THE WATERS ARE TROUBLED.
"Grandma wishes to see you, Maggie, in her room," said Theo to her
sister one morning, three days after the departure of their guests.
"Wishes to see me! For what?" asked Maggie; and Theo answered, "I
don't know, unless it is to talk with you about Arthur Carrollton."
"Arthur Carrollton!" repeated Maggie. "Much good it will do her to
talk to me of him. I hate the very sound of his name;" and, rising,
she walked slowly to her grandmother's room, where in her stiff brown
satin dress, her golden spectacles planted firmly upon her nose, and
the Valenciennes border of her cap shading but not concealing the
determined look on her face, Madam Conway sat erect in her high-backed
chair, with an open letter upon her lap.
It was from Henry. Maggie knew his handwriting in a moment, and there
was another too for her; but she was too proud to ask for it, and,
seating herself by the window, she waited for her grandmother to break
the silence, which she did ere long as follows:
"I have just received a letter from that Warner, asking me to sanction
an engagement which he says exists between himself and you. Is it
true? Are you engaged to him?"
"I am," answered Maggie, playing nervously with the tassel of her
wrapper, and wondering why Henry had written so soon, before she had
prepared the way by a little judicious coaxing.
"Well, then," continued Madam Conway, "the sooner it is broken the
better. I am astonished that you should stoop to such an act, and I
hope you are not in earnest."
"But I am," answered Maggie; and in the same cold, decided manner her
grandmother continued: "Then nothing remains for me but to forbid your
having any communication whatever with one whose conduct in my house
has been so unpardonably rude and vulgar. You will never marry him,
Margaret, never! Nay, I would sooner see you dead than the wife of
that low, mean, impertinent fellow!"
In the large dark eyes there was a gleam decidedly "Hagarish" as
Maggie arose, and, standing before her grandmother, made answer: "You
must not, in my presence, speak thus of Henry Warner. He is neither
low, mean, vulgar, nor impertinent. You are prejudiced against him
because you think him comparatively poor, and because he has dared
to look at me, who have yet to understand why the fact of my being a
Conway makes me any better. I have promised to be Henry Warner's wife,
and Margaret Miller never yet has broken her word."
"But in this instance you will," said Madam Conway, now thoroughly
aroused. "I will never suffer it; and to prove I am in earnest I will
here, before your face, burn the letter he has presumed to send you;
and this I will do to any others which may come to you from him."
Maggie offered no remonstrance; but the fire of a volcano burned
within, as she watched the letter blackening upon the coals; and when
next her eyes met those of her grandmother there was in them a fierce,
determined look which prompted that lady at once to change her tactics
and try the power of persuasion rather than of force. Feigning a
smile, she said: "What ails you, child? You look to me like Hagar. It
was wrong in me, perhaps, to burn your letter, and had I reflected a
moment I might not have done it; but I cannot suffer you to receive
any more. I have other prospects in view for you, and have only waited
a favorable opportunity to tell you what they are. Sit down by me,
Margaret, while I talk with you on the subject."
The burning of her letter had affected Margaret strangely, and with a
benumbed feeling at her heart she sat down without a word and listened
patiently to praises long and praises loud of Arthur Carrollton, who
was described as being every way desirable, both as a friend and a
husband. "His father, the elder Mr. Carrollton, was an intimate friend
of my husband," said Madam Conway, "and wishes our families to be more
closely united, by a marriage between you and his son Arthur, who is
rather fastidious in his taste, and though twenty-eight years old has
never yet seen a face which suited him. But he is pleased with you,
Maggie. He liked your picture, imperfect as it is, and he liked the
tone of your letters, which I read to him. They were so original,
he said, so much like what he fancied you to be. He has a splendid
country seat, and more than one nobleman's daughter would gladly share
it with him; but I think he fancies you. He has a large estate near
Montreal, and some difficulty connected with it will ere long bring
him to America. Of course he will visit here, and with a little tact
on your part you can, I'm sure, secure one of the best matches in
England. He is fine-looking, too. I have his daguerreotype;" and
opening her workbox she drew it forth and held it before Maggie, who
resolutely shut her eyes lest she should see the face of one she was
so determined to dislike.
"What do you think of him?" asked Madam Conway as her arm began to
ache, and Maggie had not yet spoken.
"I haven't looked at him," answered Maggie; "I hate him, and if he
comes here after me I'll tell him so, too. I hate him because he is
an Englishman. I hate him because he is aristocratic. I hate him for
everything, and before I marry him I'll run away!"
Here, wholly overcome, Maggie burst into tears, and precipitately left
the room. An hour later, and Hagar, sitting by her fire, which the
coolness of the day rendered necessary, was startled by the abrupt
entrance of Maggie, who, throwing herself upon the floor, and burying
her face in the old woman's lap, sobbed bitterly.
"What is it, child? What is it, darling?" asked Hagar; and in a
few words Maggie explained the whole. "I am persecuted, dreadfully
persecuted! Nobody before ever had so much trouble as I. Grandma
has burned a letter from Henry Warner, and would not give it to me.
Grandma said, too, I should never marry him, should never write to
him, nor see anything he might send to me. Oh, Hagar, Hagar, isn't
it cruel?" and the eyes, whose wrathful, defiant expression was now
quenched in tears, looked up in Hagar's face for sympathy.
The right chord was touched, and much as Hagar might have disliked
Henry Warner she was his fast friend now. Her mistress' opposition and
Maggie's tears had wrought a change, and henceforth all her energies
should be given to the advancement of the young couple's cause.
"I can manage it," she said, smoothing the long silken tresses which
lay in disorder upon her lap. "Richland post office is only four miles
from here; I can walk double that distance easy. Your grandmother
never thinks of going there, neither am I known to anyone in that
neighborhood. Write your letter to Henry Warner, and before the sun
goes down it shall be safe in the letter-box. He can write to the
same place, but he had better direct to me, as your name might excite
suspicion."
This plan seemed perfectly feasible; but it struck Maggie
unpleasantly. She had never attempted to deceive in her life, and she
shrunk from the first deception. She would rather, she said, try again
to win her grandmother's consent. But this she found impossible; Madam
Conway was determined, and would not listen.
"It grieves me sorely," she said, "thus to cross my favorite child,
whom I love better than my life; but it is for her good, and must be
done."
So she wrote a cold and rather insulting letter to Henry Warner,
bidding him, as she had done before, "let her granddaughter alone,"
and saying it was useless for him to attempt anything secret, for
Maggie would be closely watched, the moment there were indications of
a clandestine correspondence.
This letter, which was read to Margaret, destroyed all hope, and
still she wavered, uncertain whether it would be right to deceive her
grandmother. But while she was yet undecided, Hagar's fingers, of late
unused to the pen, traced a few lines to Henry Warner, who, acting at
once upon her suggestion, wrote to Margaret a letter which he directed
to "Hagar Warren, Richland."
In it he urged so many reasons why Maggie should avail herself of this
opportunity for communicating with him that she yielded at last, and
regularly each week old Hagar toiled through sunshine and through
storm to the Richland post office, feeling amply repaid for her
trouble when she saw the bright expectant face which almost always
greeted her return. Occasionally, by way of lulling the suspicions of
Madam Conway, Henry would direct a letter to Hillsdale, knowing full
well it would never meet the eyes of Margaret, over whom, for the time
being, a spy had been set, in the person of Anna Jeffrey.
This young lady, though but little connected with our story, may
perhaps deserve a brief notice. Older than either Theo or Margaret,
she was neither remarkable for beauty nor talent. Dark-haired,
dark-eyed, dark-browed, and, as the servants said, "dark in her
disposition," she was naturally envious of those whose rank in life
entitled them to more attention than she was herself accustomed to
receive. For this reason Maggie Miller had from the first been to her
an object of dislike, and she was well pleased when Madam Conway,
enjoining the strictest secrecy, appointed her to watch that young
lady, and see that no letter was ever carried by her to the post
office which Madam Conway had not first examined. In the snaky eyes
there was a look of exultation as Anna Jeffrey promised to be faithful
to her trust, and for a time she became literally Maggie Miller's
shadow, following her here, following her there, and following her
everywhere, until Maggie complained so bitterly of the annoyance that
Madam Conway at last, feeling tolerably sure that no counterplot was
intended, revoked her orders, and bade Anna Jeffrey leave Margaret
free to do as she pleased.
Thus relieved from espionage, Maggie became a little more like
herself, though a sense of the injustice done her by her grandmother,
together with the deception she knew she was practicing, wore upon
her; and the servants at their work listened in vain for the merry
laugh they had loved so well to hear. In the present state of
Margaret's feelings Madam Conway deemed it prudent to say nothing of
Arthur Carrollton, whose name was never mentioned save by Theo and
Anna, the latter of whom had seen him in England, and was never so
well pleased as when talking of his fine country seat, his splendid
park, his handsome horses, and last, though not least, of himself. "He
is," she said, "without exception, the most elegant and aristocratic
young man I have ever seen;" and then for more than an hour she would
entertain Theo with a repetition of the many agreeable things he had
said to her during the one day she had spent at his house while Madam
Conway was visiting there.
In perfect indifference, Maggie, who was frequently present, would
listen to these stories, sometimes listlessly turning the leaves of a
book, and again smiling scornfully as she thought how impossible it
was that the fastidious Arthur Carrolton should have been at all
pleased with a girl like Anna Jeffrey; and positive as Maggie was that
she hated him, she insensibly began to feel a very slight degree of
interest in him; at least, she would like to know how he looked; and
one day when her grandmother and Theo were riding she stole cautiously
to the box where she knew his picture lay, and, taking it out, looked
to see if he were so very fine-looking.
Yes, he was,--Maggie acknowledged that; and, sure that she hated
him terribly, she lingered long over that picture, admiring the
classically shaped head, the finely cut mouth, and more than all the
large dark eyes which seemed so full of goodness and truth. "Pshaw!"
she exclaimed at last, restoring the picture to its place; "if Henry
were only a little taller, and had as handsome eyes, he'd be a great
deal better-looking. Anyway, I like him, and I hate Arthur Carrollton,
who I know is domineering, and would try to make me mind. He has asked
for my daguerreotype, grandma says--one which looks as I do now. I'll
send it too," and she burst into a loud laugh at the novel idea which
had crossed her mind.
That day when Madam Conway returned from her ride she was surprised at
Maggie's proposing that Theo and herself should have their likenesses
taken for Arthur Carrollton.
"If he wants my picture," said she, "I am willing he shall have it. It
is all he'll ever get."
Delighted at this unexpected concession, Madam Conway gave her
consent, and the next afternoon found Theo and Maggie at the
daguerrean gallery in Hillsdale, where the latter astonished both her
sister and the artist by declaring her intention of not only sitting
with her bonnet and shawl on; but also of turning her back to the
instrument! It was in vain that Theo remonstrated! "That position or
none," she said; and the picture was accordingly taken, presenting
a very correct likeness, when finished, of a bonnet, a veil, and a
shawl, beneath which Maggie Miller was supposed to be.
Strange as it may seem, this freak struck Madam Conway favorably.
Arthur Carrollton knew that Maggie was unlike any other person, and
the joke, she thought, would increase, rather than diminish, the
interest he already felt in her. So she made no objection, and in a
few days it was on its way to England, together with a lock of Hagar's
snow-white hair, which Maggie had coaxed from the old lady, and,
unknown to her grandmother, placed in the casing at the last moment.
Several weeks passed away, and then there came an answer--a letter so
full of wit and humor that Maggie confessed to herself that he must
be very clever to write so many shrewd things and to be withal so
perfectly refined. Accompanying the package was a small rosewood box,
containing a most exquisite little pin made of Hagar's frosty hair,
and richly ornamented with gold. Not a word was written concerning
it, and as Maggie kept her own counsel, both Theo and her grandmother
marveled greatly, admiring its beauty and wondering for whom it was
intended.
"For me, of course," said Madam Conway. "The hair is Lady
Carrollton's, Arthur's grandmother. I know it by its soft, silky look.
She has sent it as a token of respect, for she was always fond of me;"
and going to the glass she very complacently ornamented her Honiton
collar with Hagar's hair, while Maggie, bursting with fun, beat a
hasty retreat from the room, lest she should betray herself.
Thus the winter passed away, and early in the spring George Douglas,
to whom Madam Conway had long ago sent a favorable answer, came to
visit his betrothed, bringing to Maggie a note from Rose, who had once
or twice sent messages in Henry's letters. She was in Worcester now,
and her health was very delicate. "Sometimes," she wrote, "I fear
I shall never see you, Maggie Miller--shall never look into your
beautiful face, or listen to your voice; but whether in heaven or on
earth I am first to meet with you, my heart claims you as a sister,
the one whom of all the sisters in the world I would rather call my
own."
"Darling Rose!" murmured Maggie, pressing the delicately traced lines
to her lips, "how near she seems to me! nearer almost than Theo;" and
then involuntarily her thoughts went backward to the night when Henry
Warner first told her of his love, and when in her dreams there had
been a strange blending together of herself, of Rose, and the little
grave beneath the pine!
But not yet was that veil of mystery to be lifted. Hagar's secret must
be kept a little longer; and, unsuspicious of the truth, Maggie Miller
must dream on of sweet Rose Warner, whom she hopes one day to call her
sister!
There was also a message from Henry, and this George Douglas delivered
in secret, for he did not care to displease his grandmother-elect, who
viewing him through a golden setting, thought he was not to be equaled
by anyone in America. "So gentlemanly," she said, "and so modest too,"
basing her last conclusion upon his evident unwillingness to say
very much of himself or his family. Concerning the latter she had
questioned him in vain, eliciting nothing save the fact that they
lived in the country several miles from Worcester, and that his father
always stayed at home, and consequently his mother went but little
into society.
"Despises the vulgar herd, I dare say," thought Madam Conway,
contemplating the pleasure she should undoubtedly derive from an
acquaintance with Mrs. Douglas, senior!
"There was a sister, too," he said, and at this announcement Theo
opened wide her blue eyes, asking her name, and why he had never
mentioned her before.
"I call her Jenny," said he, coloring slightly, and adding playfully,
as he caressed Theo's smooth, round cheek, "Wives do not usually like
their husbands' sisters."
"But I shall like her, I know," said Theo. "She has a beautiful name,
Jenny Douglas--much prettier than Rose Warner, about whom Maggie talks
to me so much."
A gathering frown on her grandmother's face warned Theo that she had
touched upon a forbidden subject, and as Mr. Douglas manifested no
desire to continue the conversation it ceased for a time, Theo wishing
she could see Jenny Douglas, and George wondering what she would say
when she did see her!
For a few days longer he lingered, and ere his return it was arranged
that early in July Theo should be his bride. On the morning of his
departure, as he stood upon the steps alone with Madam Conway, she
said, "I think I can rely upon you, Mr. Douglas, not to carry either
letter, note, or message from Maggie to that young Warner. I've
forbidden him in my house, and I mean what I say."
"I assure you, madam, she has not asked me to carry either,"
answered George; who, though he knew perfectly well of the secret
correspondence, had kept it to himself. "You mistake Mr. Warner, I
think," he continued, after a moment. "I have known him long, and
esteem him highly."
"Tastes differ," returned Madam Conway coldly. "No man of good
breeding would presume to cut up my grandfather's coat or drink up my
best wine."
"He intended no disrespect, I'm sure," answered George. "He only
wanted a little fun with the 'Stars and Stripes.'"
"It was fun for which he will pay most dearly, though," answered Madam
Conway, as she bade Mr. Douglas good-by; then, walking back to the
parlor, she continued speaking to herself: "'Stars and Stripes'!
I'll teach him to cut up my blue bodice for fun. I wouldn't give him
Margaret if his life depended upon it;" and sitting down she wrote to
Arthur Carrollton, asking if he really intended visiting America, and
when.