_ CHAPTER XXII
From breakfast time the next morning until ten o'clock in the forenoon, at which hour the Midbranch carriage arrived, Junius Keswick had been vainly endeavoring to get an opportunity to speak with Miss March. That lady had remained in her own room nearly all the morning, where his cousin had been with her; and his aunt, who had her own peculiar ways of speeding the parting guest, had retired to some distant spot on the estate, either to plan out some farming operation for the ensuing season, or to prevent her pent-up passion from boiling over in her own house.
Thus Junius had the lower floor to himself, and he strode about in much disquietude, debating whether he ought to send a message to Roberta, or whether he should wait till she had finished her packing, or whatever it was, that was keeping her up-stairs. His last private interview with her had not been a pleasant one, and if he had intended to speak to her for himself, he would not have felt much encouraged by her manner of the preceding evening; but he was now engaged on the affairs of another, and he believed that a failure to attend to them would be regarded as a breach of faith.
When Mr Brandon's carriage drove into the yard he began to despair, but now Roberta came running down stairs to speak to Sam, the driver, and ask him how long it would be necessary to rest his horses. Sam thought an hour would be long enough, as they would have a good rest when they got home; and this matter having been settled, Junius came forward, and requested Roberta to step in the parlor, as he had something to say to her. Without reply, she followed him into the room, and he closed the door. They sat down, one on one side of the round centre table, and one on the other, and Junius began his statement.
He was by profession a lawyer, and he had given a great deal of attention to the art of putting things plainly, and with a view to a just effect. He had carefully prepared in his mind what he should say to Roberta. He wished to present this man's message without the slightest exhibition of desire for its success, and yet without any tendency to that cold-blooded way of stating it, to which Croft had objected. He had, indeed, picked up his adversary's sword, and while he did not wish, in handing it to him, to prick him with it, or do him some such underhand injury, he did not think it at all necessary to sharpen the weapon before giving it back.
What Junius had to say occupied a good deal of time. He expressed himself carefully and deliberately; and as nearly as a skilfully stuffed and prepared animal in a museum resembles its wild original of the forest, so did his remarks resemble those that Lawrence would have made had he been there. Roberta listened to him in silence until he had finished, and then she rose to her feet, and her manner was such that Junius rose also. "Junius Keswick," she said, "you have deliberately come to me, and offered me the hand of another man in marriage."
"Not that," said Junius, "I merely came to explain----."
"Do not split hairs," she interrupted, "you did exactly that. You came to me because he could not come himself, and offered him to me. Now go to him from me, and tell him that I accept him." And, with that, she swept out of the room, and came down stairs no more until bonneted, and accompanied by Miss Annie, she hurried to the front door, and entered the carriage which was there waiting for her, with Peggy by the driver. With some quick good-byes and kisses to Annie, but never a word to Junius, or anybody else, she drove away.
If Junius Keswick had been nervous and anxious that morning, as he strode about the house, waiting for an opportunity to speak to Miss March, it may well be supposed that Lawrence Croft, shut up in his little room at the end of the yard, would be more so. He had sat at his window, waiting, and waiting. He had occasionally seen Mr Keswick come out on the porch, and with long strides pace backward and forward, and he knew by that sign that he had yet no message to bring him. He had seen the Midbranch carriage drive into the yard; he had seen Miss March come out on the porch, and speak to the driver, and then go in again; he had seen the carriage driven under a large tree, where the horses were taken out and led away to be refreshed; in an hour or more, he saw them brought back and harnessed to the vehicle, which was turned and driven up again to the door, when some baggage was brought down and strapped on a little platform behind. Shortly afterwards Peggy came round the end of the house, with a hat on, and a little bundle under her arm, and approached the carriage, making, however, a wide turn toward the office, at which, and a mile or two beyond, her far-off gaze was steadily directed.
Lawrence threw up the sash and called to her, and his guardian imp approached the window. "Are you Miss March's maid? I think I have seen you at Midbranch."
"Yaas, sah, you's done seen me, offen," said Peggy.
"Does Miss March intend to start immediately?" he asked.
"Yaas, sah," said the good Peggy, "she'll be out in a minute, soon as she done kissin' Mah's Junius good-bye in de parlor." And then, noticing a look of astonishment on the gentleman's face, she added: "Dey's gwine to be mar'ed, Chris'mus."
"What!" exclaimed Lawrence.
"Good-bye, Mister Crof,'" said Peggy, "I's got to hurry up."
Lawrence made no answer, but mechanically tossed her a coin, which, picking up, she gave him a farewell grin, and hastened to take her seat by the driver.
Very soon afterward Lawrence saw Roberta come out, accompanied only by Mrs Null, and hurry down the steps. Forgetting his injured ankle, he sprang to his feet, and stepping quickly to the door, opened it, and stood on the threshold. But Miss March did not even look his way. He gazed at her with wide-open eyes as she hastily kissed Mrs Null, and sprang into the carriage, which was immediately driven off. As Mrs Null turned to go into the house, she looked toward the office and nodded to him. He believed that she would have come to him if he had called her, but he did not call. His mind was in such a condition that he would not have been capable of framing a question, had she come. He felt that he could speak to no one until he had seen Keswick. Closing the door he went back to his chair; and as he did so, his ankle pained him sadly, but of this he scarcely thought.
He did not have to wait long for Junius Keswick, for in about ten minutes that individual entered. Lawrence turned, as his visitor opened the door; and he saw a countenance which had undergone a very noticeable change. It was not dark or lowering; it was not pale; but it was gray and hard; and the eyes looked larger than Lawrence had remembered them.
Without preface or greeting Junius approached him, and said: "I have taken your message to Miss March, and have brought you one in return. You are accepted."
Lawrence pushed back his chair, and stared blankly at the other. "What do you mean?" he presently asked.
"I mean what I say," said Keswick. "Miss March has accepted you."
A crowd of emotions rushed through the brain of Lawrence Croft; joy was among them, but it was a joy that was jostled and shaken and pushed, this way and that. "I do not understand," he said. "I did not expect such a decisive message. I supposed she might send me some encouragement, some--. Why didn't she see me before she left?"
"I am not here to explain her actions if I could," said Junius, who had not sat down. "She said: 'Tell him I accept him.' That is all. Good morning."
"But, stop!" cried Lawrence, on his feet again. "You must tell me more than that. Did you say to her only what I said to you? How did it affect her?"
"Oh," said Junius, turning suddenly at the door, "I forgot that you asked me to observe her mood. Well, she was very angry."
"With me?" cried Lawrence.
"With me," said Junius. And closing the door behind him, he strode away.
The accepted lover sat down. He had never spoken more truly than when he said he did not understand it. "Is she really mine?" he exclaimed. And with his eyes fixed on the blank wall over the mantel-piece, he repeated over and over again: "Is she mine? Is she really mine?" He had well developed mental powers, but the work of setting this matter straight and plain was too difficult for him.
If she had sent him some such message as this: "I am very angry with you, but some day you can come and explain yourself to me;" his heart would have leaped for joy. He would have believed that his peace had been made, and that he had only to go to her to call her his own. Now his heart desired to leap with joy, but it did not seem to know how to do it. The situation was such an anomalous one. After such a message as this, why had she not let him see her? Why had she been angry with Keswick? Was that pique? And then a dark thought crossed his mind. Had he been accepted to punish the other? No, he could not believe that; no woman such as Roberta March would give herself away from such a motive. Had Keswick been joking with him? No, he could not believe that; no man could joke with such a face.
Even the fact that Mrs Keswick had not bid Miss March farewell, troubled the mind of Lawrence. It was true that she might not yet know that the match, which she had so much encouraged, had been finally made, but something must be very wrong, or she would not have been absent at the moment of her guest's departure. And what did that beastly little negro mean by telling him that Keswick and Miss March were to be married at Christmas, and that the two were kissing each other good-bye in the parlor? Why, the man had not even come out to put her in the carriage, and the omission of this courtesy was very remarkable. These questions were entirely too difficult for him to resolve by himself. It was absolutely necessary that more should be told to him, and explained to him. Seeing the negro boy Plez crossing the yard, he called him and asked him to tell Mr Keswick that Mr Croft wished to see him immediately.
"Mahs' Junius," said the boy, "he done gone to de railroad to take de kyars. He done took he knapsack on he back, an' walk 'cross de fiel's."
When, about an hour or two afterwards, Uncle Isham brought Mr Croft his dinner, the old negro appeared to have lost that air of attentive geniality which he usually put on while waiting on the gentleman. Lawrence, however, took no notice of this, but before the man reached the table, on which he was to place the tray he carried, he asked: "Is it true that Mr Keswick has gone away by train?"
"Yaas, sah," answered Isham.
"And where is Mrs Keswick?" asked Lawrence. "Isn't she in the house?"
"No, sah, done gwine vis'tin, I 'spec."
"When will she return?"
"Dunno," said Isham. "She nebber comes to me an' tells me whar she gwine, an' when she comin' back."
And then, after satisfying himself that nothing more was needed of him for the present, Isham left the room; and when he reached the kitchen, he addressed himself to its plump mistress: "Letty," said he, "when dat ar Mister Crof has got froo wid his dinner, you go an' fotch back de plates an' dishes. He axes too many questions to suit me, dis day."
"You is poh'ly to-day, Uncle Isham," said Letty.
"Yaas," said the old man, "I's right much on the careen."
Uncle Isham, perhaps, was not more loyal to the widow Keswick than many old servants were and are to their former mistresses, but his loyalty was peculiar in that it related principally to his regard for her character. This regard he wished to be very high, and it always troubled and unsettled his mind, when the old lady herself or anybody else interfered with his efforts to keep it high. For years he had been hoping that the time would come when she would cease to "rar and chawge," but she had continued, at intervals, to indulge in that most unsuitable exercise; and now that it appeared that she had reared and charged again, her old servant was much depressed. She had gone away from the house, and, for all he knew, she might stay away for days or weeks, as she had done before, and Uncle Isham was never so much "on the careen" as when he found himself forced to believe that his old mistress was still a woman who could do a thing like that.
Letty had no objections to answering questions, but much to her disappointment, Lawrence asked her none. He had had enough of catechising negroes. But he requested her to ask Mrs Null if she would be kind enough to step out, for a few minutes, and speak to him. When, very shortly thereafter, that lady appeared, Lawrence was seated at his open door ready to receive her.
"How are you?" she said. "And how is your ankle to-day? You have had nobody to attend to it."
"It has hurt me a good deal," he answered. "I think I must have given it a wrench this morning, but I put on it some of the lotion Mrs Keswick left with me, and it feels better."
"It is too bad," said Mrs Null, "that you have to attend to it yourself."
"Not at all," said Lawrence. "Now that I know how, I can do it, perfectly well, and I don't care a snap about my ankle, except that it interferes with more important affairs. Why do you suppose Miss March went away without speaking to me, or taking leave of me in any way?"
"I thought that would trouble you," said she, "and, to speak honestly, I don't think it was right. But Roberta was in a very agitated condition, when she left here, and I don't believe she ever thought of taking leave of you, or any one, except me. She and I are very good friends, but she don't confide much in me. But one thing I am pretty sure of, and that is that she is dreadfully angry with my cousin Junius, and I am very sorry for that."
"How did he anger her?" asked Lawrence, wishing to find out how much this young woman knew. "I haven't the least idea," said Miss Annie. "All I know is, she had quite a long talk with him, in the parlor, and after that she came flying up-stairs, just as indignant as she could be. She didn't say much, but I could see how her soul raged within her." And now the young lady stopped speaking, and looked straight into Lawrence's face. "It isn't possible," she said, "that you have been sending my cousin to propose to her for you?"
This was not a pleasant question to answer, and, besides, Lawrence had made up his mind that the period had passed for making confidants of other persons, in regard to his love affairs. "Do you suppose I would do that?" he said.
"No, I don't," Miss Annie answered. "Cousin Junius would never have undertaken such a thing, and I don't believe you would be cruel enough to ask him."
"Thank you for your good opinion," said Lawrence. "And now can you tell me when Mr Keswick is expected to return?"
"He has gone back to Washington, and he told me he should stay there some time."
"And why has not Mrs Keswick been out to see me?" asked Lawrence.
"You are dreadfully inquisitive," said Miss Annie, "but to tell you the simple truth, Mr Croft, I don't believe Aunt Keswick takes any further interest in you, now that Roberta has gone. She had set her heart on making a match between you two, and doing it here without delay; and I think that everything going wrong about this has put her into the state of mind she is in now."
"Has she really gone away?" asked Lawrence.
"Oh, that don't amount to anything," said Miss Annie. "She went over the fields to Howlett's, to see the postmistress, who is an old friend, to whom she often goes for comfort, when things are not right at home. But I am going after her this afternoon in the spring wagon. I'll take Plez along with me to open the gates. I am sure I shall bring her back."
"I must admit, Mrs Null," said Lawrence, "that I am very inquisitive, but you can easily understand how much I am troubled and perplexed."
"I expect Miss March's going away troubled you more than anything else," said she.
"That is true," he answered, "but then there are other things which give me a great deal of anxiety. I came here to be, for a day or two, the guest of a lady on whom I have no manner of claim for prolonged hospitality. And now here I am, compelled to stay in this room and depend on her kindness or forbearance for everything I have. I would go away, immediately, but I know it would injure me to travel. The few steps I took yesterday have probably set me back for several days."
"Oh, it would never do for you to travel," said she, "with such a sprained ankle as you have. It would certainly injure you very much to be driven all the way to the Green Sulphur Springs. I am told the road is very rough, between here and there, but perhaps you didn't notice it, having come over on horseback."
"Yes, I did notice it, and I could not stand that drive. And, even if I could be got to the train, to go North, I should have to walk a good deal at the stations."
"You simply must not think of it," said Miss Annie. "And now let me give you a piece of advice. I am a practical person, as you may know, and I like to do things in a practical way. The very best thing that you can do, is to arrange with Aunt Keswick to stay here as a boarder, until your ankle is well. She has taken boarders, and in this case I don't think she would refuse. As I told you before, you must not expect her to take the same interest in you, that she did when you first came, but she is really a kind woman, though she has such dreadfully funny ways, and she wouldn't have neglected you to-day, if it hadn't been that her mind is entirely wrapped up in other things. If you like, I'll propose such an arrangement to her, this afternoon."
"You are very kind, indeed," said Lawrence, "but is there not danger of offending her by such a proposition?"
"Yes, I think there is," answered Miss Annie, "and I have no doubt she will fly out into a passion when she hears that the gentleman, whom she invited here as a guest, proposes to stay as a boarder, but I think I can pacify her, and make her look at the matter in the proper way." "But why mention it at all, and put yourself to all that trouble about it?" said Lawrence.
"Why, of course, because I think you will be so much better satisfied, and content to keep quiet and get well, if you feel that you have a right to stay here. If Aunt Keswick wasn't so very different from other people, I wouldn't have mentioned this matter for, really, there is no necessity for it; but I know very well that if you were to drop out of her mind for two or three days, and shouldn't see anything of her, that you would become dreadfully nervous about staying here."
"You are certainly very practical, Mrs Null, and very sensible, and very, very kind; and nothing could suit me better under the circumstances than the plan you propose. But I am extremely anxious not to give offence to your aunt. She has treated me with the utmost kindness and hospitality."
"Oh, don't trouble yourself about that," said Miss Annie, with a little laugh. "I am getting to know her so well that I think I can manage an affair like this, very easily. And now I must be off, or it will be too late for me to go to Howlett's, this afternoon, and I am a very slow driver. Are you sure there is nothing you want? I shall go directly past the store, and can stop as well as not."
"Thank you very much," said Lawrence, "but I do not believe that Howlett's possesses an article that I need. One thing I will ask you to do for me before you go. I want to write a letter, and I find that I am out of paper; therefore I shall be very much obliged to you, if you will let me have some, and some envelopes."
"Why, certainly," said Miss Annie, and she went into the house.
She looked over the stock of paper which her aunt kept in a desk in the dining-room, but she did not like it. "I don't believe he will want to write on such ordinary paper as this," she said to herself. Whereupon she went up-stairs and got some of her own paper and envelopes, which were much finer in material and more correct in style. "I don't like it a bit," she thought, "to give this to him to write that letter on, but I suppose it's bound to be written, anyway, so he might as well have the satisfaction of good paper."
"You must excuse these little sheets," she said, when she took it to him, "but you couldn't expect anything else, in an Amazonian household like ours. Cousin Junius has manly stationery, of course, but I suppose it is all locked up in that secretary in your room."
"Oh, this will do very well indeed," said Lawrence; "and I wish I could come out and help you into your vehicle," regarding the spring wagon which now stood at the door, with Plez at the head of the solemn sorrel.
"Thank you," said Miss Annie, "that is not at all necessary." And she tripped over to the spring wagon, and mounting into its altitudes without the least trouble in the world, she took up the reins. With these firmly grasped in her little hands, which were stretched very far out, and held very wide apart, she gave the horse a great jerk and told him to "Get up!" As she moved off, Lawrence from his open door called out: "_Bon voyage_" and in a full, clear voice she thanked him, but did not dare to look around, so intent was she upon her charioteering.
Slowly turning the horse toward the yard gate, which Plez stood holding open, her whole soul was absorbed in the act of guiding the equipage through the gateway. Quickly glancing from side to side, and then at the horse's back, which ought to occupy a medium position between the two gateposts, she safely steered the front wheels through the dangerous pass, although a grin of delight covered the face of Plez as he noticed that the hub of one of the hind wheels almost grazed a post. Then the observant boy ran on to open the other gate, and with many jerks and clucks, Miss Annie induced the sorrel to break into a gentle trot.
As Lawrence looked after her, a little pang made itself noticeable in his conscience. This girl was certainly very kind to him, and most remarkably considerate of him in the plan she had proposed. And yet he felt that he had prevaricated to her, and, in fact, deceived her, in the answer he had made when she asked him if he had sent her cousin to speak for him to Miss March. Would she have such friendly feelings toward him, and be so willing to oblige him, if she knew that he had in effect done the thing which she considered so wrong and so cruel? But it could not be helped; the time had passed for confidences. He must now work out this affair for himself, without regard to persons who really had nothing whatever to do with it.
Closing his door, he hopped back to his table, and, seating himself at it, he opened his travelling inkstand and prepared to write to Miss March. It was absolutely necessary that he should write this letter, immediately, for, after the message he had received from the lady of his love, no time should be lost in putting himself in communication with her. But, before beginning to write, he must decide upon the spirit of his letter.
Under the very peculiar circumstances of his acceptance, he did not feel that he ought to indulge in those rapturous expressions of ecstacy in which he most certainly would have indulged, if the lady had personally delivered her decision to him. He did not doubt her, for what woman would play a joke like that on a man--upon two men, in fact? Even if there were no other reason she would not dare to do it. Nor did he doubt Keswick. It would have been impossible for him to come with such a message, if it had not been delivered to him. And yet Lawrence could not bring himself to be rapturous. If he had been accepted in cold blood, and a hand, and not a heart, had been given to him, he would gladly take that hand and trust to himself to so warm the heart that it, also, would soon be his. But he did not know what Roberta March had given him.
On the other hand, he knew very well if, in his first letter as an accepted lover, he should exhibit any of that caution and prudence which, in the course of his courtship, had proved to be shoals on which he had very nearly run aground, that Roberta's resentment, which had shown itself very marked in this regard, would probably be roused to such an extent that the affair would be brought to a very speedy and abrupt termination. If she had been obliged to forgive him, once, for this line of conduct, he could not expect her to do it again. To write a letter, which should err in neither of these respects, was a very difficult thing to do, and required so much preparatory thought, that when, toward the close of the afternoon, Miss Annie drove in at the yard gate, with Mrs Keswick on the seat beside her, not a line had been written.
Mrs Keswick descended from the spring wagon and went into the house, but Miss Annie remained at the bottom of the steps, for the apparent purpose of speaking to Plez; perhaps to give him some instructions in regard to the leading of a horse to its stable, or to instil into his mind some moral principle or other; but the moment the vehicle moved away, she ran over to the office and tapped at the window, which was quickly opened by Lawrence.
"I have spoken to her about it," she said, "and although she blazed up at first, so that I thought I should be burned alive, I made her understand just how matters really are, and she has agreed to let you stay here as a boarder."
"You are extremely good," said Lawrence, "and must be a most admirable manager. This arrangement makes me feel much better satisfied than I could have been, otherwise." Then leaning a little further out of the window, he asked: "But what am I to do for company, while I am shut up here?"
"Oh, you will have Uncle Isham, and Aunt Keswick, and sometimes me. But I hope that you will soon be able to come into the house, and take your meals, and spend your evenings with us."
"You have nothing but good wishes for me," he said, "and I believe, if you could manage it, you would have me cured by magic, and sent off, well and whole, to-morrow."
"Of course," said Miss Annie, very promptly. "Good night."
Just before supper, Mrs Keswick came in to see Lawrence. She was very grave, almost severe, and her conversation was confined to inquiries as to the state of his ankle, and his general comfort. But Lawrence took no offence at her manner, and was very gracious, saying some exceedingly neat things about the way he had been treated; and, after a little, her manner slightly mollified, and she remarked: "And so you let Miss March go away, without settling anything."
Now Lawrence considered this a very incorrect statement, but he had no wish to set the old lady right. He knew it would joy her heart, and make her more his friend than, ever if he should tell her that Miss March had accepted him, but this would be a very dangerous piece of information to put in her hands. He did not know what use she would make of it, or what damage she might unwittingly do to his prospects. And so he merely answered: "I had no idea she would leave so soon."
"Well," said the old lady, "I suppose, after all, that you needn't give it up yet. I understand that she is not going to New York before the end of the month, and you may be well enough before that to ride over to Midbranch."
"I hope so, most assuredly," said he.
Lawrence devoted that evening to his letter. It was a long one, and was written with a most earnest desire to embrace all the merits of each of the two kinds of letters, which have before been alluded to, and to avoid all their faults. When it was finished, he read it, tore it up, and threw it in the fire. _