FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
Ruth did not come forth to receive her father. This was strange, for a
trip to London, with these simple people, was a great event, and it
seemed to Jessup as if he had been gone a year.
When he entered the kitchen, Ruth was busy at the table moving the
dishes with unsteady hands; but when he spoke, she came forward with
breathless eagerness, and made herself very busy taking off his dusty
things, which she shook, and folded with wonderful care.
Spite of his utter disbelief in the coarse accusations made by Storms
in the park, Jessup watched his daughter anxiously. It seemed to him
that she looked paler than usual, and that all her movements were
suspiciously restless. Besides this, he observed, with a sinking
heart, that her eyes never once met his with their own frank smile.
Could it be that there was some shadow of truth in what Storms had
said? He would not believe it.
"Come, father, the posset is ready. I have been keeping it warm."
Ruth stood on the hearth then, with the antique silver posset-cup,
which had been his grandmother's, in her hand. The firelight was full
upon her, concealing the pallor of her face with its golden flicker.
Surely there could be nothing wrong under that sweet look.
The gardener gave a great sigh of relief as he accepted this thought,
and his anger toward Dick Storms grew deep and bitter.
"Come, lass," he said, with more than usual affection, "sit down here
by my side. The posset is rare and good; while I eat it, you shall
tell me of all that has been done since I went away."
All that had been done since he went away! Would Ruth ever dare to
tell her father that? The very thought sent up a rush of blood to her
face.
"Oh, father! there is little to be done when you are away. I did not
even care to cook my own supper."
"Ah! well, take it now, child," said the good man, pouring half his
warm posset into an old china bowl, and pushing it toward her.
"No, no, father, I am not hungry. I think the cooking of food takes
away one's appetite."
"Nay, eat. It is lonesome work, with no one to help me," said the
father, who certainly had no cause to complain of his own appetite.
Ruth stirred the posset languidly with her spoon, and strove to
swallow a little; but the effort almost choked her. It might be fancy;
but she could not help thinking that her father was furtively
regarding her all the time, and the idea filled her with dismay.
Something of the same feeling possessed her father. Inherent kindness
made him peculiarly sensitive, and he did not know how to question his
daughter of the things that disturbed him, without wounding her and
himself too.
In this perplexity, he ate with that ravenous haste which sometimes
springs from an unconsciousness of what we are doing when under the
pressure of great mental excitement. He was astonished when his spoon
scraped on the bottom of that silver posset-cup. He sat for a moment
embarrassed and uncertain how to begin. Where the feelings of his
daughter were concerned, Jessup was a coward; to him she had been,
from her very babyhood, a creature to worship and care for with a sort
of tender reverence. So, with cowardice born of too much love, he
thought to cheat himself, and bade her bring the little carpet-bag
that had been his companion to London, and which he had dropped near
the door.
Ruth, glad of anything that promised to distract her mind from its
anxieties, brought the bag, and stood over her father while he
unlocked it.
"See, child," he said, taking out a parcel done up in filmy paper, "I
have brought some fill-falls from London, thinking my lass would be
glad of them. Look, now!"
Here Jessup unrolled a ribbon, which streamed half across the room, as
he shook out its scarlet waves.
"Isn't that something like, now?"
"Oh, it is beautiful!" cried the girl, with true feminine delight. "My
dear, dear father!"
"I remembered--but no matter about that. My little Ruth is like a
rose, and must have color like one. See what I have brought to go with
the ribbon."
"White muslin," cried Ruth, in an ecstasy of delight. "Fine enough for
the Lady Rose. How beautifully the scarlet sash will loop it up! Oh,
father, who told you how well these things would go together?"
"I guessed it one day when the Lady Rose came here with a lot of stuff
like that, puffed and looped with a ribbon bright as the field-poppies
about her. You didn't know then, my lass, that your father felt like
crying too, when he saw tears in his child's eyes, because she craved
a fine dress and bonny colors for herself, and never thought to get
it. There, now, you must get the best seamstress in the village to
make it."
"No, no! I will make it with my own hands. Oh, father! father! how
good, how kind you are!"
Dropping the sash and the muslin from her hold, Ruth threw her arms
around Jessup's neck, and, bursting into tears, laid her head upon his
shoulder.
"So, so! That will never do," cried the kind-hearted man, smoothing
the girl's hair with his great hand, tenderly, as if he were afraid
his very fondness might hurt her. "If you cry so, I shall turn the
key, and lock all the other things up."
Ruth lifted her sweet face, all bedewed with penitent tears, and laid
it close to the weather-beaten cheek of the man.
"Oh, father! don't be so good to me! It breaks my heart!"
Jessup took her face between his hands, and kissed it on the forehead,
then pushed her pleasantly on one side, and thrust his hand into the
bag again. This time it was drawn forth with a pretty pair of
high-heeled boots, all stitched with silk, and circled about the
ankles with a wreath of exquisite embroidery.
"There, now, we will leave the rest till to-morrow," he said, closing
the box with a mysterious look. "Only say that you are pleased with
these."
"Pleased! Oh, father, it is the dress of a lady!"
"Well, even so. One day my Ruth may be next door to that," said
Jessup, putting forth all his affectionate craft. "Farmer Storms is a
warm man, and Dick is his only son. It is the lad's own right if he
sometimes brings his gun and shoots our game--his father has an
interest in it, you know. The master has no right over his farm, and
birds swarm there."
Jessup stopped suddenly, for Ruth stood before him white and still as
marble, the ribbon which she had taken from the floor streaming from
her hand in vivid contrast with the swift pallor that had settled upon
her.
"Lass! Ruth, I say! What has come over you?" cried out the gardener,
in alarm. "What have I done to make you turn so white all in a
minute?"
"Done! Nothing, father--nothing!" gasped the girl.
"But you are ill!"
"Yes, a little; but nothing to--to trouble you so."
Ruth stood a moment after this, with one hand on her temple, then she
turned, with a show of strength, to her father.
"What were you saying just now about farmer Storms, and--and his son?
I don't think I quite understood, did I?"
Jessup was now almost as white as his daughter. Her emotion kindled up
a gleam of suspicion, which had hung about him in spite of himself,
though he had left Richard Storms prostrate across the forest path for
having inspired it.
"Ruth, has not Dick Storms told you to-night that both he and his
father are getting impatient to have you at the farm?" he questioned,
in a low voice.
"Dick--Dick Storms, father!"
"I ask you, Ruth. Has he been here, and did he tell you?"
"He was here, father," faltered the girl.
"And he asked you?"
"He asked me to be his wife," answered the girl, with a shudder.
"Well!"
"His wife at once; and you promised that he should not come until I
was better prepared. Oh, father, it was cruel. He seemed to take it
for granted that I must be whatever he wished."
"That was ill-timed; but Dick has been kept back, and he is so fond of
you, Ruth."
"Fond of me? Of me? No, no! The thought is awful."
"It was his loving impatience that broke forth at the wrong time.
Nothing could be worse; but you were not very harsh with him, Ruth?"
"I could not help it, father, he was so rude."
"Hang the fellow! I hope he won't get over the buffet I gave him in
one while. The fool should have known better than treat my daughter
with so little ceremony. She is of a daintier sort than he often mates
with. He deserves all he has gotten from her and from me."
While these thoughts were troubling Jessup's mind, Ruth stood before
him with tears swelling under her eyelids, till the long, black lashes
were heavy with them. They touched the father's heart.
"Don't fret, child. A few hasty words in answer to over rough wooing
can easily be made up for. The young man was sorely put about; but I
rated him soundly for coming here when I was away. He will think twice
before he does it again."
"He must never do it again. Never--never!" cried Ruth, desperately.
"See to that, father. He never must."
"Ruth!"
"Oh, father, do not ask me ever to see this man again. I cannot--I
cannot!"
"Hush, child--hush! It is only a quarrel, which must not break the
compact of a lifetime. Till now, you and Dick have always been good
friends."
"Have we? I don't know. Not lately, I'm sure; and we never, never can
be anything like friends again."
"Ruth!"
The girl lifted her great wild eyes to her father, and dropped them
again. She was too much terrified for tears now.
"Ruth, was any person here to-night beyond Dick?"
The girl did not answer. She seemed turning to stone. Her silence
irritated the poor man, who stood watching like a criminal for her
reply. He spoke more sharply.
"Did you hear me, Ruth?"
"Yes, I hear."
"I asked if any one was here besides Dick?"
"Yes."
Jessup could hardly hear this little word as it dropped painfully from
those white lips; but he understood it; and spoke again.
"Who was it, Ruth?"
"Young Mr. Hurst."
"He was here, then. What brought him?"
"He came--he came--"
"Well!"
"He did not tell me why he came, father. It was all too sudden; and he
was very angry."
"Too sudden? Angry? How?"
"Dick Storms frightened me so, and Mr. Hurst saw it, just as he came
in. I could have struck him myself, father!" cried the girl, and her
pale face flamed up with a remembrance of the indignity offered her.
Jessup clenched his fist.
"Why, what did the young man do?"
"He would not believe that his offer was hateful to me, and--and acted
as if I had said yes."
"I understand. The idiot! But he must have been drinking, Ruth."
"I don't know, and I only hope you will never let him come here
again."
"But he will be sorry, Ruth. You must not be too hard on the young
fellow."
"Hard upon him? Oh, father!"
"He has had a tough lesson. But young Hurst--what did he do?"
"I can hardly tell you, it was so sudden and violent. All in a minute
Dick was hurled against the wall, and through the door. Then there was
a struggle, deep, hoarse words, and Dick was gone."
"Was that all?"
"Yes, all that passed between Mr. Hurst and Dick. There was no time
for talking."
"And after that?"
"I don't know what Dick did."
"But Mr. Hurst?"
"He--he stayed a while. I was so frightened, so--"
"Ah, he stayed a while. That was kind."
"Very kind, father!"
"Ruth," said the gardener, struggling with himself to speak firmly,
and yet with kindness, "there was something more. After Dick left, or
before that, did Mr. Hurst--that is, were you more forgiving to him
than you were to Storms?"
"I--I do not understand, father."
She does understand, thought Jessup, turning his eyes away from her
burning face, heart-sick with apprehension. Then he nerved himself,
and spoke again.
"Ruth, I met Dick in the park, and he made a strange charge against
you."
"Against me!"
"He says that insults greater than he would have dared to offer, but
for which he was kicked from my door, were forgiven to young Mr.
Hurst. Nay, that you encouraged them."
"And you believed this, father?" questioned the girl, turning her eyes
full upon those that were searching her face with such questioning
anxiety.
"No, Ruth, I did not want to believe him; but how happened it that the
young master came here so late at night?"
"Oh, father! Why do you question me so sharply?"
The panic that whitened Ruth's face, the terror that shook her voice,
gave force to the suspicion that poor man had been trying so hard to
quench. It stung him like a serpent now, and he started up,
exclaiming:
"With one or the other, there is an account to be settled before I
sleep."
William Jessup seized his cap and went out into the park, leaving Ruth
breathless with astonishment. She stole to the window, and looked
after him, seized with uncontrollable dread. How long she sat there
Ruth could never tell; but after a while, the stillness of the night
was broken by the sharp report of a gun.