TWO PROPOSALS
The ruling idea of any mind assumes the foreground of thought; and
after Arenta's marriage the dominant desire of George Hyde was to have
his betrothal to Cornelia recognized and assured. He was in haste to
light his own nuptial torch, and afraid every day of that summons to
England which would delay the event. Hitherto, both had been satisfied
with the delicious certainty of their own hearts. To bring Love to
discussion and catechism, to talk of Love in connection with house and
money matters, to put him into bonds, however light those bonds might
be, was indeed a safe and prudent thing for their future happiness;
but, so far, the present with its sweet freedom and uncertainty had
been more charming to their imagination. Suddenly, however, Hyde felt
the danger and stress of this uncertainty and the fear of losing what
he appeared to hold so lightly.
"I may have to go away with mother at any time--I may be detained by
events I cannot help--and I have not bound Cornelia to me by any
personal recognized tie--and Rem Van Ariens will be ever near her. Oh,
indeed, this state of affairs will never do! I will write to Cornelia
this very moment and tell her I must see her father this evening. I
cannot possibly delay it longer. I have been a fool--a careless, happy
fool--too long. There is not now a day to lose. I have already wasted
more time than was reasonable over the love affairs of other people;
now I must look after my own. Safe bind, safe find; I will bind
Cornelia to me before I leave her, then I have a good right to find her
safe when I return to claim her."
While such thoughts were passing through his mind he had risen hastily
from the chair in which he had been musing. He opened his secretary and
sitting resolutely down, began a letter to Doctor Moran. He poured out
his heart and desires, and then he read what he had written. It would
not do at all. It was a love letter and not a business letter. He wrote
another, and then another. The first was too long, it left nothing in
the inkstand; the last was not to be thought of. When he had finished
reading them over, he was in a passion with himself.
"A fool in your teeth twice over, Joris Hyde!" he cried, "yes, sir,
three times, and far too good for you! Since you cannot write a decent
business letter, write, then, to the adorable Cornelia; the words will
be at your finger ends for that letter, and will slip from your pen as
if they were dancing:
"MY SWEET CORNELIA:
"I have not seen you for two days, and 'tis a miracle that I have
endured it. I can tell you, beloved, that I am much concerned about our
affairs, and now that I have begun to talk wisely I may talk a little
more without wearying you. You know that I may have to go to England
soon, and go I will not until I have asked your father what favour he
will show us. On the street, he gets out of my way as if I had the
plague. Tell me at what hour I may call and see him in his house. I
will then ask him point blank for your hand, and he is so candid that I
shall have in a word Yes or No on the matter. Do not keep me waiting
longer than seven this very night. I have a fever of anxiety, and I
shall not grow better, but worse, until I settle our engagement. Oh, my
peerless Cornelia, pearl and flower of womanhood, I speak your speech,
I think your thought; you are the noblest thing in my life, and to
remember you is to remember the hours when I was the very best and the
very happiest. Your image has become part of me, your memory is a
perfume which makes sweet my heart. I wish this moment to give you
thousands and thousands of kisses. Bid me come to you soon, very soon,
sooner than seven, if possible, for your love is my life. Send your
answer to my city lodging. I shall follow this letter and be
impatiently waiting for it. Oh, Cornelia, am I not ever and entirely
yours?
"GEORGE HYDE."
It was not more than eight o'clock in the morning when he wrote this
letter, and as soon as possible he despatched a swift messenger with it
to Cornelia. He hoped that she would receive it soon after the Doctor
had left his home for his usual round of professional visits; then she
might possibly write to him at once, and if so, he would get the letter
very soon after he reached the city.
Probably Madame Hyde divined something of the importance and tenor of a
missive sent in such a hurry of anxious love, so early in the day, but
she showed neither annoyance nor curiosity regarding it. In the first
place, she knew that opposition would only strengthen whatever resolve
her son had made; in the second place, she was conscious of a singular
restlessness of her own spirit. She was apprehending change, and she
could think of no change but that call to leave her home and her native
land which she so much dreaded. If this event happened, then the
affairs of Joris would assume an entirely different aspect. He would be
obliged to leave everything which now interested him, and he could not
live without interests; very well, then, he would be compelled to
accept such as a new Fate thrown into his new life. She had a great
faith in circumstances. She knew that in the long run every one wrote
beneath that potent word, "Your obedient servant." Circumstances would
either positively deny all her son's hopes, or they would so powerfully
aid them that opposition would be useless; and she mentally bowed
herself to an influence so powerful and perhaps so favourable.
"Joris, my dear one," she said, as they rose from the breakfast table;
"Joris, I think there is a letter from your father. To the city you
must go as soon as you can, for I have had a restless night, full of
feeling it has been."
"You should not go to bed to feel, mother. Night is the time for sleep."
"And for dreams, and for many good things to come, that come not in the
day. Yes, indeed, the nighttime of the body is the daytime of the soul."
Then Joris smiled and kissing her, said, "I am going at once. If there
is a letter I will send a quick rider with it."
"But come thyself."
"That I cannot." "But why, then?"
"To-morrow, I will tell you."
"That is well. Into thy mother's heart drop all thy joys and sorrows.
Thine are mine." And she kissed him, and he went away glad and hopeful
and full of tender love for the mother who understood him so
sympathetically. He stood up in his stirrups to wave her a last adieu,
and then he said to himself, "How fortunate I am about women! Could I
have a sweeter, lovelier mistress? No! Mother? No! Grandmother? No!
Friend? No! Cornelia, mother, grandmother, Madame Jacobus, all of them
just what I love and need, sweet souls between me and the angels."
It happened--but doubtless happened because so ordered--that the very
hour in which Joris left Hyde Manor, Peter Van Ariens received a letter
that made him very anxious. He left his office and went to see his son.
"Rem," he said, "there is now an opportunity for thee. Here has come a
letter from Boston, and some one must go there; and that too in a great
hurry. The house of Blume and Otis is likely to fail, and in it we have
some great interests. A lawyer we must have to look after them; go
thyself, and it shall be well for both of us."
"I am ready to go--that is, I can be ready in one or two days."
"There are not one or two days to spare. Gerard will take care of thy
work here. To-day is the best time of all."
"I cannot go with a happy mind to-day. I will tell you, father. I think
now my case with Cornelia will bear putting to the question. As you
know, it has been step with step between Joris Hyde and myself in that
affair, and if I go away now without securing the ground I have gained,
what can hinder Hyde from taking advantage over me? He too must go
soon, but he will try and secure his position before he leaves. To do
the same thing is my only way. I wish, then, the time to give myself
this security."
"That is fair. A man is not a man till he has won a wife. Cornelia
Moran is much to my mind. Tell her my home is thine, and she will be a
mistress dearly loved and honoured. And if a thing is to be done, there
is no time like the hour that has not struck. Go and see her now. She
was in the garden gathering asters when I left home this morning."
"I will write to her. I will tell her what is in my heart--though she
knows it well--and ask her for her love and her hand. If she is kind to
my offer she will tell me to come and see her to-night, then I can go
to Boston with a free heart and look after your money and your
business."
"If things be this way, thou art reasonable. A good wife must not be
lost for the peril of some gold sovereigns. At once write to the maid;
such letters are best done at the first thought, some prudences or some
fears may come with the second thoughts."
"I have no fear but Joris Hyde. That Englishman I hate. His calm
confidence, his smiling insolent air is intolerable."
"It is the English way. But Cornelia is American--as thou art."
"She thinks much of that, but yet--"
"Be not afraid. The brave either find, or make, a way to success. What
is in a girl's heart no man can tell, if she be cold and shy that
should not cause thee to doubt. When water is ice, who would suspect
what great heat is stored away in it? Write thy letter at once. Put thy
heart into thy pen. Not always prudent is this way, but once in a man's
life it is wisdom."
"My pen is too small for my heart."
"My opinion is that thou hast wavered too long. It is a great
foolishness to let the cherry knock against the lips too often or too
long. A pretty pastime, perhaps, to will, and not will, to dare, and
not dare; but at last the knock comes that drops the cherry--it may be
into some other mouth."
"I fear no one but that rascal, Joris Hyde."
"A rascal he is not, because the same woman he loves as thyself. Such
words weaken any cause. No wrong have I seen or known of Lieutenant
Hyde."
"I will call him a rascal, and I will give him no other title, though
his father leave him an earl."
"Now, then, I shall go. I like not ill words. Write thy letter, but put
out of thy mind all bad thoughts first. A love letter from a bitter
heart is not lucky. And of all thy wit thou wilt have great need if to
a woman thou write."
"Oh, they are intolerable, aching joys! A man who dares to love a
woman, or dares to believe in her, dares to be mad."
"Come, come! No evil must thou speak of good women, I swear that I was
never out of it yet, when I judged men as they judged women. The art of
loving a woman is the art of trusting her--yes, though the heavens
fall. Now, then, haste with thy letter. Thou may have 'Yes' to it ere
thou sleep to-night."
"And I may have 'No.'"
"To be sure, if thou think 'no.' But, even so, if thou lose the wedding
ring, the hand is still left; another ring may be found."
"'No,' would be a deathblow to me."
"It will not. While a man has meat and drink love will not starve him;
with world's business and world's pleasure an unkind love he makes
shift to forget. Bring to me word of thy good fortune this night, and
in the morning there is the Boston business. Longer it can hardly wait."
But the letter to Cornelia which Hyde found to slip off his pen like
dancing was a much more difficult matter to Rem. He wrote and
destroyed, and wrote again and destroyed, and this so often that he
finally resolved to go to Maiden Lane for his inspiration. "I may see
Cornelia in the garden, or at the window, and when I see what I desire,
surely I shall have the wit to ask for it."
So he thought, and with the thought he locked his desk and went towards
his home in Maiden Lane. He met George Hyde sauntering up the street
looking unhappy and restless, and he suspected at once that he had been
walking past Doctor Moran's house in the hope of seeing Cornelia and
had been disappointed. The thought delighted him. He was willing to
bear disappointment himself, if by doing so some of Hyde's smiling
confidence was changed to that unhappy uneasiness which he detected in
his rival's face and manner. The young men bowed to each other but did
not speak. In some occult way they divined a more positive antagonism
than they had ever before been conscious of.
"I cannot go out of the house," thought Rem, "without meeting that fop.
He is in at one door, and out at another; this way, that way, up
street, and down street--the devil take the fellow!"
"What a mere sullen creature that Rem Van Ariens is!" thought Hyde,
"and with all the good temper in the world I affirm it. I wonder what
he is on the street for at this hour! Shall I watch him? No, that would
be vile work. I will let him alone; he may as well play the ill-natured
fool on the street as in the house--better, indeed, for some one may
have a title to tell him so. But I may assure myself of one thing, when
I met him he was building castles in the future, for he was looking
straight before him; and if he had been thinking of the past, he would
have been looking down. I should not wonder if it was Cornelia that
filled his dreams. Faith, we have blockheads of all ages; but on that
road he will never overtake his thought"--then with a movement of
impatience he added,
"Why should I let him into my mind?--for he is the least welcome of all
intruders.--Good gracious! how long the minutes are! It is plain to me
that Cornelia is not at home, and my letter may not even have touched
her hands yet. How shall I endure another hour?--perhaps many hours.
Where can she have gone? Not unlikely to Madame Jacobus. Why did I not
think of this before? For who can help me to bear suspense better than
madame? I will go to her at once."
He hastened his steps and soon arrived at the well-known residence of
his friend. He was amazed as soon as the door was opened to find
preparations of the most evident kind for some change. The corded trunk
in the hall, the displaced furniture, all things he saw were full of
the sad hurry of parting. "What is the matter?" he asked in a voice of
fear.
"I am going away for a time, Joris, my good friend," answered madame,
coming out of a shrouded and darkened parlour as she spoke. She had on
her cloak and bonnet, and before Joris could ask her another question a
coach drove to the door. "I think it is a piece of good fortune," she
continued, "to see you before I go."
"But where are you going?"
"To Charleston."
"But why?"
"I am going because my sister Sabrina is sick--dying; and there is no
one so near to her as I am."
"I knew not you had a sister."
"She is the sister of my husband. So, then, she is twice my sister.
When Jacobus comes home he will thank me for going to his dear Sabrina.
But what brings you here so early? Yesterday I asked for you, and I was
told that you were waiting on your good mother."
"My mother felt sure there was a letter from father, and I came at once
to get it for her."
"Was there one?"
"There was none."
"It will come in good time. Now, I must go. I have not one moment to
lose. Good-bye, dear Joris!"
"For how long, my friend?"
"I know not. Sabrina is incurably ill. I shall stay with her till she
departs." She said these words as they went down the steps together,
and with eyes full of tears he placed her carefully in the coach and
then turned sorrowfully to his own rooms. He could not speak of his own
affairs at such a moment, and he realized that there was nothing for
him to do but wait as patiently as possible for Cornelia's answer.
In the meantime Rem was writing his proposal. He was not assisted in
the effort by any sight of his mistress. It was evident Cornelia was
not in her home, and he looked in vain for any shadow of the sweet face
that he was certain would have made his words come easily. Finally,
after many trials, he desisted with the following, though it was the
least affective of any form he had written:
To MISS MORAN,
Honoured and Beloved Friend:
Twenty times this day I have tried to write a letter worthy to come
into your hands and worthy to tell you how beyond all words I love you,
But what can I say more than that I love you? This you know. It has
been no secret to you since ever you were a little girl. Many years I
have sought your love,--pardon me if now I ask you to tell me I have
not sought in vain. To-morrow I must leave New York, and I may be away
for some time. Pray, then, give me some hope to-night to take with me.
Say but one word to make me the proudest and happiest lover in the
world. Give me the permission to come and show to your father that I am
able to maintain you in every comfort that is your right; and all my
life long I will prove to you the devotion that attests my undying
affection and gratitude. I am sick with longing for the promise of your
love. May I presume to hope so great a blessing? O dearest Cornelia, I
am, as you know well, your humble servant, REMBRANDT VAN
ARIENS.
When he had finished this letter, he folded and sealed it, and walked
to the window with it in his hand. Then he saw Cornelia returning home
from some shopping or social errand, and hastily calling a servant,
ordered him to deliver the letter at once to Miss Moran. And as
Cornelia lingered a little among the aster beds, the man put it into
her own hands. She bowed and smiled as she accepted it, but Rem,
watching with his heart in his eyes, could see that it awakened no
special interest. She kept it unopened as she wandered among the purple
and pink, and gold and white flowers, until Mrs. Moran came to the door
to hurry her movements; then she followed her mother hastily into the
house, "Do you know how late it is, Cornelia? Dinner is nearly ready.
There is a letter on your dressing table that came by Lieutenant Hyde's
servant two or three hours ago."
"And Tobias has just brought me a letter from Rem--at least the
direction is in Rem's handwriting."
"Some farewell dance I suppose, before our dancers go to gay
Philadelphia."
"I dare say it is." She made the supposition as she went up the stairs,
and did not for a moment anticipate any more important information. As
she entered her room an imposing looking letter met her eyes--a letter
written upon the finest paper, squarely folded, and closed with a large
seal of scarlet wax carrying the Hyde arms. Poor Rem's message lost
instantly whatever interest it possessed; she let it fall from her
hand, and lifting Hyde's, opened it with that marvellous womanly
impetuosity which love teaches. Then all the sweet intimate ardour and
passionate disquietude of her lover took possession of her. In a moment
she felt all that he felt; all the ecstasy and tumult of a great
affection not sure. For this letter was the "little more" in Hyde's
love, and, oh, how much it was!
She pondered it until she was called to dinner. There was then no time
to read Rem's letter, but she broke the seal and glanced at its tenor,
and an expression of pity and annoyance came into her eyes. Hastily she
locked both letters away in a drawer of her desk, and as she did so,
smilingly said to herself, "I wonder if papers are sensitive! Shut
close together in one little drawer will they like it? I hope they will
lie peaceably and not quarrel."
Doctor Moran was not at home, nor was he expected until sundown, so
mother and daughter enjoyed together the confidence which Hyde's letter
induced. Mrs. Moran thought the young man was right, and promised, to a
certain extent, to favour his proposal. "However, Cornelia," she added,
"unless your father is perfectly agreeable and satisfied, I would not
advise you to make any engagement. Clandestine engagements come to
grief in some way or other, and if your marriage with Joris Hyde is
prearranged by THOSE who know what is best for your good, then, my
dear, it is as sure to take place as the sun is sure to rise to-morrow.
It is only waiting for the appointed hour, and you may as well wait in
a happy home as in one you make wretched by the fret and complaining
which a secret in any life is certain to produce."
Now, it is not often that a girl has to answer in one hour two such
epistles as those received by Cornelia. Yet perhaps such an event
occurs more frequently than is suspected, for Love--like other
things--has its critical moment; and when that moment arrives it finds
a voice as surely as the flower ready to bloom opens its petals. And if
there be two lovers equally sincere, both are likely to feel at the
same moment the same impetus to revelation. Besides which, Fate of any
kind seeks the unusual and the unexpected; it desires to startle, and
to force events by surprises.
The answering of these letters was naturally Cornelia's first afternoon
thought. It troubled her to remember that Joris had already been
waiting some hours for a reply, for she had no hesitation as to what
that reply should be. To write to Joris was a delightful thing, an
unusual pleasure, and she sat down, smiling, to pen the lines which she
thought would bring her much happiness, but which were doomed to bring
her a great sorrow.
MY JORIS! My dear Friend:
'Tis scarce an hour since I received your letter, but I have read it
over four times. And whatever you desire, that also is my desire; and I
am deceived as much as you, if you think I do not love you as much as I
am loved by you. You know my heart, and from you I shall never hide it;
and I think if I were asleep, I should tell you how much I love you;
for, indeed, I often dream that I do so. Come, then, this very night as
soon as you think convenient. If my father is in a suitable temper it
will be well to speak plainly to him, and I am sure that my mother will
say in our favour all that is wise.
Our love, with no recognition but our own, has been so strangely sweet
that I could be content never to alter that condition; and yet I fear
no bond, and am ready to put it all to the trial. For if our love is
not such as will uphold an engagement, it will sink of itself; and if
it is true as we believe it to be, then it may last eternally. What
more is to say I will keep for your ear, for you are enough in my heart
to know all my thoughts, and to know better than I can tell you how
dearly, how constantly, how entirely I love you.
Yours forever, CORNELIA.
Without a pause, without an erasure this letter had transcribed itself
from Cornelia's heart to the small gilt-edged note paper; but she found
it a much more difficult thing to answer the request of Rem Van Ariens.
She was angry at him for putting her in such a dilemma. She thought
that she had made plain as possible to him the fact that she was
pleased to be a companion, a friend, a sister, if he so desired, but
that love between them was not to be thought of. She had told Arenta
this many times, and she had done so because she was certain Arenta
would make this position clear to her brother. And under ordinary
circumstances Arenta would have been frank and free enough with Rem,
but while her own marriage was such an important question she was not
inclined to embarrass or shadow its arrangements by suggesting things
to Rem likely to cause disagreements when she wished all to be
harmonious and cheerful. So Arenta had encouraged, rather than dashed,
Rem's hopes, for she did not doubt that Cornelia would finally undo
very thoroughly what she had done.
"A little love experience will be a good thing for Rem," she said to
herself--"it will make a man of him; and I do hope he has more
self-respect and courage than to die of her denial."
It is easy, then, to understand how Cornelia, relying on Arenta's
usually ready advice and confidences, was sure that Rem had accepted
the friendship that was all in her power to give him, and that this
belief gave to their intercourse a frank and kindly intimacy that it
would not otherwise have obtained. This state of things was desirable
and comfortable for Arenta, and Cornelia also had found a great
satisfaction in a friendship which she trusted had fully recognized and
accepted its limitations. Now, all these pleasant moderate emotions
were stirred into uncomfortable agitation by Rem's unlooked-for and
unreasonable request. She was hurt and agitated and withal a little
sorry for Rem, and she was also in a hurry, for the letter for Joris
was waiting, as she wished to send both by the same messenger. Finally
she wrote the following words, not noticing at the time, but
remembering afterwards, what a singular soul reluctance she
experienced; how some uncertain presentiment, vague and dark and drear,
stifled her thoughts and tried to make her understand, or at least
pause. But alas! the doom that walks side by side with us, never warns;
it seems rather to stand sarcastic at our ignorance, and to watch
speculatively the cloud of trouble coming--coming on purpose because we
foolishly or carelessly call it to us.
MY DEAR AND HONOURED FRIEND:
Your letter has given me very great sorrow. You must have known for
many weeks, even months, that marriage between us was impossible. It
has always been so, it always will be so. Why could you not be content?
We have been so happy! So happy! and now you will end all. But Fortune,
though often cruel, cannot call back times that are past, and I shall
never forget our friendship. I grieve at your going away; I pray that
your absence may bring you some consolation. Do not, I beg you, attempt
to call on my father. Without explanations, I tell you very sincerely,
such a call will cause me great trouble; for you know well a girl must
trust somewhat to others' judgment in her disposal. It gives me more
pain than I can say to write in this mood, but necessity permits me no
kinder words. I want you to be sure that the wrench, the "No" here is
absolute. My dear friend, pity rather than blame me; and I will be so
unselfish as to hope you may not think so kindly of me as to be cruel
to yourself. Please to consider your letter as never written, it is the
greatest kindness you can do me; and, above all, I beg you will not
take my father into your confidence. With a sad sense of the pain my
words must cause you, I remain for all time your faithful friend and
obedient servant,
CORNELIA MORAN.
Then she rang for a lighted candle, and while waiting for its arrival
neatly folded her letters. Her white wax and seal were at hand, and she
delayed the servant until she had closed and addressed them.
"You will take Lieutenant Hyde's letter first," she said; "and make no
delay about it, for it is very important. Mr. Van Ariens' note you can
deliver as you return."
As soon as this business was quite out of her hands, she sank with a
happy sigh into a large comfortable chair; let her arms drop gently,
and closed her eyes to think over what she had done. She was quite
satisfied. She was sure that no length of reflection could have made
her decide differently. She had Hyde's letter in her bosom, and she
pressed her hand against it, and vowed to her heart that he was worthy
of her love, and that he only should have it. As for Rem, she had a
decided feeling of annoyance, almost of fear, as he entered her mind.
She was angry that he had chosen that day to urge his unwelcome suit,
and thus thrust his personality into Hyde's special hour.
"He always makes himself unwelcome," she thought, "he ever has the way
to come when he was least wanted; but Joris! Oh there is nothing I
would alter in him, even at the cost of a wish! JORIS! JORIS!" and she
let the dear name sweeten her lips, while the light of love brightened
and lengthened her eyes, and spread over her lovely face a blushing
glow.
After a while she rose up and adorned herself for her lover's visit.
And when she entered the parlor Mrs. Moran looked at her with a little
wonder. For she had put on with her loveliest gown a kind of
bewildering prettiness. There was no cloud in her eyes, only a glow of
soft dark fire. Her soul was in her face, it spoke in her bright
glances, her sweet smiles, and her light step; it softened her speech
to music, it made her altogether so delightful that her mother thought
"Fortune must give her all she wishes, she is so charming."
The tea tray was brought in at five o'clock, but Doctor Moran had not
returned, and there was in both women's hearts a little sense of
disappointment. Mrs. Moran was wondering at his unusual delay, Cornelia
feared he would be too weary and perhaps, too much interested in other
matters to permit her lover to speak. "But even so," she thought,
"Joris can come again. To-night is not the only opportunity."
It was nearly seven o'clock when the doctor came, and Cornelia was sure
her lover would not be much behind that hour; but tea time was ever a
good time to her father, he was always amiable and gracious with a cup
in his hand, and the hour after it when his pipe kept him company, was
his best hour. She told her heart that things had fallen out better
than if she had planned them so; and she was so thoughtful for the
weary man's comfort, so attentive and so amusing, that he found it easy
to respond to the happy atmosphere surrounding him. He had a score of
pleasant things to tell about the fashionable exodus to Philadelphia,
about the handsome dresses that had been shown him, and the funny
household dilemmas that had been told him. And he was much pleased
because Harry De Lancey had been a great part of the day with him, and
was very eloquent indeed about the young man's good sense and good
disposition, and the unnecessary, and almost cruel, confiscation of
property his family had suffered, for their Tory principles.
And in the midst of the De Lancey lamentation, seven o'clock struck and
Cornelia began to listen for the shutting of the garden gate, and the
sound of Hyde's step upon the flagged walk. It did not come as soon as
she hoped it would, and the minutes went slowly on until eight struck.
Then the doctor was glooming and nodding, and waking up and saying a
word or two, and relapsing again into semi-unconsciousness. She felt
that the favourable hour had passed, and now the minutes went far too
quickly. Why did he net come? With her work in her hand-making
laborious stitches by a drawn thread--she sat listening with all her
being. The street itself was strangely silent, no one passed, and the
fitful talk at the fireside seemed full of fatality; she could feel the
influence, though she did not inquire of her heart what it was, of what
it might signify.
Half-past eight! She looked up and caught her mother's eyes, and the
trouble and question in them, and the needle going through the fine
muslin, seemed to go through her heart. At nine the watching became
unbearable. She said softly "I must go to bed. I am tired;" but she put
away with her usual neatness her work, and her spools of thread, her
thimble and her scissors. Her movement in the room roused the doctor
thoroughly. He stood up, stretched his arms outward and upward, and
said "he believed he had been sleeping, and must ask their pardon for
his indifference." And then he walked to the window and looking out
added "It is a lovely night but the moon looks like storm. Oh!"--and he
turned quickly with the exclamation--"I forgot to tell you that I heard
a strange report to-day, nothing less than that General Hyde returned
on the Mary Pell this morning, bringing with him a child."
"A child!" said Mrs. Moran.
"A girl, then, a little mite of a creature. Mrs. Davy told me the
Captain carried her in his arms to the carriage which took them to Hyde
Manor."
"And how should Mrs. Davy know?"
"The Davys live next door to the Pells, and the servants of one house
carried the news to the other house. She said the General sent to his
son's lodging to see if he was in town, but he was not. It was then
only eight o'clock in the morning."
"How unlikely such a story is! Do you believe it?"
"Ask to-morrow. As for me, I neither know nor care. That is the report.
Who can tell what the Hydes will do?"
Then Cornelia said a hasty "good-night" and went to her room. She was
sick at heart; she trembled, something in her life had lost its
foot-hold, and a sudden bewildering terror--she knew not how to
explain--took possession of her. For once she forgot her habitual order
and neatness; her pretty dress was thrown heedlessly across a chair,
and she fell upon her knees weeping, and yet she could not pray.
Still the very posture and the sweet sense of help and strength it
implied, brought her the power to take into consideration such
unexpected news, and such unexplained neglect on her lover's part,
"General Hyde has returned; that much I feel certain of," she thought,
"and Joris must have left Hyde Manor about the time his father reached
New York. Joris would take the river road, being the shortest, his
father would take the highway as the best for the carriage.
Consequently, they passed each other and did not know it. Then Joris
has been sent for, and it was right and natural that he should go--but
oh, he might have written!--ten words would have been enough--It was
right he should go--but he might have written!--he might have
written!"--and she buried her face in her pillow and wept bitterly.
Alas! Alas! Love wounds as cruelly when he fails, as when he strikes;
and even when Cornelia had outworn thought and feeling, and fallen into
a sorrowful sleep, she was conscious of this failure, and her soul
sighed all night long "He might have written!"