THE PRINCE COMETH.
"A letter from Mrs. Macon, I think," said Morton, handing it across the
table to Sara, with a glance at the western postmark.
"I shouldn't wonder if it is to announce their return," she remarked,
opening it.
"Heaven forbid!" groaned Molly. "I love the Macons, but I adore their
home! Why don't you praise these muffins, Morton? I made 'em."
"Is that what ails them?" making a wry face. "Give me another at once.
We must make way with them as fast as possible!" and Molly passed him
the plate, with a well-pleased laugh.
"Yes," interrupted Sara, looking up, "they will be at home inside of a
fortnight, but she kindly says,--
"'Don't hurry to find rooms. I want to help you decide, and I shall be
so glad to come home to a houseful of young people rather than to the
usual gloom and stuffiness of long-closed rooms; besides, I have a
proposition to make you.'"
"What can it be?" cried Molly. "She may want me to stay, in place of
Hetty, for cook." "And me for coachman," added Morton, buttering his
third muffin.
"Then, Sara, there is nothing left for you but to be lady's maid!"
giggled the other twin.
"I should rather like the position," smiled Sara, "to read aloud to her,
answer her notes, do her errands, and"--
"Button her boots!" put in atrocious Molly again, at which Morton
slapped at her with his napkin, when she fled--pursued by him--to the
veranda, where decency demanded a cessation of hostilities.
Sara soon joined them, and a little later, Preston Garth,--who was back
in town for a day or so, to assist in setting up some new apparatus
lately arrived at the laboratory,--strolled up the walk.
"You're too late!" exclaimed Molly saucily, as he dropped upon the upper
step, and began fanning himself vigorously with his hat; "Morton's eaten
up all the muffins, and I think Sara finished the peaches."
"And I suppose, as usual, Miss Molly had nothing," was the ironic reply.
"Oh, a trifle--not worth mentioning"--
"Yes, Molly has a starved appearance, as you may have observed," put in
Sara. "But, Mr. Garth, in spite of her discouraging remarks, I think we
could find"--
"Oh, thank you, Miss Olmstead--I have been to tea; just left the table,
in fact, and am on my way back to the museum, so dropped in here. Has
anybody noticed the sunset to-night?" All turned to observe it (the
house fronted towards the south), and simultaneously exclaimed at its
grandeur. The sun was just dropping behind a thunderous bank of clouds,
closely resembling a range of mountains capped with snow, now tinged
ruddily with the dying light, and between these crowding peaks was an
arched opening, as if a vaulted passageway had been blasted through the
mass of rock, giving a vista of pale blue sky, from which radiated
prismic bars of light, while way above the topmost peak, like some
beacon-light suspended high, swung the new moon, a slender crescent,
also near its setting.
"Oh, I saw it over my right shoulder!" cried Molly gayly. "Don't you
long to hear what wish I made?"
"Not half so much as you long to tell it," replied Morton cruelly.
"How snubbed I feel!" she sniffed, amid the laughter, making a face at
him. "But if you knew it included you--Mr. Garth, do you believe in
omens?"
"Really, Miss Molly, I never thought--in fact, I don't know of any, do
I? What omens?"
"Oh, that you're going to quarrel, if you spill the salt, and that it's
bad luck to step over a crack in the floor, and you musn't begin things
on Friday, and"--
"Molly, what nonsense! I thought we agreed to forget all that kind of
thing when the mirror broke," said Morton.
"Yes; when instead of bringing us misfortune it brought us comfort. Did
we ever tell you about that, Mr. Garth?" asked Sara; then, as he gave a
negative sign, she repeated the story.
He listened interestedly.
"Where did you live, then, Miss Olmstead?"
"In Killamet--a tiny fishing-village on the coast. We are the children
of a fisherman, perhaps you know."
"You?" surprisedly. "I would never have thought it! I supposed"--He
stopped in some confusion, and colored.
"Say it out!" urged Morton.
"Yes, relieve your mind," added Molly; "it won't stand too much
pressure."
"Molly, be quiet!" interposed Sara peremptorily.
"Well," said the young man at this, giving Molly a queer glance, "I had
always supposed fishermen to be a rude sort of people--entirely unlike
you all, of course."
"'With the exception of one,' you would say, if you dared," added Molly
instantly. "But you needn't blame any of my ancestors for my tongue--
Sara will tell you our mother was a real lady, in speech and manners,
and our father one of Nature's noblemen. I was probably changed in the
cradle by some wicked fairy."
"Let us thank the creature for leaving such a unique specimen, at
least," laughed Mr. Garth, completely mollified; (if you will not accuse
us of an insane desire to make a pun). "Come, fairy changeling, and
let's have a song together."
"Yes, if you won't insist upon classical music more than half the time.
Do you know what I'd like to sing to-night?" rising to go indoors; "one
of those rollicking, rioting old sailor-songs, with no tune, and not
many more words, but with a catchiness in the two or three bars that
gives you the sensation of a ship rolling and pitching under your feet--
but Sara won't let me, so"--laughing mischievously--"I suppose I'll have
to come down to Bach and Wagner!"
Sara left alone outside, for Morton now departed for the store, seated
herself in one of the piazza-chairs to listen at her leisure. The
twilight was deepening into the warm, scented dusk of a mid-summer eve,
with nameless soft noises amid the dew and the perfume, as countless
tiny creatures settled themselves to repose or came out for their
nightly dance beneath the stars.
The tender influences of night and silence inwrapped the girl as if in
motherly arms, and she felt glad, and hushed, and still. What was the
little struggle of a day when all this great, yet minute world lived,
slept, woke and worked, subject to one Will--a Will mighty enough to
control the universe, precise enough to make perfect and beautiful the
down upon the wing of an insect invisible except under a powerful
microscope? Why should she fret, or worry, or dread?
"I have but one care," she said, "to do right--to abide by my inner
heaven-given instinct, which we call conscience, the rest is of the
Will."
She leaned her head back restfully against the small down pillow tied by
gay ribbons to her chair; but her resting soul leaned against an Arm,--
mighty to save, and tender to feel. Amid all her musings ran the sweet
strains of the old English ballad the others were singing inside, whose
refrain only was clear to her,--
"Trust me, Love, only Trust!"
A figure moving with a springing motion came swiftly up the gravelled
walk and mounted the steps. Not till then did Sara notice it. She
turned, rose, and stepped forward; and as the figure advanced to meet
her, it stood full in the light streaming through the drawing-room
windows.
"Robert?" she questioned, still in a dream, and not realizing that she
had used a name only whispered in her own heart till now.
"Yes, Sara," was the reply, "I have come--were you waiting for me?"
Still only half herself, so sudden and surprising was all this, she
answered in his own tone, quiet, but threaded with deep meaning,--
"Yes, I--think I was."
He drew her to him, whispered three little words--and the new moon, just
dipping her last upturned horn beneath the horizon, may have seen their
kiss of betrothal; but if so, she modestly withdrew from sight, and
never told the sweet secret.
I suppose my story should properly end here, but Sara felt that hers was
just beginning. With arm linked in arm the two went softly down the
steps, and strolled through the odorous hush of the garden, trying to
tell the emotions of three years in as many minutes, while the
unconscious couple within sang, and sparred, and sang again, perfectly
certain of their unseen listener outside. After the first few moments,
in which they could think of nothing but their own two selves, so
strangely and quickly bound into one, Sara asked,--
"But how did you happen to be here just now, Robert?"
"Because I came! I was like a chained beast all the time you were ill,
though Molly's letters gave only the most cheering news, but I knew I
couldn't see you if I were here, and I mustn't leave aunt; but when word
came from uncle that he was down with a malarial attack at Omaha, on his
way home, and she started at once to nurse him, I made up my mind very
shortly as to my next move--which was to pack my grip and come on, to
'put my courage to the test, to win or lose it all.'"
"It required a great deal of courage!" laughed Sara.
"More than you think, sweetheart. I was not at all sure of your feelings
towards me--to tell the truth, I have been horribly jealous of that
singing-fellow--what's his name--Garth, isn't it?"
Sara laughed merrily, and just then a booming strain rolled out from the
drawing-room upon the silent air.
"Listen!" she said; "isn't that a fine baritone? That's something from
Offenbach, I think."
"Magnificent!" returned Robert unsuspiciously, thrilling at her light,
trustful touch upon his arm. "Who is it? Some friend of the Macons?"
"No, of ours. It is--Mr. Preston Garth."
He started, looked at her, and even in the dusk caught the amused flash
of her eye.
"The rascal! Must I then run upon him the very first minute of my
meeting you?" he queried tragically.
"Not necessarily--still perhaps, just for politeness' sake, we had
better go back and say good-night to him. I think they have finished
now, the music seems to have ceased."
They turned back towards the house just as Molly, who, with Mr. Garth,
had now come out upon the veranda, cried excitedly,
"Why, she's gone. Sara! Sara! Where are you?"
"I am here, Molly," advancing with her companion, "here with--Mr.
Glendenning."
"Oh!" said Molly; and Mr. Garth, feeling a sudden twinge of doubt and
dread, waited but a moment longer, going through with the introductions
almost mechanically--then, becoming suddenly aware of his neglected
engagement at the museum, hastened on his way--leaving Robert in full
possession of the field.
After answering a question of Molly's he entered the house with the two
girls. They had just stepped into the brightly-lighted drawing-room,
when the younger, a trifle in advance, turned with some light remark,
and was at once arrested by the beatified expression upon both faces.
Her remark died on her lips; and her eyes, filled with wonderment,
travelled from one countenance to the other, as if determined to drag
the secret from them by mesmeric force.
"Tell her, Robert," said Sara softly; upon which Molly's hands came
together sharply, after an old, childish trick of hers.
"No need! No need!" she cried with her usual frankness; "I'm not blind--
and I never saw a couple so plainly ticketed 'sold' before!" Then
holding out a hand to each of the somewhat abashed pair, she cried
merrily, "It's lovely, though! And remember, Mr. Glendenning, I always
share in all Sara's good things, so now you'll have to be my brother, if
you have determined to be her--master," pointed by one of her
indescribable grimaces.
"Master, eh?" queried the young man, raising his eyebrows. "Do you know,
Molly, I shall be more than happy to be just her--husband?"
"Well, what's the difference? 'A rose by any other name,' you know; only
look out for Sara! I never saw a girl quite like her; while she's
seeming to give up she always gets her way"--
"As she has now!" put in that maiden with a happy laugh. "Don't tell
Robert all my faults tonight, dear; let him have a surprise now and
then."
"That means she is convinced that now you think her perfect,"
interrupted the saucy girl, with a trill of laughter. Then growing
suddenly as gentle and tender as she had been elfish before, she added
sweetly, "And Robert, you are right; you have won a real treasure--a
perfect darling--as nobody knows better than her naughty, teasing
sister."
Robert stayed a week, which time was to both lovers like a leaf blown
back from Eden. The weather, as if in chime with their mood, was simply
exquisite; and after the more imperative duties at the museum were over,
they passed the hours together, walking, riding, or boating on the
river, as utterly self-centred, and as foolishly happy as if one were
not a thorough-going business man, and the other a studious worker and
writer, beginning to make a reputation for herself. Just then the world,
with its cares, its ambitions, and demands, was quite shut out, while
love and happiness reigned supreme.
Such days, however, soon come to an end in this work-a-day world. An
imperative telegram recalled Robert to Chicago and business; but not
till he had won a definite promise from Sara that the marriage should
take place the following October.
"So soon!" she cried, when he made the proposition. "But have you
stopped to think? There is Molly--yes, and Morton, for I could not leave
him here alone, though he is almost self-supporting now."
"Yes, I have thought it all out. My salary is not large for an expensive
city, like Chicago, but we can all live upon it modestly, even there;
and fortunately we none of us have extravagant tastes."
Sara's eyes filled.
"Robert, how good you are! Would you really burden yourself with my
brother and sister? It is too much to ask!"
"I shall not look upon it as a burden, dearest. If they are yours they
are also mine; and, as you say, Morton will soon take care of himself,
for I can easily secure him a position there. As for Molly, we'll send
her to school a while yet; but mark me, Sara, she'll be carried off
before we know it, such a pretty girl as she."
"Well, there's one thing, Robert, I can write: you won't object to
that?"
"Object! I'm proud of it! Write all you like, and be as learned as you
please. The world may know you as a sage and a philosopher; but I,--ah!
how little they guess what you are to me, my little princess by the sea!
And now, if all your objections have been properly overruled, will you
give me the answer I desire?"
"Yes," said Sara, "if"--
"There! You have said all that is required," laying his finger on her
lips, "don't spoil it with conjunctions. A simple affirmative is quite
enough; I'll imagine the rest," and Sara, only too happy to be thus
overmastered, attempted no more objections to demands so sweet.
* * * * *
From this dream of bliss Sara plunged directly into a deep vortex of
house-cleaning, for she was determined that the premises should be in
perfect order upon the Macons' arrival. For four days chaos reigned,
with the broom and scrubbing-brush for prime ministers. Morton took
refuge at the store, but poor Sam, not so fortunate, had to face it all;
and he felt as if the deluge had come again, with some new and harrowing
accompaniments, in which woman's rights and demands were prominent.
Then, on the fifth, they rested from their labors in the clean, soap-
charged atmosphere--walking gingerly over spick and span carpets, laying
each book and paper demurely in place, and gazing, at a proper distance,
through diamond-bright windows; and on the sixth the Macons arrived.
They seemed delighted to be at home once more, and both looked unusually
well, having gained in flesh and color. The professor was genial and
serene, Mrs. Macon full of life and sparkle. She ran from room to room,
like a child; then through the gardens and shrubberies, returning quite
out of breath.
"O Henry!" she cried, "isn't it nice to find everything in such good
condition? I remember after our last long trip it was really dreadful
for a week or two--everything yellow and musty; mice and cockroaches
camping in the library and bedrooms, and spiders everywhere. By the way,
Sara, have you had to fight moths much?"
"Yes, occasionally. Molly has made a raid on them every week or so, with
gasoline, I believe--I don't think they've made much headway."
"Well, it's perfectly charming; and I should break out into 'Home, sweet
Home,' or something else equally original, if I had an atom of a voice.
Now tell me all the news,--who's married, and to whom have the storks
brought the blessed babies?"
"Yes, don't forget the babies," laughed her husband. "Marian has spent
most of her trip acting as nursemaid to poor little sticky-faced souls,
whose mothers were utterly discouraged, I'm daily expecting that the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children will send her a gold
medal, for I am sure she richly deserves it."
"Well, I shall be far more proud of it than of any old fossilized
remnant of antediluvial times, I can assure you," was the quick retort.
"And Henry needn't say anything, either, for he walked the coach-aisle a
good half-hour with a crying baby yesterday--to be sure it had a lovely
little mamma, who hadn't an idea how to manage it."
"Yes, it was all for the mamma," assented the professor demurely, with a
twinkle at Molly, who was heartily enjoying the scene, and only
impatient to put in her oar, as now.
"Did you have many engaged couples on the train?" she questioned
wickedly. "I think they're worse than babies--so uninteresting, you
know, besides being oblivious to the point of idiotcy. I've been
_so_ tired picking up after--oh! I nearly forgot myself--I mean
generally speaking, of course."
Sara's face was a study, but one easy to decipher; for the cheeks
crimsoned with embarrassment, the lips quivering with indignation, and
the eyes aglow with a happiness no mortification could conceal, told all
her secret in living characters. Mrs. Macon nearly sprang from her
chair.
"_Who_ is it, Sara? Mr. Garth--Mr. Steene--that little professor of
mathematics with the bald head, or--oh! tell me, _is_ it Mr.
Glendenning?"
"What a wonderful guesser you are!" cried Molly.
"And not born in Yankeedom, either!" laughed the professor, really
pitying Sara's distress.
Morton came to the rescue, as usual.
"If it is Mr. Glendenning, that's no reason for blazening it around all
over the country, as if you were too proud of it to keep still. Robert
Glendenning's a nice fellow, but I never saw anybody quite good enough
for Sara."
"Nor I," said Molly, entirely unruffled; "but she's like those of royal
blood, you see--she makes a man honorable by marrying him."
Amid the laughter over the cool impudence of this assumption, Sara
recovered herself somewhat, and received with tranquillity the hearty
congratulations which followed.
"I'm not a bit surprised--I saw it as long ago as last Thanksgiving,"
observed Mrs. Macon.
"Yes," put in her husband placidly, "Mrs. Macon's foresight is almost up
to the Irishman's."
"Well, you may laugh, but I did--and what's more, I gave my consent. I
told him he was _most welcome_, and he understood me!"
"That was generous," said the professor ironically, beginning to cut the
leaves of half a dozen periodicals which awaited him upon the library
table; at which the rest--taking the hint--adjourned to the veranda, to
talk it over at their leisure.