EVERET MAPLESON RETURNS TO VUE DE L’EAU.
Everet Mapleson conducted his mother to Sheffield Hall, thence to the
Divinity Colleges, the Marquand Chapel and Library, and finally to the
Peabody Museum.
In this latter place they lingered for some time, examining various
objects of interest, Mrs. Mapleson appearing to be greatly attracted by
the valuable collection of curiosities on exhibition there.
While they were standing before a cabinet of curious stones, one of
Everet’s classmates came to him and drew him aside for a moment of
private conversation.
He then turned to his mother and excused himself, saying that he was
wanted elsewhere upon a matter of class business, but would shortly
return to her.
“Very well,” she replied. “I will look about by myself until you come
back, and you will find me here.”
She wandered leisurely from case to case, looking over their contents,
until suddenly her attention was attracted by a peculiarly pleasant
voice, and, glancing up, she saw her son’s “double” standing near her,
with a beautiful girl leaning upon his arm.
She knew that it was Geoffrey Huntress from some trifling difference in
his dress, although, even to her keen mother’s eye, it was almost
impossible to otherwise distinguish him from her son.
But after a passing glance at him, her attention was riveted upon the
exquisitely beautiful girl at his side, whose face was all aglow with
health and happiness.
“They are lovers,” Mrs. Mapleson said to herself, as she saw how
oblivious they were of all save each other. “I wonder who the young girl
is? How graceful she is in every movement! how animated! and I have
rarely seen such a lovely complexion, or such beautiful, expressive
eyes!”
She stood beside one of the cabinets, partially shielded by it, and
watched the young couple all the time they remained in the room, and
would gladly have followed them as they passed on to another, so
interested did she become in them, if she had not promised that she
would remain where she was until Everet returned.
When at length he did come back to her, his face was pale and lowering.
He had passed Gladys and Geoffrey on his way, and the sight of them
together had wrought him up to the highest pitch of passion and
suffering.
“What is the matter, Everet?” his mother asked. “Are you in trouble?”
“No,” he answered, briefly, and then added: “Have you seen enough here?”
“Yes, I have been ready to go for some time; I have only been waiting
for you. I have been quite interested in a young couple who have just
gone out—your ‘double,’ as you call him, and a lovely young girl.
Perhaps you met them.”
“Yes, I passed them as I came in.”
“Who is she?”
“She is the daughter of the man who adopted him; her name is Gladys
Huntress.”
“Gladys? What an appropriate name. She is a veritable sunbeam. Do you
know her?”
“Yes; I have met her a great many times in New York society,” the young
man returned, but with a face so pale and pained that his mother could
not fail to notice it.
“Everet, I believe that you have fallen in love with her, yourself!” she
said, in a startled tone.
“It would not be a very difficult thing for any man to do, would it?” he
asked, trying to smile, yet with a ring of pain in his voice.
“Is the family a good one?”
“They stand well; they are received in the best society in New York, and
I have been told that Mr. Huntress is a wealthy man.”
“Well, he has a charming daughter, anyway. I’d like you to win a pretty
girl like that for a wife, Everet,” said Mrs. Mapleson, wistfully.
“I assure you it would give me a great deal of pleasure to gratify you,
_ma chere_,” he responded, his lips curling with a bitter smile, as he
thought of how he had tried and failed; then he abruptly changed the
subject. “But time is flying, and if we are to be in New York to-night,
we must be thinking about trains, while I have some packing to attend to
yet.”
Mrs. Mapleson signified her readiness to go, and they passed out of the
museum and repaired to Everet’s rooms.
That evening they were en route to the great metropolis, whence they
were to go to Newport.
Mrs. Mapleson had arranged to spend the greater portion of the season at
this fashionable resort, where she expected to meet some friends, who
were also coming from the South.
But Everet had other plans for himself.
He attended his mother to Newport, saw her comfortably and pleasantly
settled there, and then informed her that he was going home to Virginia.
She was amazed at this information, and protested indignantly against
his departure.
“Why, I am a total stranger here, Everet,” she said, “and it is too bad
of you to desert me in this unceremonious fashion.”
“But the Ainslies and Worthingtons will be here in a day or two, and
then you will have plenty of company,” he told her.
“But I want you for an escort. I do not like to be left alone.”
“Then I’ll try and persuade father to come on, if he is at home when I
reach Vue de l’Eau,” Everet returned, but without relenting in the least
from his purpose.
“But what is your object? It seems inexplicable to me. I supposed, of
course, you were going to remain with me,” his mother said, searching
his face curiously, and with some anxiety as well.
“I have an object, but——”
“But you do not wish to tell me what it is,” she interposed. “Everet,
you shall! I suspect it is some love affair.”
He colored crimson, and then was enraged at himself for doing so.
“Well, and what if it is?” he demanded, somewhat defiantly.
“Who is there at home in whom you are so deeply interested?”
“No one; I am going to trace out that Annie Dale’s history, if you must
know. I believe Geoffrey Dale Huntress is in some way connected with
her, and,” he burst out excitedly, “I am going to know!”
“Nonsense! What good will it do you? Everet,” she added, as a sudden
thought came to her, “you are in love with that girl, Gladys Huntress,
and you are jealous of _him_.”
“Well?”
“You have conceived the idea that Annie Dale disappeared because of some
wrong that she had done, and that this Geoffrey Huntress may be her
child, and not of honorable birth. You believe, if you can prove this,
that Miss Huntress will never marry him, and you will then be able to
win her.”
Mrs. Mapleson had said this looking straight into her son’s eyes, and
seeming to read his soul like an open book.
“Mother, your penetration is something remarkable. I could almost
believe you to be a mind-reader,” he replied half guiltily.
Then, after a moment of thought, he continued, excitedly:
“Yes, I may as well confess it—I am madly in love with Gladys Huntress,
and have been for more than a year. I have vowed that I will win her if
it can be accomplished, even though I know that she loves this fellow,
who has been nothing but a stumbling-block in my path since the day I
first met him. I am going to Richmond, as you surmise, to trace Annie
Dale’s history from the time of her disappearance, and I fully believe
that I shall discover that this Geoffrey Dale is her son. If he is a
child of shame, I do not believe that Gladys Huntress will marry him,
and I may yet be happy.”
Mrs. Mapleson looked deeply troubled over this confession.
“Everet,” she said, gravely, “I am afraid that you are building upon a
false foundation, and your hopes will come to naught. If this girl truly
loves that young man, and he is worthy of her, she will marry him, or I
am very much mistaken in my estimate of her character.”
Everet Mapleson’s brow darkened.
“I am going home, anyhow,” he said, doggedly.
“It will be a wild-goose chase, I warn you,” returned his mother.
“I cannot help it. I shall go mad if I sit idly down, and Gladys is lost
to me forever,” he retorted, with quivering lips.
Mrs. Mapleson seemed very unhappy.
She loved her son as she loved no one else in the world, and she could
not bear to think that he had learned to love unwisely, and was risking
his future happiness in pursuit of an _ignis fatuus_.
She did not believe he would ever win Gladys Huntress. The young girl’s
face had haunted her ever since she had seen her with her lover, in the
museum at Yale, and she knew, by the way she had looked up into
Geoffrey’s eyes, that she loved him with her whole soul, and that no
dishonor, save that of his own making, would ever alienate her from him.
“Oh, Everet, pray give up this foolish infatuation,” she pleaded, laying
her hand beseechingly on his arm.
“Foolish infatuation, indeed!” he retorted, with an angry flush. “What
can you know about it—you who never knew what it was to love a man as I
love this peerless girl?”
Mrs. Mapleson crimsoned to her brow, then grew white as the snowy lace
about her neck; her lips quivered painfully, and hot tears rushed to her
eyes.
“Are you not somewhat harsh in your judgment of me, Everet? Surely,
whatever else you may say of me, you cannot accuse me of lacking in
affection for my son,” she said, sadly and tremulously.
“Forgive me, mother,” he pleaded, conscience-smitten, “but, indeed, it
nearly drives me distracted to think that I may not be able to win
Gladys; while he, that beggar without even a name, has won her without
an effort.”
“Has won? Then they are engaged?”
“Yes.”
“What folly, Everet? I would respect myself too much to cry after a girl
who was already pledged,” said Mrs. Mapleson, scornfully, and with
flashing eyes.
His face flamed angrily.
“I tell you, you cannot understand!” he cried. “At all events, whether I
win or not, I will do my utmost to separate them. I detest him so
thoroughly, I will never allow him to triumph where I have failed.”
He stole from the room with these words, and that night he left Newport
for Vue de l’Eau, where he arrived three days later, and found his
father at home keeping bachelors’ hall in fine style, with half a dozen
servants to attend him.
Colonel Mapleson greeted his son with a heartiness which testified to
the deep affection which he bore him, though he expressed some surprise
that he should have returned at that season, when he might have been
enjoying the cool breezes of Newport, and had his pick of the
fashionable belles who thronged the place.
“I have not been at home for a long time, you know,” Everet responded,
carelessly, “and somehow had a peculiar longing to get back to the old
place. Mother rebelled at being left, but I promised to send you on to
take my place.”
Colonel Mapleson shrugged his shoulders.
He was not particularly fond of gay society, and was never anxious to
dance attendance upon his fashionable wife, although he was proud of her
beauty, and the admiration and attention she received wherever she went.
“I have not been in Newport for a good many years,” he remarked, as he
passed his coffee-cup to be filled for the third time; for they were at
breakfast.
“Surely you would enjoy the trip then,” Everet replied. “Newport has
changed greatly; it has become, literally, an island of palaces. You
ought to run up there for a little change during mother’s stay.”
“Well, I’ll think about it; but you will be lonely if I run off just as
you come home.”
“Never mind me; mother needs and wants you, and I have been in so much
excitement of late that I shall be glad to be quiet for awhile,” the
young man remarked, carelessly.
This was such a strange desire on the part of one who had been
accustomed to frequent all the gay resorts during the summer holidays,
while, too, he was looking far from well or happy, that Colonel Mapleson
shot a searching glance into his son’s face, and began to suspect that
he had been disappointed in some affair of the heart, and had come home
to conceal it.
“That is a new freak, isn’t it?” he asked, quietly.
“You can call it so if you like; but I have been working pretty hard
this last year, and am tired. Besides, I have not had a really good
chance to fish, hunt, and ride since I entered Yale, and I mean to
improve my opportunity now to my heart’s content. By the way,” he
continued, after a slight pause, “isn’t there a place called the
‘Hermitage’ somewhere in this vicinity, where a relative of ours, who
was a sort of recluse, used to live? In some of my roamings I may like
to visit it.”
“Yes; Robert Dale, a distant cousin, built it and lived there for years.
I suppose your mother has been telling you about him; she always
invested him with a great deal of romance,” his father replied, with a
slight smile of amusement. “He was a queer old codger, too, and lived a
regular hermit’s life for nearly a quarter of a century. The house is
still standing, about ten miles from here, in a lonely spot surrounded
by a dense growth of pines. He kept one servant—Uncle Jake, he was
called—who was housekeeper and steward all in one—cooking, washing, and
ironing, taking care of their one horse and cow, and the chickens. He
also attended to all the marketing and errands, and his master was
rarely seen.”
“How did Mr. Dale occupy his time?” Everet inquired.
“With reading and writing. He had a choice library, the only luxury of
which he was guilty; and he left piles of manuscripts, some of which
were quite valuable, treating chiefly upon geology and ornithology. He
had always been a great student of those subjects.”
“What became of his library and manuscripts?”
“One of the trustees of Richmond College claimed that they had been
promised to that institution, and although there was no writing of any
kind found after his death to verify that claim, the books and papers
were all made over to the college.”
“What of his servant, Uncle Jake?”
“He died only a few months after his master. He lived on at the
Hermitage in the same way, refusing to leave the place, and was found
dead in his bed, one day, by some sportsmen, who stopped there to fill
their canteens with water. He was buried there in the woods, the house
was shut up, and has remained so ever since.”
“This Robert Dale was a relative of yours, wasn’t he, father?”
“Well, yes, I suppose he was, though the relationship is very distant.
He was own cousin to my Uncle Jabez, who was my father’s half-brother,
if you can make that out,” said Colonel Mapleson, laughing.
“Humph! There was another family of Dales, who lived somewhere in this
region, if I remember right, that is, I remember hearing something about
them,” Everet remarked, after another pause.
Colonel Mapleson bent a look of questioning surprise on his son.
“It appears to me that you manifest an unusual interest in the Dales
this morning,” Colonel Mapleson said. “What has aroused it? I did not
suppose you were even aware of their existence.”
“Mother related something of their history to me. But you have not
answered my question.”
“Yes, there was another family of Dales; at least, there was a widow,
and her daughter, who lived in a cottage not far from Vue de l’Eau, a
good many years ago. They came here in a very destitute condition, after
Mr. Henry Dale’s death, and supported themselves by teaching and
sewing.”
“And yet this old hermit, Robert Dale, had plenty, and let them toil for
the necessities of life,” said Everet, indignantly.
“They were his own brother’s wife and child, too; but——” began Colonel
Mapleson, musingly, while he seemed to be busy with some memory of the
past.
“Well, mother told me they were bitter enemies. What was the cause of
it?” asked the young man, eagerly.
“Robert and Henry Dale both loved the same woman when they were young
men. Henry won her, and Robert hated him ever afterward; that is the
secret of his leading such a singular life, I suppose,” explained his
father.
Everet flushed.
He was thinking of two other young men who loved the same woman, one of
whom hated the other for having won, where he had failed.
“What became of the two women?” he asked, wishing to hear his father’s
version of Annie Dale’s disappearance.
“Mrs. Dale died many years ago, and the daughter, I believe, went
somewhere to be a governess. But, gracious! Everet, it is nearly ten
o’clock!” suddenly interjected Colonel Mapleson, looking at his watch in
surprise, “and I promised to meet Major Winterton in town, at a quarter
before eleven, to look at his sorrel mare. I am talking of buying her
for a saddle horse. I must be off at once. Will you come with me?”
“Thanks, no. I think I will lounge about home for to-day,” the young man
replied, but feeling somewhat disappointed at having their conversation
so abruptly terminated.
Colonel Mapleson bade his son good-morning, and hurried from the room to
order his horse, while Everet sat musing upon what he had learned, and
wondering what his next step would be to ascertain what Annie Dale’s
fate had been, after going to Richmond to seek her fortune.