ENCHANTMENT.
Sedgwick and Browning had now been several days in London. Every day they
had been riding and driving--seeing the sights. One morning at breakfast
Jack mentioned that it was Tuesday; that next day would be the annual
celebrated Derby Wednesday; that he had made arrangements for as many to
go as could get away. The number was finally limited to four--Grace and
Rose, Jack and Jim.
This was talked over, and so soon as the arrangements were determined
upon, Jack proposed that when the race should be over, instead of coming
back to London, they should go on beyond Surrey, down to the seashore in
Sussex, where an old uncle of Rose's resided, for a few days' visit. This
was, after some discussion, agreed upon; whereupon Jack rose and went out
to make a few needed little preparations; the young ladies followed to do
some shopping, while Sedgwick went to his room to write some letters.
He finished his letters and was going out, when he met Mrs. Hamlin in the
hall. She greeted him and asked him to sit down a moment, saying she
wanted to talk with him. He swung a chair around for Mrs. Hamlin, and
when she was seated he took another chair opposite, saying: "Is there
anything particular this morning, madam, which you desire to talk about?"
The old lady looked at him a moment, then said:
"Mr. Sedgwick, I have noticed that since you came to my house you seem to
be worried, as though this London roar and confusion oppressed you; and
I have seen a look on your face sometimes, which, it seemed to me, if set
to words would say: 'I would give anything in the world to be out of this
and back once more free in my native land.' It worries me, and I want to
ask you if something cannot be done to make your life here more
pleasant."
"Why, my dear madam," said Sedgwick, "I never was half so kindly
entertained before as I have been in your house. There is nothing
lacking, nothing; and when I think of ever returning all this kindness
my gratitude is made bankrupt."
"Still, you have something on your mind. Is it a business trouble? Will
you not test our friendship in real truth?" asked the lady.
Sedgwick looked at her seriously a moment, and said: "I have something,
but it is not business, that distresses me. But, were I to tell you, it
would test your friendship indeed."
"Well," responded the lady, "I want to know it. I hope we can help you."
"Mrs. Hamlin," said Sedgwick, "I was reared a farmer's son. I was a wild
boy, I guess. I left school with education not yet completed--left under
a cloud, but no disgrace attached to my leaving. I went to Texas and was
a cowboy for a year. From there I wandered west, learned the occupation
of mining; for four years almost every day I have been underground. I met
Jack: we were friends; how close at last you do not know. We started
east; he accompanied me to my childhood's home. After a brief visit I
came with him to his. I have been three weeks under your roof; I am bound
by a promise to remain until Jack's marriage, and, in the meantime, in
spite of myself, I, the farmer, the cowboy, and the miner, have dared to
look upon your daughter, and my soul is groveling at her feet. I love her
with such intensity that I have feared sometimes I should break down and
beseech her to have pity on me. Now you have it all. Tell me, I pray, how
I can be true to myself and to the hospitality which you have extended me
until Jack shall be married and I can return to my native land!"
When he once had begun, his words were poured out in a torrent; his face
was pale; he trembled, and his breath came in half gasps.
Mrs. Hamlin was silent a moment. Then, looking up, she said: "Have you
spoken of this to Jack?"
"Not one word," he replied.
"Or to Grace?"
"O, Mrs. Hamlin, believe me, not one word."
The lady leaned her head upon her hand for a few moments. Then, looking
up, she said: "You ask me what to do. I cannot help you. But my judgment
would be that you go directly to Grace and ask her help. I have not the
slightest idea of her sentiments toward you, but if she does not care for
you and thinks she never can, she will frankly tell you. If she does love
you, she is probably suffering more than you are."
"O, Mrs. Hamlin," said Sedgwick, "are you willing that I shall speak to
her, that I shall tell her how much she is to me?"
"Quite willing," was the answer; spoken after a moment's thought.
"Believe me, I never suspected anything of this kind, never in the least,
or I should not have stopped you here; but if Grace loves you I shall be
most glad. And one thing more. Should Grace be willing to accept your
attentions, for the present, please, do not speak to Mr. Hamlin or to
Jack. I have my special reasons for making this request. I ask it because
Mr. Hamlin is peculiar, and Grace is my child, in fact, while he is but
her step-father."
Then she arose, held out her hand and smiled. Then her face became grave,
and she leaned over the young man, kissed his forehead, and left the
hall.
When the door closed Sedgwick put his hands before his eyes as though to
ward off a great light; and when he removed them his lips were moving and
his face wore a softened and exalted look, such as Saul's might have worn
after he saw the "great light."
Dinner was hardly over that evening when Jack disappeared. He spent
nearly all his evenings with Rose, and so his absence was not remarked.
Mr. Hamlin had been called away to Scotland for two or three days on
business. Mrs. Hamlin, Grace and Sedgwick passed into the parlor. After a
little conversation, Sedgwick asked Grace to sing, and as she went to the
piano Mrs. Hamlin arose and left the room.
Grace struck the instrument softly, and in a moment began to sing. The
piece she selected was the old one beginning:
"Could you come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true."
There was a strange thrill in the voice of Grace as the song progressed,
and when she reached the fourth stanza and sang:
"I never was worthy of you, Douglas,
Not half worthy the like of you;
Now, all men beside seem to me like shadows,--
I love you, Douglas, tender and true,"
the last words ended in a tone very much like a sob, and the singing
ceased.
Sedgwick had risen, and walked to the side of Grace while she sang. When
she ceased he said:
"That is a very touching song, Miss Grace. Your voice vibrates in it as
though your heart were heavy."
"It is," she frankly answered.
He bent and took an unresisting hand and said: "If you are in trouble,
may I not try to be your comforter?"
She rose from the piano, and looking up clear and brave into the eyes of
the young man, said: "You are most kind, but I cannot tell you why my
heart is heavy."
He looked down into her eyes for a moment and then said: "My heart is
likewise heavy, Miss Grace; may I tell you why?"
"Surely," she answered, "if you have a sorrow, and if there is any balm
in this household, it shall be yours."
He took her other hand, and drawing her gently toward him, said: "Come
near to me Miss Grace. I am involved in a trouble which I never dreamed
of when I came here. Mine has been a harsh life, but I have always tried
to meet my fate resignedly. Now I am overborne. Since the first hour I
met you, first looked into your divine face, first felt your hand-clasp
and heard your voice, my heart has been on fire. You have become my
divinity. I worship you. Oh, Grace, can you give me a thread, be it ever
so slight, out of which I may weave a hope that some time you will bend,
and sanctify my life by becoming my wife?"
As he spoke, over the pale face of Grace Meredith an almost imperceptible
glow spread, as when an incandescent lamp is lighted under a translucent
shade; her eyes grew moist, her lips quivered, she trembled in every
limb, and, suddenly dropping on her knees, drew his hands to her lips,
kissed them, and murmured: "O! my king!"
He caught her to him and cried: "Is it true? Is it true? Do you really
care for me?"
She looked up and said: "O, my blind darling, you are so very, very
blind! My soul has been calling to your soul since the first hour you
came."
Half an hour later Grace looked up and with a ravishing smile, said: "Do
you know, dearest, I believe all my heavy-heartedness is gone."
At last Sedgwick said: "My beautiful, what will your friends say to your
marrying a rough miner?"
"What," replied she, "will your friends say if you prove foolish enough
to marry a simple English girl, whose horizon is bounded by Devonshire
and London?"
His response was: "My adored one!"
Then she crept nearer him, and with serious accent said: "My love, if
happily our lives shall be united, whom will it be for, our friends or
ourselves? I will tell you. If ever I shall be permitted to become so
blessed as to be your wife, it will be with the thought in my heart that
we are all in all to each other in this world, and in the world to come."
"In this world and in the world to come," he repeated; and then, with
bowed head, in a whisper, he added: "May I be worthy of such a blessing,
and God spare to me my idol, that I may praise Him evermore."
And then they began to talk in earnest. One hour like that is due to
every mortal; no mortal can have more than one such an hour, no matter
how long may be his life.
Later they came directly to the subject of their marriage. They agreed
that, if possible, it should be on the same day that Jack and Rose should
be married. But Sedgwick mentioned Mrs. Hamlin's desire that for the
present no one should know of his love or of hers (if it should be
returned), and said he believed it best not to mention their relations
until the wedding day of Rose and Jack drew near.
Grace agreed with him, except that Rose must be told, saying she would
find it out even if the attempt were made to conceal it from her, and
added: "Jack and Rose are completely absorbed in each other. They will be
with each other most of the time. My father is absent all day, and until
late at night. My mother is good, and will not much disturb us. I can
look in your eyes every day, kiss you sometimes, and feel your presence
like a robust spirit near me all the time." Then, suddenly pausing for an
instant, she again broke out with, "Oh, how happy I am; it seems as
though my heart would break with its ecstasy!" and, springing up, she ran
to the piano, and sang a song which filled the room with melody, and
caused a linnet that was asleep on her perch to awaken and join her
trills to the song.