RECOGNIZED AS LOVER
It was inevitable that Mara should pay the penalty of being at variance
with nature and her own heart. The impulses of youth had been checked and
restrained. Instead of looking forward, like Ella, she was turning ever
backward, and drawing her inspiration from the past, and a dead, hopeless
past, at that. It fell upon her like a shadow. All its incentive tended
toward negation, prompting her to frown on changes, progress, and the
hopefulness springing up in many hearts. The old can hug their gloom in a
sort of complacent misanthropy; the young cannot. If they are unhappy they
chafe, and feel in their deepest consciousness that something is wrong.
Mara laid the blame chiefly upon Clancy, believing that, if he had taken
the course adopted by Captain Bodine, she could have been happy with him
in an attic. His words, at their interview, were not the only causes of
her intense indignation and passion. Although she was incensed to the last
degree, that he should charge Captain Bodine with such "preposterous"
motives and intentions, she was also aware that her fierce struggles with
her own heart, at the time, distracted and confused her. She could not
maintain the icy demeanor she had resolved upon.
Left to herself, the long afternoon and evening of the following day, she
had time for many second thoughts. She was compelled to face in solitude
the hard problems of her life. Anger died out, and its support was lost.
She had driven away the only man she loved, or could ever love, and she
had used language which he could never forget, or be expected to forgive.
The more she thought of his motive in seeking the interview, the more
perplexed and troubled she became. As now in calmer mood she recalled his
words and manner, she could not delude herself with the belief that he
came only in his own behalf, or that he was prompted by jealousy. She
remembered the grim frankness with which he said virtually that he had
nothing to hope from her, not even tolerance. She almost writhed under the
fact that he had again compelled her to believe that, however mistaken, he
was sincere and straightforward, that he truly thought that Bodine was
lover rather than friend.
She would not, could not, imagine that this was true, and yet she groaned
aloud, "He has destroyed my chief solace. I was almost happy with my
father's friend, and was coming to think of him almost as a second father.
Now, when with him I shall have a miserable self-consciousness, and a
disposition to interpret his words and manner in a way that will do him
hateful wrong. Oh, what is there for me to look forward to? What is the
use of living?"
These final words indicated one of Mara's chief needs. She craved some
motive, some powerful incentive, which could both sustain and inspire.
Mere existence, with its ordinary pleasures and interests, did not satisfy
her at all. Clancy's former question in regard to her devotion to the past
and the dead, "What goodwill it do?" haunted her like a spectre. He had
again made the dreary truth more clear, that there was nothing in the
future to which she could give the strong allegiance of her soul. She
would work for nothing, suffer for nothing, hope for nothing, except her
daily bread. As she said, the friendship of Bodine was but a solace, great
indeed, but inadequate to the deep requirements of a nature like hers. She
knew she was leading a dual life--cold, reserved, sternly self-restrained
outwardly, yet longing with passionate desire for the love she had
rejected, and, since that was impossible, for something else, to which she
could consecrate her life, with the feeling that it was worth the
sacrifice. If she had been brought up in the Roman Catholic religion, she
might have been led to the austere life of a nun. But, in her morbid
condition, she was incapable of understanding the wholesome faith, the
large, sweet liberty of those who remain closely allied to humanity in the
world, yet purifying and saving it, by the sympathetic tenderness of Him
who had "compassion on the multitude." She had still much to learn in the
hard school of experience.
The next day, Ella was nothing like so voluble as usual. Little frowns and
moments of deep abstraction took the place of the mirthful smiles of the
day before. Nevertheless, her strong love for Mara led her to speak quite
freely of her experience during her call at Mrs. Willoughby's. As Mara's
closest friend, she felt that reticence was a kind of disloyalty. It was
also true that out of the abundance of her heart she was prone to speak.
At the same time, the belief grew stronger hourly that she had a secret
which she had not revealed, and could not reveal to any one. The more she
thought over Houghton's words and manner, the more sure she became that
his interest in her was not merely a passing fancy. Maidenly reserve,
however, forbade even a hint of what might seem to others a conceited and
indelicate surmise. She therefore gave only the humorous side of her
meeting with Houghton again, and laughed at Mara's vexation. So far from
being afraid of her friend, she rather enjoyed shocking her. At last she
said, "There, Mara, don't take it so to heart. Papa says I must ostracize
him, and so Goth and Vandal he becomes--the absurd idea!"
"Your father would not require you to do anything absurd."
"No, not what was absurd to him; but he does not know Mr. Houghton any
more than you do. It's not only absurd, but it's wrong, from my point of
view."
"Oh, Ella, I'm sorry you feel so different from the rest of us."
"Why do you feel different from so many others, Mara? It isn't to please
this or that one, or because you have been told to think or to feel thus
and so. You have your views and convictions because you are Mara
Wallingford, and not someone else. Am I made of putty any more than you
are, sweetheart?"
Her words were like a stab to Mara, for the thought flashed into her mind,
"I have required that Clancy should be putty under my will." Ella, in her
simple common-sense, often made remarks which disturbed Mara's cherished
belief that she was right and Clancy all wrong.
As a very secondary matter of interest to her, Ella at last began to speak
of Clancy and Miss Ainsley. "If ever a girl courted a man with her eyes
that feminine riddle courts Mr. Clancy. I don't think I ever could be so
far gone as to look at a man as she does at him, unless I was engaged."
"How does he look at her?" Mara asked with simulated indifference.
"Oh, there's some freemasonry between them, probably an engagement or an
understanding! She expostulated against his going away as if she had the
right. I don't think he cares for her as I would wish a man to care for
me, for there was a humorous, half-reckless gleam in his eyes. It may be
all natural enough though," she added musingly. "I don't believe Miss
Ainsley could inspire an earnest, reverent love. A man wouldn't associate
her in his thoughts with his dead mother."
"What a strange expression! What put it into your mind?"
"Oh," replied Ella hastily, and flushing a little, "I've been told that
Mr. Clancy's parents are dead! A plague on them both, and all people that
I can't understand--I don't mean the dead Clancys, but these two who are
fooling like enough. You should be able to interpret Clancy better than I,
for Cousin Sophy says you were once very good friends."
"I cannot remain the friend of any one who is utterly out of sympathy with
all that I believe is right and dignified."
"Well, Mara, forgive me for saying it, but Mr. Clancy may have had
convictions also."
"Undoubtedly," replied Mara coldly, "but there can be no agreeable
companionship between clashing minds."
"No, I suppose not," said Ella, laughing; "not if each insists that both
shall think exactly alike. It would be like two engines meeting on the
same track. They must both back out, and go different ways."
"Well, I've back out," Mara remarked almost sternly.
"That's like you, Mara dear. Well, well, I hope the war will be over some
day. By the way, papa told me to tell you that he was busy last evening,
but that he would call this afternoon for a breathing with you on the
Battery."
At the usual hour the veteran appeared. Mara's greeting was outwardly the
same; nevertheless, Clancy's words haunted her, and her old serene
unconsciousness was gone. Now that her faculties were on the alert, she
soon began to recognize subtle, unpremeditated indications of the light in
which Bodine had begun to regard her, and a sudden fear and repugnance
chilled her heart. "Was Clancy right after all?" she began to ask herself
in a sort of dread and presentiment of trouble. Instinctively, and almost
involuntarily, she grew slightly reserved and distant in manner, ceasing
to meet his gaze in her former frank, affectionate way. With quick
discernment he appreciated the change, and thought, "She is not ready yet,
and, indeed, may never be ready." His manner, too, began to change, as a
cloud gradually loses something of its warmth of color. Mara was grateful,
and in her thoughts paid homage to his tact and delicacy.
"Mara," he said, "has Ella told you of her experiences at Mrs.
Willoughby's?"
"Yes, quite fully. I should think, however, from her words that you were
more truly her confidant."
"Yes, she has acted very honorably, just as I should expect she would, and
yet I am anxious about her. I wish she sympathized with us more fully in
our desire to live apart from those who are inseparable in our thoughts
from the memory of 'all our woes,' as Milton writes."
"I have often expressed just this regret to Ella; but she loves us all,
and especially you, so dearly that I have no anxiety about her action."
"No, Mara, not her action; I can control that: but I should be sorry
indeed if she became interested in this young man. There is often a
perversity about the heart not wholly amenable to reason."
Poor Mara thought she knew the truth of this remark if any one did, nor
could she help fancying that her companion had himself in mind when he
spoke.
"Young Houghton," he resumed, "is beginning to make some rather shy,
awkward advances, as if to secure my favor--a very futile endeavor as you
can imagine. My views are changing in respect to remaining in his father's
employ. The grasping old man would monopolize everything. I believe he
would impoverish the entire South if he could, and I don't feel like
remaining a part of his infernal business-machine."
"I don't wonder you feel so!" exclaimed Mara warmly. "I don't like to
think of your being there at all."
"That settles it then," said Bodine quietly. "It would not be wise or
honorable for me to act hastily. I must give Mr. Houghton proper
notification, but I shall at once begin to seek other employment."
Mara was embarrassed and pained by such large deference to her views, and
her spirits grew more and more depressed with the conviction that Clancy
was right. But she had been given time to think, and soon believed that
her best, her only course, was to ignore that phase of the captain's
regard, and to teach him, with a delicacy equal to his own, that it could
never be accepted.
"Moreover," resumed Bodine, "apart from my duty to Mr. Houghton--and I
must be more scrupulous toward him than if he were my best friend--I owe
it to Ella and my cousin not to give up the means of support, if I can
honorably help it, until I secure something else. Houghton has held to our
agreement both in spirit and letter, and I cannot complain of him as far
as I am concerned."
"I have confidence in your judgment, Captain, and I know you will always
be guided by the most delicate sense of honor."
"I hope so, Mara; I shall try to be, but with the best endeavor we often
make mistakes. To tell the truth I am more anxious about Ella than myself.
This young Houghton is, I fear, a rather hair-brained fellow. I've no
doubt that he is sincere and well-meaning enough as rich and indulged
young men of his class go, but he appears to me to be impetuous, and
inclined to be reckless in carrying out his own wishes. Ella, in her
inexperience, has formed far too good an opinion of him."
"Well, Captain, I wouldn't worry about it. Ella is honest as the sunshine.
They have scarcely more than met, and she will be guided by you. This
episode will soon be forgotten."
"Yes, I hope so; I think so. I shall count on your influence, for she
loves you dearly."
"I know," was the rather sad reply, "but Ella does not think and feel as I
do. I wish she could become interested in some genuine Southern man."
"That will come in time, all too soon for me, I fear," he said, with a
sigh, "but I must accept the fact that my little bird is fledged, and may
soon take flight. It will be a lonely life when she is gone."
"She may not go far," Mara answered gently, "and she may enrich you with a
son, instead of depriving you of a daughter."
He shook his head despondently, and soon afterward accompanied her to her
home. She knew there was something like an appeal to her in his eyes as he
pressed her hand warmly in parting. By simply disturbing the blind
confidence in which she had accepted and loved her father's friend, Clancy
had given her sight. She saw the veteran in a new character, and she was
distressed and perplexed beyond measure. Scarcely able, yet compelled to
believe the truth, she asked herself all the long night, "How can I bear
this new trouble?"