From breakfast time the next morning until ten o'clock in the
forenoon, at which hour the Midbranch carriage arrived, Junius Keswick
had been vainly endeavoring to get an opportunity to speak with Miss
March. That lady had remained in her own room nearly all the morning,
where his cousin had been with her; and his aunt, who had her own
peculiar ways of speeding the parting guest, had retired to some
distant spot on the estate, either to plan out some farming operation
for the ensuing season, or to prevent her pent-up passion from boiling
over in her own house.
Thus Junius had the lower floor to himself, and he strode about in
much disquietude, debating whether he ought to send a message to
Roberta, or whether he should wait till she had finished her packing,
or whatever it was, that was keeping her up-stairs. His last private
interview with her had not been a pleasant one, and if he had intended
to speak to her for himself, he would not have felt much encouraged
by her manner of the preceding evening; but he was now engaged on the
affairs of another, and he believed that a failure to attend to them
would be regarded as a breach of faith.
When Mr Brandon's carriage drove into the yard he began to despair,
but now Roberta came running down stairs to speak to Sam, the driver,
and ask him how long it would be necessary to rest his horses. Sam
thought an hour would be long enough, as they would have a good rest
when they got home; and this matter having been settled, Junius came
forward, and requested Roberta to step in the parlor, as he had
something to say to her. Without reply, she followed him into the
room, and he closed the door. They sat down, one on one side of
the round centre table, and one on the other, and Junius began his
statement.
He was by profession a lawyer, and he had given a great deal of
attention to the art of putting things plainly, and with a view to a
just effect. He had carefully prepared in his mind what he should
say to Roberta. He wished to present this man's message without the
slightest exhibition of desire for its success, and yet without any
tendency to that cold-blooded way of stating it, to which Croft had
objected. He had, indeed, picked up his adversary's sword, and while
he did not wish, in handing it to him, to prick him with it, or do him
some such underhand injury, he did not think it at all necessary to
sharpen the weapon before giving it back.
What Junius had to say occupied a good deal of time. He expressed
himself carefully and deliberately; and as nearly as a skilfully
stuffed and prepared animal in a museum resembles its wild original of
the forest, so did his remarks resemble those that Lawrence would have
made had he been there. Roberta listened to him in silence until he
had finished, and then she rose to her feet, and her manner was
such that Junius rose also. "Junius Keswick," she said, "you have
deliberately come to me, and offered me the hand of another man in
marriage."
"Not that," said Junius, "I merely came to explain----."
"Do not split hairs," she interrupted, "you did exactly that. You came
to me because he could not come himself, and offered him to me. Now go
to him from me, and tell him that I accept him." And, with that, she
swept out of the room, and came down stairs no more until bonneted,
and accompanied by Miss Annie, she hurried to the front door, and
entered the carriage which was there waiting for her, with Peggy by
the driver. With some quick good-byes and kisses to Annie, but never a
word to Junius, or anybody else, she drove away.
If Junius Keswick had been nervous and anxious that morning, as he
strode about the house, waiting for an opportunity to speak to Miss
March, it may well be supposed that Lawrence Croft, shut up in his
little room at the end of the yard, would be more so. He had sat at
his window, waiting, and waiting. He had occasionally seen Mr Keswick
come out on the porch, and with long strides pace backward and
forward, and he knew by that sign that he had yet no message to bring
him. He had seen the Midbranch carriage drive into the yard; he had
seen Miss March come out on the porch, and speak to the driver, and
then go in again; he had seen the carriage driven under a large tree,
where the horses were taken out and led away to be refreshed; in an
hour or more, he saw them brought back and harnessed to the vehicle,
which was turned and driven up again to the door, when some baggage
was brought down and strapped on a little platform behind. Shortly
afterwards Peggy came round the end of the house, with a hat on, and
a little bundle under her arm, and approached the carriage, making,
however, a wide turn toward the office, at which, and a mile or two
beyond, her far-off gaze was steadily directed.
Lawrence threw up the sash and called to her, and his guardian imp
approached the window. "Are you Miss March's maid? I think I have seen
you at Midbranch."
"Yaas, sah, you's done seen me, offen," said Peggy.
"Does Miss March intend to start immediately?" he asked.
"Yaas, sah," said the good Peggy, "she'll be out in a minute, soon
as she done kissin' Mah's Junius good-bye in de parlor." And then,
noticing a look of astonishment on the gentleman's face, she added:
"Dey's gwine to be mar'ed, Chris'mus."
"What!" exclaimed Lawrence.
"Good-bye, Mister Crof,'" said Peggy, "I's got to hurry up."
Lawrence made no answer, but mechanically tossed her a coin, which,
picking up, she gave him a farewell grin, and hastened to take her
seat by the driver.
Very soon afterward Lawrence saw Roberta come out, accompanied only by
Mrs Null, and hurry down the steps. Forgetting his injured ankle, he
sprang to his feet, and stepping quickly to the door, opened it, and
stood on the threshold. But Miss March did not even look his way. He
gazed at her with wide-open eyes as she hastily kissed Mrs Null, and
sprang into the carriage, which was immediately driven off. As Mrs
Null turned to go into the house, she looked toward the office and
nodded to him. He believed that she would have come to him if he had
called her, but he did not call. His mind was in such a condition that
he would not have been capable of framing a question, had she come. He
felt that he could speak to no one until he had seen Keswick. Closing
the door he went back to his chair; and as he did so, his ankle pained
him sadly, but of this he scarcely thought.
He did not have to wait long for Junius Keswick, for in about ten
minutes that individual entered. Lawrence turned, as his visitor
opened the door; and he saw a countenance which had undergone a very
noticeable change. It was not dark or lowering; it was not pale; but
it was gray and hard; and the eyes looked larger than Lawrence had
remembered them.
Without preface or greeting Junius approached him, and said: "I have
taken your message to Miss March, and have brought you one in return.
You are accepted."
Lawrence pushed back his chair, and stared blankly at the other. "What
do you mean?" he presently asked.
"I mean what I say," said Keswick. "Miss March has accepted you."
A crowd of emotions rushed through the brain of Lawrence Croft; joy
was among them, but it was a joy that was jostled and shaken and
pushed, this way and that. "I do not understand," he said. "I did not
expect such a decisive message. I supposed she might send me some
encouragement, some--. Why didn't she see me before she left?"
"I am not here to explain her actions if I could," said Junius, who
had not sat down. "She said: 'Tell him I accept him.' That is all.
Good morning."
"But, stop!" cried Lawrence, on his feet again. "You must tell me more
than that. Did you say to her only what I said to you? How did it
affect her?"
"Oh," said Junius, turning suddenly at the door, "I forgot that you
asked me to observe her mood. Well, she was very angry."
"With me?" cried Lawrence.
"With me," said Junius. And closing the door behind him, he strode
away.
The accepted lover sat down. He had never spoken more truly than when
he said he did not understand it. "Is she really mine?" he exclaimed.
And with his eyes fixed on the blank wall over the mantel-piece, he
repeated over and over again: "Is she mine? Is she really mine?" He
had well developed mental powers, but the work of setting this matter
straight and plain was too difficult for him.
If she had sent him some such message as this: "I am very angry with
you, but some day you can come and explain yourself to me;" his heart
would have leaped for joy. He would have believed that his peace had
been made, and that he had only to go to her to call her his own. Now
his heart desired to leap with joy, but it did not seem to know how to
do it. The situation was such an anomalous one. After such a message
as this, why had she not let him see her? Why had she been angry with
Keswick? Was that pique? And then a dark thought crossed his mind. Had
he been accepted to punish the other? No, he could not believe that;
no woman such as Roberta March would give herself away from such a
motive. Had Keswick been joking with him? No, he could not believe
that; no man could joke with such a face.
Even the fact that Mrs Keswick had not bid Miss March farewell,
troubled the mind of Lawrence. It was true that she might not yet know
that the match, which she had so much encouraged, had been finally
made, but something must be very wrong, or she would not have been
absent at the moment of her guest's departure. And what did that
beastly little negro mean by telling him that Keswick and Miss March
were to be married at Christmas, and that the two were kissing each
other good-bye in the parlor? Why, the man had not even come out to
put her in the carriage, and the omission of this courtesy was very
remarkable. These questions were entirely too difficult for him to
resolve by himself. It was absolutely necessary that more should be
told to him, and explained to him. Seeing the negro boy Plez crossing
the yard, he called him and asked him to tell Mr Keswick that Mr Croft
wished to see him immediately.
"Mahs' Junius," said the boy, "he done gone to de railroad to take
de kyars. He done took he knapsack on he back, an' walk 'cross de
fiel's."
When, about an hour or two afterwards, Uncle Isham brought Mr Croft
his dinner, the old negro appeared to have lost that air of attentive
geniality which he usually put on while waiting on the gentleman.
Lawrence, however, took no notice of this, but before the man reached
the table, on which he was to place the tray he carried, he asked: "Is
it true that Mr Keswick has gone away by train?"
"Yaas, sah," answered Isham.
"And where is Mrs Keswick?" asked Lawrence. "Isn't she in the house?"
"No, sah, done gwine vis'tin, I 'spec."
"When will she return?"
"Dunno," said Isham. "She nebber comes to me an' tells me whar she
gwine, an' when she comin' back."
And then, after satisfying himself that nothing more was needed of him
for the present, Isham left the room; and when he reached the kitchen,
he addressed himself to its plump mistress: "Letty," said he, "when
dat ar Mister Crof has got froo wid his dinner, you go an' fotch back
de plates an' dishes. He axes too many questions to suit me, dis day."
"You is poh'ly to-day, Uncle Isham," said Letty.
"Yaas," said the old man, "I's right much on the careen."
Uncle Isham, perhaps, was not more loyal to the widow Keswick than
many old servants were and are to their former mistresses, but his
loyalty was peculiar in that it related principally to his regard for
her character. This regard he wished to be very high, and it always
troubled and unsettled his mind, when the old lady herself or anybody
else interfered with his efforts to keep it high. For years he had
been hoping that the time would come when she would cease to "rar and
chawge," but she had continued, at intervals, to indulge in that most
unsuitable exercise; and now that it appeared that she had reared and
charged again, her old servant was much depressed. She had gone away
from the house, and, for all he knew, she might stay away for days or
weeks, as she had done before, and Uncle Isham was never so much "on
the careen" as when he found himself forced to believe that his old
mistress was still a woman who could do a thing like that.
Letty had no objections to answering questions, but much to her
disappointment, Lawrence asked her none. He had had enough of
catechising negroes. But he requested her to ask Mrs Null if she would
be kind enough to step out, for a few minutes, and speak to him. When,
very shortly thereafter, that lady appeared, Lawrence was seated at
his open door ready to receive her.
"How are you?" she said. "And how is your ankle to-day? You have had
nobody to attend to it."
"It has hurt me a good deal," he answered. "I think I must have given
it a wrench this morning, but I put on it some of the lotion Mrs
Keswick left with me, and it feels better."
"It is too bad," said Mrs Null, "that you have to attend to it
yourself."
"Not at all," said Lawrence. "Now that I know how, I can do it,
perfectly well, and I don't care a snap about my ankle, except that it
interferes with more important affairs. Why do you suppose Miss March
went away without speaking to me, or taking leave of me in any way?"
"I thought that would trouble you," said she, "and, to speak honestly,
I don't think it was right. But Roberta was in a very agitated
condition, when she left here, and I don't believe she ever thought of
taking leave of you, or any one, except me. She and I are very good
friends, but she don't confide much in me. But one thing I am pretty
sure of, and that is that she is dreadfully angry with my cousin
Junius, and I am very sorry for that."
"How did he anger her?" asked Lawrence, wishing to find out how much
this young woman knew. "I haven't the least idea," said Miss Annie.
"All I know is, she had quite a long talk with him, in the parlor, and
after that she came flying up-stairs, just as indignant as she could
be. She didn't say much, but I could see how her soul raged within
her." And now the young lady stopped speaking, and looked straight
into Lawrence's face. "It isn't possible," she said, "that you have
been sending my cousin to propose to her for you?"
This was not a pleasant question to answer, and, besides, Lawrence had
made up his mind that the period had passed for making confidants of
other persons, in regard to his love affairs. "Do you suppose I would
do that?" he said.
"No, I don't," Miss Annie answered. "Cousin Junius would never have
undertaken such a thing, and I don't believe you would be cruel enough
to ask him."
"Thank you for your good opinion," said Lawrence. "And now can you
tell me when Mr Keswick is expected to return?"
"He has gone back to Washington, and he told me he should stay there
some time."
"And why has not Mrs Keswick been out to see me?" asked Lawrence.
"You are dreadfully inquisitive," said Miss Annie, "but to tell you
the simple truth, Mr Croft, I don't believe Aunt Keswick takes any
further interest in you, now that Roberta has gone. She had set her
heart on making a match between you two, and doing it here without
delay; and I think that everything going wrong about this has put her
into the state of mind she is in now."
"Has she really gone away?" asked Lawrence.
"Oh, that don't amount to anything," said Miss Annie. "She went over
the fields to Howlett's, to see the postmistress, who is an old
friend, to whom she often goes for comfort, when things are not right
at home. But I am going after her this afternoon in the spring wagon.
I'll take Plez along with me to open the gates. I am sure I shall
bring her back."
"I must admit, Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "that I am very inquisitive,
but you can easily understand how much I am troubled and perplexed."
"I expect Miss March's going away troubled you more than anything
else," said she.
"That is true," he answered, "but then there are other things which
give me a great deal of anxiety. I came here to be, for a day or two,
the guest of a lady on whom I have no manner of claim for prolonged
hospitality. And now here I am, compelled to stay in this room and
depend on her kindness or forbearance for everything I have. I would
go away, immediately, but I know it would injure me to travel. The few
steps I took yesterday have probably set me back for several days."
"Oh, it would never do for you to travel," said she, "with such a
sprained ankle as you have. It would certainly injure you very much to
be driven all the way to the Green Sulphur Springs. I am told the road
is very rough, between here and there, but perhaps you didn't notice
it, having come over on horseback."
"Yes, I did notice it, and I could not stand that drive. And, even if
I could be got to the train, to go North, I should have to walk a good
deal at the stations."
"You simply must not think of it," said Miss Annie. "And now let me
give you a piece of advice. I am a practical person, as you may know,
and I like to do things in a practical way. The very best thing that
you can do, is to arrange with Aunt Keswick to stay here as a boarder,
until your ankle is well. She has taken boarders, and in this case
I don't think she would refuse. As I told you before, you must not
expect her to take the same interest in you, that she did when you
first came, but she is really a kind woman, though she has such
dreadfully funny ways, and she wouldn't have neglected you to-day, if
it hadn't been that her mind is entirely wrapped up in other things.
If you like, I'll propose such an arrangement to her, this afternoon."
"You are very kind, indeed," said Lawrence, "but is there not danger
of offending her by such a proposition?"
"Yes, I think there is," answered Miss Annie, "and I have no doubt she
will fly out into a passion when she hears that the gentleman, whom
she invited here as a guest, proposes to stay as a boarder, but I
think I can pacify her, and make her look at the matter in the proper
way." "But why mention it at all, and put yourself to all that trouble
about it?" said Lawrence.
"Why, of course, because I think you will be so much better satisfied,
and content to keep quiet and get well, if you feel that you have a
right to stay here. If Aunt Keswick wasn't so very different from
other people, I wouldn't have mentioned this matter for, really, there
is no necessity for it; but I know very well that if you were to drop
out of her mind for two or three days, and shouldn't see anything of
her, that you would become dreadfully nervous about staying here."
"You are certainly very practical, Mrs Null, and very sensible,
and very, very kind; and nothing could suit me better under the
circumstances than the plan you propose. But I am extremely anxious
not to give offence to your aunt. She has treated me with the utmost
kindness and hospitality."
"Oh, don't trouble yourself about that," said Miss Annie, with a
little laugh. "I am getting to know her so well that I think I can
manage an affair like this, very easily. And now I must be off, or it
will be too late for me to go to Howlett's, this afternoon, and I am a
very slow driver. Are you sure there is nothing you want? I shall go
directly past the store, and can stop as well as not."
"Thank you very much," said Lawrence, "but I do not believe that
Howlett's possesses an article that I need. One thing I will ask you
to do for me before you go. I want to write a letter, and I find that
I am out of paper; therefore I shall be very much obliged to you, if
you will let me have some, and some envelopes."
"Why, certainly," said Miss Annie, and she went into the house.
She looked over the stock of paper which her aunt kept in a desk in
the dining-room, but she did not like it. "I don't believe he will
want to write on such ordinary paper as this," she said to herself.
Whereupon she went up-stairs and got some of her own paper and
envelopes, which were much finer in material and more correct in
style. "I don't like it a bit," she thought, "to give this to him to
write that letter on, but I suppose it's bound to be written, anyway,
so he might as well have the satisfaction of good paper."
"You must excuse these little sheets," she said, when she took it to
him, "but you couldn't expect anything else, in an Amazonian household
like ours. Cousin Junius has manly stationery, of course, but I
suppose it is all locked up in that secretary in your room."
"Oh, this will do very well indeed," said Lawrence; "and I wish I
could come out and help you into your vehicle," regarding the spring
wagon which now stood at the door, with Plez at the head of the solemn
sorrel.
"Thank you," said Miss Annie, "that is not at all necessary." And she
tripped over to the spring wagon, and mounting into its altitudes
without the least trouble in the world, she took up the reins. With
these firmly grasped in her little hands, which were stretched very
far out, and held very wide apart, she gave the horse a great jerk and
told him to "Get up!" As she moved off, Lawrence from his open door
called out: "_Bon voyage_" and in a full, clear voice she thanked
him, but did not dare to look around, so intent was she upon her
charioteering.
Slowly turning the horse toward the yard gate, which Plez stood
holding open, her whole soul was absorbed in the act of guiding the
equipage through the gateway. Quickly glancing from side to side, and
then at the horse's back, which ought to occupy a medium position
between the two gateposts, she safely steered the front wheels through
the dangerous pass, although a grin of delight covered the face of
Plez as he noticed that the hub of one of the hind wheels almost
grazed a post. Then the observant boy ran on to open the other gate,
and with many jerks and clucks, Miss Annie induced the sorrel to break
into a gentle trot.
As Lawrence looked after her, a little pang made itself noticeable in
his conscience. This girl was certainly very kind to him, and most
remarkably considerate of him in the plan she had proposed. And yet he
felt that he had prevaricated to her, and, in fact, deceived her, in
the answer he had made when she asked him if he had sent her cousin
to speak for him to Miss March. Would she have such friendly feelings
toward him, and be so willing to oblige him, if she knew that he had
in effect done the thing which she considered so wrong and so cruel?
But it could not be helped; the time had passed for confidences. He
must now work out this affair for himself, without regard to persons
who really had nothing whatever to do with it.
Closing his door, he hopped back to his table, and, seating himself at
it, he opened his travelling inkstand and prepared to write to Miss
March. It was absolutely necessary that he should write this letter,
immediately, for, after the message he had received from the lady of
his love, no time should be lost in putting himself in communication
with her. But, before beginning to write, he must decide upon the
spirit of his letter.
Under the very peculiar circumstances of his acceptance, he did not
feel that he ought to indulge in those rapturous expressions of
ecstacy in which he most certainly would have indulged, if the lady
had personally delivered her decision to him. He did not doubt her,
for what woman would play a joke like that on a man--upon two men, in
fact? Even if there were no other reason she would not dare to do it.
Nor did he doubt Keswick. It would have been impossible for him to
come with such a message, if it had not been delivered to him. And
yet Lawrence could not bring himself to be rapturous. If he had been
accepted in cold blood, and a hand, and not a heart, had been given to
him, he would gladly take that hand and trust to himself to so warm
the heart that it, also, would soon be his. But he did not know what
Roberta March had given him.
On the other hand, he knew very well if, in his first letter as an
accepted lover, he should exhibit any of that caution and prudence
which, in the course of his courtship, had proved to be shoals on
which he had very nearly run aground, that Roberta's resentment, which
had shown itself very marked in this regard, would probably be roused
to such an extent that the affair would be brought to a very speedy
and abrupt termination. If she had been obliged to forgive him, once,
for this line of conduct, he could not expect her to do it again. To
write a letter, which should err in neither of these respects, was a
very difficult thing to do, and required so much preparatory thought,
that when, toward the close of the afternoon, Miss Annie drove in at
the yard gate, with Mrs Keswick on the seat beside her, not a line had
been written.
Mrs Keswick descended from the spring wagon and went into the house,
but Miss Annie remained at the bottom of the steps, for the apparent
purpose of speaking to Plez; perhaps to give him some instructions in
regard to the leading of a horse to its stable, or to instil into his
mind some moral principle or other; but the moment the vehicle moved
away, she ran over to the office and tapped at the window, which was
quickly opened by Lawrence.
"I have spoken to her about it," she said, "and although she blazed
up at first, so that I thought I should be burned alive, I made her
understand just how matters really are, and she has agreed to let you
stay here as a boarder."
"You are extremely good," said Lawrence, "and must be a most admirable
manager. This arrangement makes me feel much better satisfied than I
could have been, otherwise." Then leaning a little further out of the
window, he asked: "But what am I to do for company, while I am shut up
here?"
"Oh, you will have Uncle Isham, and Aunt Keswick, and sometimes me.
But I hope that you will soon be able to come into the house, and take
your meals, and spend your evenings with us."
"You have nothing but good wishes for me," he said, "and I believe, if
you could manage it, you would have me cured by magic, and sent off,
well and whole, to-morrow."
"Of course," said Miss Annie, very promptly. "Good night."
Just before supper, Mrs Keswick came in to see Lawrence. She was very
grave, almost severe, and her conversation was confined to inquiries
as to the state of his ankle, and his general comfort. But Lawrence
took no offence at her manner, and was very gracious, saying some
exceedingly neat things about the way he had been treated; and, after
a little, her manner slightly mollified, and she remarked: "And so you
let Miss March go away, without settling anything."
Now Lawrence considered this a very incorrect statement, but he had no
wish to set the old lady right. He knew it would joy her heart, and
make her more his friend than, ever if he should tell her that Miss
March had accepted him, but this would be a very dangerous piece of
information to put in her hands. He did not know what use she would
make of it, or what damage she might unwittingly do to his prospects.
And so he merely answered: "I had no idea she would leave so soon."
"Well," said the old lady, "I suppose, after all, that you needn't
give it up yet. I understand that she is not going to New York before
the end of the month, and you may be well enough before that to ride
over to Midbranch."
"I hope so, most assuredly," said he.
Lawrence devoted that evening to his letter. It was a long one, and
was written with a most earnest desire to embrace all the merits of
each of the two kinds of letters, which have before been alluded to,
and to avoid all their faults. When it was finished, he read it, tore
it up, and threw it in the fire.