over what appeared to be the certainty of his receiving the appointment.
There was, he thought, not the slightest doubt if he could manage to
secure the influence of one or two other leading citizens. As it was,
there seemed to be little danger of failure, and when he now saw Philip
Alston coming, he paused and waited for him to come up, so that he
might tell him what he had been doing. He did not know that he was
merely telling Philip Alston how his own orders had been carried out,
and there was nothing in that gentleman's manner to remind him.
William Pressley, accordingly, went on talking with the modest
consciousness of having done all that was possible for any man to do,
and he said, as they were entering the great room, that he considered
his success a mere question of time.
"A mere question of time, and a very short time, too," repeated Philip
Alston, heartily. "I congratulate you. I am proud of you. We are all
proud of him--hey, judge?"
"I hope he knows what he is trying to undertake," the judge said
abruptly, turning a glum look on his nephew. "I trust, William, that you
are realizing the responsibility of this office. Most men would hesitate
to assume it. I should tremble at the thought."
"I think, sir, that I shall be able to do my duty." William Pressley
spoke stiffly, with a touch of condescension and a shade of resentment,
such as he always evinced at any sign that the censer might cease to
swing.
"It isn't a simple matter of duty. It's a much more complicated matter
of ability," the judge said sternly.
"Pardon me, sir, but it really does not seem to me such a difficult
place to fill," said William, loftily. "In this, as in any other
position of life, the man who is influenced solely by the profoundest
and most conscientious conviction, and who is firm in following his
convictions, can hardly go far astray."
The judge looked at him over his big spectacles in perplexed, troubled
silence for a moment. So gazing, he gave the old impatient toss of his
tousled head, and the old quizzical look came under his suddenly
uplifted eyebrow.
"All _right_, William!" he said at last, almost immediately lapsing into
silence, and presently beginning to nod.
Philip Alston scarcely glanced at the judge and his nephew. He was
looking at Ruth, and noting with adoring eyes that her beauty had
blossomed like some rare flower of late. It seemed to him that the roses
on her fair cheeks were of a more exquisite, yet brighter tint, that her
eyes were bluer and brighter and softer than ever. There also appeared
to be a new maturity in the delicate curves of her graceful figure. But
there was no change in the childlike affection of her bearing toward
him. She clung round him just as she had always done, and when she
turned to leave his side to take a chair, he called her back,
unconsciously falling into the tone of fond playfulness that he had used
in her childhood.
"If a little girl about your size were to come and look in her uncle's
pockets, she might find something that she would like--"
Ruth did not wait for him to finish what he was saying, but ran to him
as if she had been the little toddler of other days, needing only the
sight of his dear face, or the sound of his kind voice, to fly into his
outstretched arms. In a moment more her eager hands were swiftly
searching his pockets, and making believe to have great difficulty in
finding the hidden treasure. She knew all the while where it was, but
she also knew that he liked her to be a long time in getting it out. His
worshipping eyes looked down on her hands fluttering like white doves
about his heart,--for it was hard to keep away from that inner breast
pocket--and at last, when she could not wait any longer, she went deep
down in it, and drew out a flat packet. This looked as if it had
travelled a long distance. There were many wrappings around it, and many
seals and foreign marks were stamped upon it. She laid it on his knee,
and pretended to shake him, when he made out that he meant to take time
to untie the cords which bound the wrappings, instead of cutting them.
And when he had cut the cords with his pen-knife, the wrappings fell
off, disclosing a jewel case of white satin richly wrought in gold. At
the quick touch of her fingers the lid of the case flew up, revealing a
long string of large pearls,--great frozen drops of the rainbow, wrapped
in silvery white mist,--treasures that a queen might have coveted.
The girl did not know how wonderful the pearls were and had not the
faintest conception of their value. But she saw their beauty and felt
their charm, for a beautiful woman loves and longs for the jewels that
belong to her beauty, as naturally as the rose loves and longs to gather
and keep the dewdrops in its heart.
"Oh! Oh!" was all that she could say, and she could think of nothing to
do, except stand on tiptoe and touch Philip Alston's cheek with a
butterfly kiss. And then when he had put the string of pearls around her
neck, so that it swung far down over her rounded young bosom, she danced
across the room to the largest mirror. But the corner in which it hung
was always full of shadows and so dark on this gloomy day that she could
not see, and with pretty imperiousness she called for candles to be
lighted and brought to her. William Pressley mechanically got up to
obey, but Philip Alston moved more quickly. Going to the hearth he took
two candles from the mantelpiece, lit them at the fire, and carried them
to her. He expected to have the pleasure of holding them so that she
might see the lovely vision, which he was already looking upon. But she
took them from his hands and raising them high above her head, danced
back to the mirror, and stood gazing at her own image, as artlessly as a
lily bends over its shadow in a crystal pool. And as she thus gazed in
the mirror, it suddenly reflected something which moved her more than
her own likeness. It showed her the opening of the front door, and gave
her a glimpse of her lover standing in the room. She whirled round,
blushing, and with her eyes shining like stars, and cried out:--"See,
Paul! See--was there ever anything so lovely?"
She went swiftly toward him, holding the candles still higher, so that
the pearls caught a rosy lustre from the light that fell on her radiant
face. She was laughing with pure delight at the sight of him, forgetting
the pearls. She did not know that she had called him by his Christian
name but she would have called him so, had she taken time to think. She
had called him so ever since they had known that they loved each other,
and she did not stop to realize that this was the first time they had
met in the presence of others since becoming plighted lovers. She
realized nothing except his presence--that alone filled her whole world
with joy and content. He came straight to meet her, holding out his
hands; but before he could cross the great room, or even had time to
speak, Philip Alston stepped forward and spoke suddenly in clear
tones:--
"Yes, see the wedding gift! The bridal pearls are here at last; all
ready for Christmas Eve."
Paul Colbert paused. He was an ardent and bold lover, but the words were
like a breath of frost on love's flowering. No ardor, no confidence, can
keep a sensitive man from feeling a chill when he sees the woman he
loves decked in the beautiful things which are beauty's birthright, and
realizes for the first time that he cannot give them to her. With the
painful shock which this feeling brought to the young doctor there was a
greater shock in the sudden thought of the possible source of the riches
which the pearls represented. A feeling of horror rushed over him, as if
he had seen that soft, white throat encircled by a serpent, and he
sprang forward to tear it off.
Ruth had turned her head to look at Philip Alston, with a start of
surprise and a little disquietude, but without fear or distrust. She
could not believe that he would wish her to marry William after he knew
that she loved Paul; such a thought never crossed her mind. Yet, as she
looked, a strange feeling of alarm which she did not comprehend swept
over her, filling her with formless terror. Some instinct made her
shrink, as if this wonderful string of pearls, which she had thought so
beautiful a moment before, had turned into a cruel chain and was binding
her fast. She did not know that many a weaker man has thus bound many a
stronger woman with chains of gold and ropes of pearls. But she felt it,
and her instinct was quicker than her lover's thought. Had her hands
been free she would have thrown the fetters from her, and finding
herself helpless, she turned to Paul Colbert for help.
"Take them off! Quick--quick! They are too heavy," she gasped.
It was Philip Alston who reached her first, and took the pearls from
her neck and the candles from her hands; but she did not look at him,
and went to her lover as if he had called her. Paul's arm going out to
meet her drew her to his side, and then, as the young couple thus stood
close together, the truth was plain enough to every one whose eyes
rested upon them. Philip Alston's face turned very white, and he made a
movement as if he would spring between them and part them by force. But
he checked the impulse, after that uncontrollable start, and stood
still, bearing in enforced silence, and as best he could, as hard a
trial as love ever put before pride. William Pressley also stood still
and silent, suffering bitterer pangs through his wounded self-love than
love itself ever could have inflicted upon him. Judge Knox straightened
up from his doze in bewildered astonishment, and made a displeased
exclamation, but it passed unheard. The old ladies by the hearth were
dumb with amazement. The boy stood unnoticed in his dark corner under
the stairs.
The young doctor now began to speak deliberately, calmly, and clearly,
being fully prepared with every word that he wished to utter. He told
the whole story with the simple directness that was natural to him. He
explained why he had not spoken sooner, and dwelt upon Ruth's scruples
because he wished her position to be fully understood, not because he
felt it necessary to excuse anything upon his own account. When he had
said everything that he thought should be said, and when he had spoken
modestly and proudly of their love for each other, he went on to make
frank mention of his affairs, his family, and his place in life. And
then he turned to the judge:--
"There is, as you see, sir, no reason why I should not ask you to give
her to me," he said with a boyish blush dyeing his handsome young face,
"since I have been so honored, so happy, and so fortunate as to win her
consent. I am ready and eager to tell you anything else that you may
wish to know, sir."
The judge lurched heavily out of his chair and rose unsteadily to his
feet in the sudden, angry excitement that flames out of drink.
"By--! 'Pon my soul, young sir, you are taking a high hand in my house.
Keep your place, sir, keep your place! Who are you that come here
putting your hand on my niece, and ordering the family about? Come to
me, Ruth! Come to me instantly!"
Philip Alston laid a restraining hand on his arm, and even William
Pressley uttered a warning word. In the presence of the girl there must
not be a violent word, much less a violent deed, no matter what the
feelings of the men might be, and no matter what might come after. That
was the first article in the code of chivalry toward women which ruled
these first Kentuckians, as it rules most brave, strong men living
simple, strenuous lives in the open. It ruled the judge also, as soon
as he had time to think, and controlled him through all the fog that
clouded his faculties.
"My dear," he appealed humbly, piteously, bending his rough gray head
before the girl, "I beg your pardon."
She flew to him and ran her arm through his, thus ranging herself on his
side with a fiery air of loyalty, and she turned on her lover with her
soft eyes flashing:--
"How can you, Paul! I am surprised. I wouldn't have believed it of you.
What do you mean by speaking so to my uncle Robert? Don't you see he
isn't well? You must know that when he is well everybody respects and
looks up to him--that the whole county depends on him," she said.
The old judge and the young doctor looked at each other over her head as
men look at one another when women do things as true to their nature as
this was to hers. And then, in spite of themselves, the judge's left
eyebrow went up very high, and a sunny smile brightened the doctor's
grave face. Even Philip Alston smiled and felt a sudden relief. With
such a child as Ruth had just shown herself to be, there must be some
hope of leading her by gentleness and persuasion. There was, at least, a
chance to gain time, and he moved eagerly to seize it. He looked at
William Pressley with an expression of undisguised contempt, seeing him
stand utterly unmoved. He could not help giving a glance of scorn, which
measured him against Paul Colbert. Who could blame the girl?
Nevertheless Philip Alston went to her and took her hand from the
judge's arm, and placed it within his own. Holding it fast against his
side, he turned to the doctor.
"It might be best for all concerned if you would allow us to talk this
matter over quietly among ourselves. We hardly know what to say, having
it sprung in this totally unexpected way. If you would be so kind as to
leave us for the present--"
The doctor had drawn himself up to his full height. He was about to say
that he recognized no right on the part of Philip Alston to interfere,
and to declare that he held himself accountable to no one but the judge.
Yet as this purpose formed, his gaze instinctively sought Ruth's, and he
saw that she was looking up at Philip Alston with love--unmistakable
love--in her face. The sight brought back all the helplessness that he
always felt when forced to realize her fondness for the man. He felt as
he might have done had he seen some deadly thing coiled about her so
closely that he could not strike it without wounding her tender breast.
The trouble had been like that from the first and it was like that
now--perhaps it always would be. He did not know what to do or say, with
her blue eyes appealing from him to Philip Alston. He was glad when
William Pressley broke the silence. The young lawyer had been thinking
hard; he never did anything on mere impulse. He always stopped to
consider how a thing would look, no matter how angry he might be. His
vanity had been slowly swallowing a bitter morsel, and it was now quite
clear to him that he must act promptly in order to escape a still
bitterer humiliation. Moreover, the chief consideration which had kept
him from allowing Ruth to break the engagement sooner, was now removed.
Philip Alston could hardly blame him in view of what had happened; no
one could think ill of him now.
"Just a moment, if you please," he said coldly and bitterly, addressing
all who were present. "There is no cause for delay or hesitation so far
as I can see--certainly there need be none on my account. The engagement
between Ruth and myself was tacitly broken some weeks ago. She has been
over-scrupulous in thinking that anything was due me. She was quite free
from any promise to me. You owe me nothing," turning to her with a bow.
"You have my best wishes."
She went to him, holding out her hand. "William, it hurts me to hear you
speak like that. I did my best to tell you--alone--and earlier. We were
both mistaken--neither was to blame. There surely is no reason for hard
feeling. My affection for you is just the same. William, dear--just for
old time's sake."
He took her hand, not because her loving gentleness won his forgiveness,
but because he thought that no gentleman could refuse a lady's hand. And
when she turned away with a long sigh and quivering lips, he stood firm
and invincible, supported by the conviction that he alone of all those
present had been right in everything. And such a conviction of one's own
infallibility must be a very great support under life's trials and
disappointments. There can hardly be any other armor so nearly
impenetrable to all those barbed doubts and fears which perpetually
assail and wound the unarmored. Think of what it must mean!--never to
feel that you might have been kinder or more just, or more generous or
more merciful than you were; never to have doubts and fears come
knocking, knocking, knocking at your heart till you are compelled to see
your mistakes when it is too late to do what was left undone,
and--saddest and bitterest of all--too late to undo what was done.
But no one except Ruth looked at William Pressley or thought of him.
Philip Alston calmly and courteously repeated his request, and with
Ruth's gaze urging it, Paul Colbert could not refuse to grant it. He
took up his hat and went toward the door with Ruth walking by his side.
And then, with his hand on the latch, he paused and turned, and looking
over her head, gazed steadily and meaningly into the eyes of the three
men. He looked first and longest at Philip Alston; then at William
Pressley, and finally at the judge, with a slight change of expression.
To each one of the three men his look said as plainly as if it had been
put into words, that he held himself ready for anything and everything
that any or all of them might have to say to him--out of her sight and
hearing and knowledge. And they, in turn, understood, for that was the
way of their country, of their time, and their kind; and having done
this he went quietly away.
XXIV
OLD LOVE'S STRIVING WITH YOUNG LOVE
That night Philip Alston stayed later than usual at Cedar House. He was
waiting for the others to go to bed, so that he might have a quiet talk
with Ruth. On one or two rare occasions they had been left alone
together before the wide hearth, and they both looked back on these
times as among the pleasantest they had ever known. But the
opportunities for privacy are very few where there is only one living
room for an entire family, and the size and publicity of this great room
of Cedar House made them fewer than they could have been in almost any
other household. And Ruth, seeing what he wished, was looking forward
now with even greater delight than she had felt heretofore; the delight
that young love feels at the thought of giving its first confidence to a
loving, sympathetic heart. She looked at him often through the waiting,
with shining eyes, so happy, so eager to ask him to share her happiness
that she could hardly wait till the others were gone. William Pressley
did not tax her patience long and the judge, too, soon went away to his
cabin with David to see that he reached it safely. The old ladies were
slower in going; Miss Penelope had many domestic duties to perform, and
the movements of the widow Broadnax were always governed entirely by
hers. But they, also, went at last with Ruth to assist the stouter lady
in getting up the stairs.
The girl came flying down again, with her eyes dancing and her heart
playing a tune. Philip Alston rose as she approached, and stood awaiting
her with a look on his face that she had never seen before.
"You are tired, dear uncle Philip," she said, taking his hand and
holding it against her cheek as she raised her radiant eyes to his face.
"Come to the fire and take this big chair. I will sit on the footstool
at your knee. There, now! You can rest and be happy. Isn't it sweet to
be alone--just you and I--together like this! I love you so dearly, dear
uncle Philip. It seems as if I had never before really known just how
much I do love you. It seems as if my heart couldn't hold quite all the
happiness that fills it to-night. And the tenderness filling it to the
brim brings a new feeling of your goodness to me."
She had taken the low seat by his side, and now laid her head down on
his knee. He stroked her hair with an unsteady hand; sorely troubled and
not knowing what to say. He suddenly looked very old, and felt more
helpless than ever before in his life. Looking down on this beautiful
head he realized in every sensitive fibre of his soul and body that this
lovely young creature, clinging to his knee, was the one thing in the
whole world that he had ever loved--deeply, truly, purely, and
unselfishly; that her gentle heart was the only heart out of all the
hearts beating on the earth that had ever loved him as the innocent love
the good. Thinking of this he shrank and trembled, feeling that he held
in his grasp a fragile treasure precious beyond all price, which a rude
touch might destroy forever. He knew the evil reputation which rumor had
given him, and he had seen that Paul Colbert believed the worst. There
had been no disguise in the expression of the young doctor's eyes. His
gaze bold and keen as an unhooded falcon's, had frankly proclaimed his
dislike and mistrust, making it only too plain that he asked no favor by
pretending ignorance or on the score of any friendliness that he did not
feel. His look and attitude had indeed been so unmistakable that Philip
Alston now wondered in sudden terror if she had not already observed
them, and he--who had feared nothing in all his life--quailed and
quivered before this sudden fear with abject cowardice. In another
moment he knew that her trust in him had not been shaken; the resting of
her head on his knee told him so much. But how long would it or could it
stand against the doubts of the man she loved? That was the question
which went through Philip Alston's breast like the thrust of a sword.
Her husband's influence would be supreme. A tender, gentle creature, she
would be easily influenced through her affections. The young doctor
might keep silence, seeing her love for himself and respecting her
regard for her foster-father; but he was not the man to hide what he
really thought and felt, and she must divine the truth before long.
Philip Alston had no hope of changing Paul Colbert's opinion of himself;
he knew the world and mankind too well to think for a moment that any
man might hope to live down such charges as those which had been brought
against himself. Ruth must know sooner or later, and, knowing, would she
still love him? There came now a sort of piteous appeal in the touch of
his unsteady hand on her hair. The slightest suspicion must blast the
exquisite flower of her tender love. With his quick, full appreciation
of everything truly noble he had often noted the firm principles, which
lay under her sweet gentleness like fine white marble under soft green
moss. He did not know that this very trait for which he had loved her,
and which now made him afraid, had already been tested again and again;
and that her love for him and trust in him, had stood against every
attack as firmly as great rocks stand against shallow waves. No, he knew
nothing of all this, and he was now in such desperate fear that he
dared not speak or move or do anything but stroke her hair with a
shaking hand, and stare over her head at the fire trying to clear his
mind. She had been silent also, but presently she spoke, putting up her
hand to pat the one that was stroking her hair.
"I am waiting, dear heart," she said softly, "waiting to hear what you
think of my Paul. I have been wanting so long to tell you; it was on
account of William that I waited. But you know now, and I am so glad--so
glad! Tell me what you think of him. There is no one but you who can see
all that he is. And there is no one but him who can see all that you
are. But you two, my dearest, are capable of appreciating each other.
And I am a happy, happy girl."
He was feeling faint and sick under the hopelessness of any struggle
between old love and young love. With every look of her radiant eyes,
with every gentle word that fell from her sweet lips, he was feeling
more and more how utterly useless would be any attempt to come between
her and her lover. And looking at her he could not think of making any
such attempt. When an all-absorbing love has taken complete possession
of an empty and worldly heart, that heart becomes more powerless before
that love, than a fuller and softer heart ever does. He could not speak,
but he murmured something and she went on:--
"How sweet it is to be here alone with you, like this, in the dear,
dark, big, old room. Why, uncle, dear, it seems only yesterday that you
were rocking me in my cradle, over there in the chimney-corner; when you
were already petting and spoiling me, just as you have always done. And
to think that I am talking to you to-night about my Paul! Can you
realize that it's true? Well, it is--the very truest thing in all the
world."
She paused for a moment, but she did not observe that he made no
response, and she began again:--