As Lawrence Croft rode back to Mrs Keswick's house, after having posted
to his rival the facts in the case of Croft after Keswick, he did not
feel in a very happy or triumphant mood. The visit of the anti-detective
had compelled him to write to Keswick at a time when it was not at all
desirable that he should make any disclosures whatever in regard to his
love affair with Miss March, except that very important disclosure which
he had made to the lady herself that morning. Of course there was no
great danger that any intimation would reach Miss March of Mr Croft's
rather eccentric search for his predecessor in the position which he
wished to occupy in her affections. But the matter was particularly
unpleasant just now, and Lawrence wished to occupy his time here in
business very different from that of sending explanations to rivals and
warding off unfriendly entanglements threatened by a blackmailer.
It was absolutely necessary for him to find out what he had done to
offend Miss March. Offended that lady certainly was, and he even felt
that she was glad of the opportunity his declaration gave her to inflict
punishment upon him. But still he did not despair. When she had made him
pay the penalty she thought proper for whatever error he had committed,
she might be willing to listen to him. He had not said anything to her
in regard to his failure to make her the promised visit at Midbranch,
for, during the only time he had been alone with her here, the subject
of an immediate statement of his feelings toward her had wholly occupied
his mind. But it now occurred to him that she had reason to feel
aggrieved at his failure to keep his promise to her, and she must have
shown that feeling, for, otherwise, her most devoted friend, Mr Junius
Keswick, would never have made that rather remarkable visit to him at
the Green Sulphur Springs. Of course he would not allude to that visit,
nor to her wish to see him, for she had sent him no message, nor did he
know what object she had in desiring an interview. But it was quite
possible that she might have taken umbrage at his failure to come to her
when expected, and that this was the reason for her present treatment of
him. To this treatment Lawrence might have taken exception, but now he
did not wish to judge her in any way. His only desire in regard to her
was to possess her, and therefore, instead of condemning her for her
unjust method of showing her resentment, he merely considered how he
should set himself right with her. Cruel or kind, just or unjust, he
wanted her.
And then, as he slowly trotted along the lonely and uneven road, it
suddenly flashed upon him, as if in mounting a hill, a far-reaching
landscape, hitherto unseen, had in a moment, spread itself out before
him, that, perhaps, Miss March had divined the reason of his extremely
discreet behavior toward her. Was it possible that she had seen his
motives, and knew the truth, and that she resented the prudence and
caution he had shown in his intercourse with her?
If she had read the truth, he felt that she had good reason for her
resentment, and Lawrence did not trouble himself to consider if she had
shown too much of it or not. He remembered the story of the defeated
general, and, feeling that so far he had been thoroughly defeated, he
determined to admit the fact, and to sound a retreat from all the
positions he had held; but, at the same time, to make a bold dash into
the enemy's camp, and, if possible, capture the commander-in-chief and
the Minister of War.
He would go to Roberta, tell her all that he had thought, and explain
all that he had done. There should be no bit of truth which she could
have reasoned out, which he would not plainly avow and set before her.
Then he would declare to her that his love for her had become so great,
that, rushing over every barrier, whether of prudence, doubt, or
indecision, it had carried him with it and laid him at her feet. When he
had come to this bold conclusion, he cheered up his horse with a thump
of his heel and cantered rapidly over the rest of the road.
Peggy, having nothing else to do, was standing by the yard gate when he
came in sight, and she watched his approach with feelings of surprise
and disgust. She had seen him ride away, and not considering the fact
that he did not carry his valise with him, she supposed he had taken his
final departure. She had conceived a violent dislike to Mr Croft,
looking upon him in the light of an interloper and a robber, who had
come to break up that expected marriage between Master Junius and Miss
Rob, which the servants at Midbranch looked forward to as necessary for
the prosperity of the family; and the preliminary stages of which she
had taken upon herself the responsibility of describing with so much
minuteness of detail. With the politeness natural to the Southern negro,
she opened the gate for the gentleman, but as she closed it behind him,
she cast after him a look of earnest malevolence. "Ef dot ole Miss
Keswick don' kunjer you, sah," she said in an undertone, "I's gwine to
do it myse'f. So, dar!" And she gave her foot a stamp on the ground.
Lawrence, all ignorant of the malignant feeling he had excited in this,
to him, very unimportant and uninteresting black girl, tied his horse
and went into the house. As he passed the open door of the parlor he
saw a lady reading by a window in the farthest corner. Hanging up his
hat, he entered, hoping that the reader, whose form was partially
concealed by the back of the large rocking chair in which she was
sitting, was Miss March. But it was not; it was Mrs Keswick's niece,
deeply engrossed by a large-paged novel. She turned her head as he
entered, and said: "Good evening."
"Good evening, Miss Annie," said Lawrence, seating himself in a chair
opposite her on the other side of the window.
"Mr Croft," said she, laying her book on her lap, and inclining herself
slightly toward him, "you have no right to call me Miss Annie, and I
wish you would not do it. The servants in the South call ladies by their
first names, whether they are married or not, but people would think it
very strange if you should imitate them. My name in this house is Mrs
Null, and I wish you would not forget it."
"The trouble with me is," said Lawrence, with a smile, "that I cannot
forget it is not Mrs Null, but, of course, if you desire it, I will give
you that name."
"I told you before how much I desired it," said she, "and why. When my
aunt finds out the exact state of this affair, I shall wish to stay no
longer in this house; and I don't want my stay to come to an end at
present. I am very happy here with the only relatives I have in the
world, who are ever so much nicer people than I supposed they were, and
you have no right to come here and drive me away."
"My dear young lady," said Croft, "I wouldn't do such a thing for the
world. I admit that I am very sorry that it is necessary, or appears to
you to be so, that you should be here under false colors, but--"
"_Appears_ to be," said she, with much emphasis on the first word. "Why,
can't you see that it would be impossible for me, as a young unmarried
woman, to come to the house of a man, whose proprietor, as Aunt Keswick
considers herself to be, has been trying to marry to me, even before I
was grown up; for the letters that used to make my father most angry
were about this. I hate to talk of these family affairs, and I only do
it so that you can be made understand things."
"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "do not think I wish to blame you. You have
had a hard time of it, and I can see the peculiarities of your residence
here. Don't be afraid of me; I will not betray your secret. While I am
here, I will address you, and will try to think of you as a very grave
young matron. But I wish very much that you were not quite so grave and
severe when you address me. When I was here last week your manner was
very different. We were quite friendly then."
"I see no particular reason," said Annie, "why we should be friendly."
"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, after a little pause, during which he
looked at her attentively, "I don't believe you approve of me."
"No," said she, "I don't."
He could not help smiling at the earnest directness of her answer,
though he did not like it. "I am sorry," he said, "that you should have
so poor an opinion of me. And, now, let me tell you what I was going to
say this morning, that my only object in finding your cousin was to know
the man who had been engaged to Miss March."
"So that you could find out what she probably objected to in him, and
could then try and not let her see anything of that sort in you."
"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "you are unjust. There is no reason why you
should speak to me in this way."
"I would like to know," she said, "what cause there could possibly be
for your wanting to become acquainted with a man who had been engaged to
the lady you wished to marry, if you didn't intend to study him up, and
try to do better yourself."
"My motive in desiring to become acquainted with Mr Keswick," said
Lawrence, "is one you could scarcely understand, and all I can say about
it is, that I believed that if I knew the gentleman who had formerly
been the accepted lover of a lady, I should better know the lady."
"You must be awfully suspicious," said she.
"No, I am not," he answered, "and I knew you would not understand me. My
only desire in speaking to you upon this subject is that you may not
unreasonably judge me."
"But I am not unreasonable," said Annie. "You are trying to get Miss
March away from my cousin; and I don't think it is fair, and I don't
want you to do it. When you were here before, I thought you two were
good friends, but now I don't believe it."
How friendly might be the relations between himself and Keswick, when
the latter should read his letter about the Candy affair, and should
know that he was in this house with Miss March, Lawrence could not say;
but he did not allude to this point in his companion's remarks. "I do
not think," he said, "that you have any reason to object to my
endeavoring to win Miss March. Even if she accepts me, it will be to the
advantage of your cousin, because if he still hopes to obtain her, the
sooner he knows he cannot do so, the better it will be for him. My
course is perfectly fair. I am aware that the lady is not at present
engaged to any one, and I am endeavoring to induce her to engage herself
to me. If I fail, then I step aside."
"Entirely aside, and out of the way?" asked Mrs Null.
"Entirely," answered Lawrence.
"Well," said Annie, leaning back in her chair, in which before she had
been sitting very upright, "you have, at last, given me a good deal of
your confidence; almost as much as I gave you. Some of the things you
say I believe, others I don't."
Lawrence was annoyed, but he would not allow himself to get angry. "I am
not accustomed to being disbelieved," he said, gravely. "It is a very
unusual experience, I assure you. Which of my statements do you doubt?"
"I don't believe," said Annie, "that you will give her up if she rejects
you while you are here. You are too wilful. You will follow her, and try
again."
"Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "I do not feel justified in speaking to a
third person of these things, but this is a peculiar case, and,
therefore, I assure you, and request you to believe me, that if Miss
March shall now positively refuse me, I shall feel convinced that her
affections are already occupied, and that I have no right to press my
suit any longer."
"Would you like to begin now?" said Annie. "She is coming down stairs."
"You are entirely too matter-of-fact," said Lawrence, smiling in spite
of himself, and, in a moment, Roberta entered the room.
If the young lady in the high-backed rocking-chair had any idea of
giving Mr Croft and Miss March an opportunity of expressing their
sentiments toward each other, she took no immediate steps to do so; for
she gently rocked herself; she talked about the novel she had been
reading; she blamed Miss March for staying so long in her room on such a
beautiful afternoon; and she was the primary cause of a conversation
among the three upon the differences between New York weather and that
of Virginia; and this continued until old Mrs Keswick joined the party,
and changed the conversation to the consideration of the fact that a
fertilizer agent, a pill man, or a blackmailer would find out a person's
whereabouts, even if he were attending the funeral of his grandmother on
a desert island.
The next morning, about an hour after breakfast, Lawrence was walking up
and down on the grass in front of the house, smoking a cigar, and
troubling his mind. He had had no opportunity on the previous evening to
be alone with Miss March, for the little party sat together in the
parlor until they separated for bed; and so, of course, nothing was yet
settled. He was overstaying the time he had expected to spend here, and
he felt nervous about it. He had hoped to see Miss March after
breakfast, but she seemed to have withdrawn herself entirely from
observation. Perhaps she considered that she had sufficiently rejected
him on the previous morning, and that she now intended, except when she
was sure of the company of the others, to remain in her room until he
should go away. But he had no such opinion in regard to their interview
on Pine Top Hill. He believed that he had been punished, not rejected,
and that when he should be able to explain everything to her, he would
be forgiven. That, at least, was his earnest hope, and hope makes us
believe almost anything.
But, although there were so many difficulties in his way, Lawrence had a
friend in that household who still remained true to him. Mrs Keswick,
with sun-bonnet and umbrella, came out upon the porch, and said
cheerily: "I should think a gentleman like you would prefer to be with
the ladies than to be walking about here by yourself. They have gone to
take a walk in the woods. I should have said that Miss March has gone on
ahead, with her little maid Peggy. My niece was going with her, but I
called her back to attend to some housekeeping matters for me, and I
think she will be kept longer than she expected, for I have just sent
Letty to her to be shown how to cut out a frock. But you needn't wait;
you can go right through the flower-garden, and take the path over the
fields into the woods." And, having concluded this bit of conscienceless
and transparent management, the old lady remarked that she, herself, was
going for a walk, and left him.
Lawrence lost no time in following her suggestions. Throwing away his
cigar, he hurried through the house and the little flower-garden, a gate
at the back of which opened into a wide pasture-field. This field sloped
down gently to a branch, or little stream, which ran through the middle
of it, and then the ground ascended until it reached the edge of the
woods. Following the well-defined path, he looked across the little
valley before him, and could see, just inside the edge of the woods--the
trees and bushes being much more thinly attired than in the summer
time--the form of a lady in a light-colored dress with a red scarf upon
her shoulders, sometimes moving slowly, sometimes stopping. This was
Roberta, and those woods were a far better place than the exposed summit
of Pine Top Hill, in which to plight his troth, if it should be so that
he should be able to do it, and there were doubtless paths in those
woods through which they might afterwards wander, if things should turn
out propitiously. At all events, in those woods would he settle this
affair.
His intention was still strong to make a very clean breast of it to
Roberta. If she had blamed him for his prudent reserve, she should have
full opportunity to forgive him. All that he had been she should know,
but far more important than that, he would try to make her know, better
than he had done before, what he was now. Abandoning all his previous
positions, and mounted on these strong resolutions, thus would he dash
into her camp, and hope to capture her.
Reaching the little ravine, at the bottom of which flowed the branch,
now but two or three feet wide, he ran down the rather steep slope and
stepped upon the stout plank which bridged the stream. The instant he
did so, the plank turned beneath him as if it had been hung on pivots,
and he fell into the stony bed of the branch. It was an awkward fall,
for the leg which was undermost came down at an angle, and his foot,
striking a slippery stone, turned under him. In a moment he was on his
feet, and scrambled up the side of the ravine, down which he had just
come. When he reached the top he sat down and put both his hands on his
right ankle, in which he felt considerable pain. In a few minutes he
arose, and began to walk toward the house, but he had not taken a dozen
steps before he sat down again. The pain in his ankle was very severe,
and he felt quite sure that he had sprained it. He knew enough about
such things to understand that if he walked upon this injured joint, he
would not only make the pain worse, but the consequences might be
serious. He was very much annoyed, not only that this thing had happened
to him, but that it had happened at such an inauspicious moment. Of
course, he could not now go on to the woods, and he must get somebody to
help him to the house. Looking about, he saw, at a distance, Uncle
Isham, and he called loudly to him. As soon as Lawrence was well away
from the edge of the ravine, there emerged from some thick bushes on the
other side of it, and at a short distance from the crossing-place, a
negro girl, who slipped noiselessly down to the branch; moved with quick
steps and crouching body to the plank; removed the two round stones on
which it had been skilfully poised, and replaced it in its usual firm
position. This done, she slipped back into the bushes, and by the time
Isham had heard the call of Mr Croft, she was slowly walking down the
opposite hill, as if she were coming from the woods to see why the
gentleman was shouting.
Miss March also heard the call, and came out of the woods, and when she
saw Lawrence sitting on the grass on the other side of the branch, with
one hand upon his ankle, she knew that something had happened, and came
down toward him. Lawrence saw her approaching, and before she was even
near enough to hear him, he began to shout to her to be careful about
crossing the branch, as the board was unsafe. Peggy joined her, and
walked on in front of her; and when Miss March understood what Lawrence
was saying, she called back that she would be careful. When they reached
the ravine, Peggy ran down, stepped upon the plank, jumped on the middle
of it, walked over it, and then back again, and assured her mistress
that it was just as good as ever it was, and that she reckoned the city
gentleman didn't know how to walk on planks, and that "he jes' done fall
off."
Miss March crossed, stepping a little cautiously, and reached Lawrence
just as Uncle Isham, with strong arms and many words of sympathy, had
assisted him to his feet. "What has happened to you, Mr Croft?" she
exclaimed.
"I was coming to you," he said; "and in crossing the stream the plank
turned under me, and I am afraid I have sprained my ankle. I can't walk
on it."
"I am very sorry," she said.
"Because I was coming to you," he said, grimly, "or because I hurt
myself?"
"You ought to be ashamed to speak in that way," she answered, "but I
won't find fault with you, now that you are in such pain. Is there
anything I can do for you?"
"No, thank you," said Lawrence. "I will lean on this good man, and I
think I can hop to the house."
"Peggy," said Miss Roberta, "walk on the other side of the gentleman,
and let him lean upon your shoulder. I will go on and have something
prepared to put on his ankle."
With one side supported by the stout Isham, and his other hand resting
on the shoulder of the good little Peggy, who bore up as strongly under
it as if she had been a big walking-stick, Lawrence slowly made his way
to the house. Miss March got there sometime before he did, and was very
glad to find that Mrs Keswick had not yet gone out on the walk for which
she was prepared. That circumspect old lady had found this and that to
occupy her, while she so managed her household matters, that one thing
should follow another, to detain her niece. But when she heard what had
happened, all other impulses gave way to those which belonged to a head
nurse and a mistress of emergencies. She set down her umbrella; shouted
an order to Letty to put a kettle of water on the fire; brought from her
own room some flannel and two bottles of embrocation; and then stopping
a moment to reflect, ordered that the office should be prepared for Mr
Croft, for it would be a shame to make a gentleman, with a sprained
ankle, clamber up stairs.
The office was a small building in the wide front yard, not very far
from the house, and opposite to the arbor, which has been before
mentioned. It was one story high, and contained one large and
comfortable room. Such buildings are quite common on Virginian farms,
and although called offices are seldom used in an official way, being
generally appropriated to the bachelors of the family or their gentleman
visitors. This one was occupied by Junius Keswick, when he was at home,
and a good many of his belongings were now in it; but as it was at
present unoccupied, nothing could be more proper than that Mr Croft
should have it.