, than George Martin's; but there was a kindly, almost
brotherly, tone running through them which never failed to tell. He
loved to hear the plaudits that interrupted and followed his short
addresses; and to watch the color mounting in Margaret's face, and the
light kindling in her eyes. There were moments of supreme pleasure to
him in those dingy and crowded lecture-halls and school-rooms.
"How fond they are of you!" she exclaimed one evening, "and how good
you are to them!"
He had been offering a number of small prizes for competition, the sum
total of which was less than what he would have spent in one evening's
entertainment in society; and a tumult of applause had followed. He
felt himself that he was walking in a good path. He enjoyed seeing the
strange sights that were to be found in unexplored London as much as he
had enjoyed the strange scenes in foreign lands. How the poor lived
presented to him an interesting problem, to which the usual gatherings
of ordinary society were flat and dull. George and he went to and fro
in the slums, doing their utmost to lift here and there one victim out
of the miry depths. It was a pleasure to him to give aid liberally; a
pleasure to feel that these poor people were fond of him; but a far
greater pleasure yet to stand in Margaret's eyes as the champion of the
sorrowful and neglected.