_ CHAPTER XXIII
The next day opened bright and clear, and before ten o'clock, the thermometer had risen to seventy degrees. Instead of sitting in front of the fireplace, Lawrence had his chair and table brought close to his open doorway, where he could look out on the same beautiful scene which had greeted his eyes a few days before. "But what is the good," he thought, "of this green grass, this sunny air, that blue sky, those white clouds, and the distant tinted foliage, without that figure, which a few days ago stood in the foreground of the picture?" But, as the woman to whom, in his soul's sight, the whole world was but a background, was not there, he turned his eyes from the warm autumnal scene, and prepared again to write to her. He had scarcely taken up his pen, however, when he was interrupted by the arrival of Miss Annie, who came to bring him a book she had just finished reading, a late English novel which she thought might be more interesting than those she had sent him. The book was one which Lawrence had not seen and wanted to see, but in talking about it, to the young lady, he discovered that she had not read all of it.
"Don't let me deprive you of the book," said Lawrence. "If you have begun it, you ought to go on with it."
"Oh, don't trouble your mind about that," she said, with a laugh. "I have finished it, but I have not read a word of the beginning. I only looked at the end of it, to see how the story turned out. I always do that, before I read a novel."
This remark much amused Lawrence. "Do you know," said he, "that I would rather not read novels at all, than to read them in that way. I must begin at the beginning, and go regularly through, as the author wishes his readers to do."
"And perhaps, when you get to the end," said Miss Annie, "you'll find that the wrong man got her, and then you'll wish you had not read the story."
"As you appear to be satisfied with this novel," said Lawrence, "I wish you would read it to me, and then I would feel that I was not taking an uncourteous precedence of you."
"I'll read it to you," said she, "or, at least, as much as you want me to, for I feel quite sure that after you get interested in it, you will want to take it, yourself, and read straight on till it is finished, instead of waiting for some one to come and give you a chapter or two at a time. That would be the way with me, I know."
"I shall be delighted to have you read to me," said Lawrence. "When can you begin?"
"Now," she said, "if you choose. But perhaps you wish to write."
"Not at this moment," said Lawrence, turning from the table. "Unfortunately I have plenty of leisure. Where will you sit?" And he reached out his hand for a chair.
"Oh, I don't want a chair," said Annie, taking her seat on the broad door-step. "This is exactly what I like. I am devoted to sitting on steps. Don't you think there is something dreadfully stiff about always being perched up in a chair?"
"Yes," said Lawrence, "on some occasions."
And, forthwith, she began upon the first chapter; and having read five lines of this, she went back and read the title page, suddenly remembering that Mr Croft liked to begin a book at the very beginning. Miss Annie had been accustomed to read to her father, and she read aloud very well, and liked it. As she sat there, shaded by a great locust tree, which had dropped so many yellow leaves upon the grass, that, now and then, it could not help letting a little fleck of sunshine come down upon her, sometimes gilding for a moment her light-brown hair, sometimes touching the end of a crimson ribbon she wore, and again resting for a brief space on the toe of a very small boot just visible at the edge of her dress, Lawrence looked at her, and said to himself: "Is it possible that this is the rather pale young girl in black, who gave me change from behind the desk of Mr Candy's Information Shop? I don't believe it. That young person sprang up, temporarily, and is defunct. This is some one else."
She read three chapters before she considered it time to go into the house to see if it was necessary for her to do anything about dinner. When she left him, Lawrence turned again to his writing.
That afternoon, he sent Mrs Null a little note on the back of a card, asking her if she could let him have a few more sheets of paper. Lawrence found this request necessary, as he had used up that day all the paper she had sent him, and the small torn pieces of it now littered the fireplace.
"He must be writing a diary letter," said Miss Annie to herself when, she received this message, "such as we girls used to write when we were at school." And, bringing down a little the corners of her mouth, she took from her stationery box what she thought would be quite paper enough to send to a man for such a purpose.
But, although the means were thus made abundant, the letter to Miss March was not then written. Lawrence finally determined that it was simply impossible for him to write to the lady, until he knew more. What Keswick had told him had been absurdly little, and he had hurried away before there had been time to ask further questions. Instead of sending a letter to Miss March, he would write to Keswick, and would put to him a series of interrogations, the answers to which would make him understand better the position in which he stood. Then he would write to Miss March.
The next day Miss Annie could not read to him in the morning, because, as she came and told him, she was going to Howlett's, on an errand for her aunt. But there would be time to give him a chapter or two before dinner, when she came back.
"Would it be any trouble," said Lawrence, "for you to mail a letter for me?"
"Oh, no," said Miss Annie, but not precisely in the same tone in which she would have told him that it would be no trouble to read to him two or three chapters of a novel. And yet she would pass directly by the residence of Miss Harriet Corvey, the post-mistress.
As Miss Annie walked along the narrow path which ran by the roadside to Howlett's, with the blue sky above her, and the pleasant October sunshine all about her, and followed at a little distance by the boy Plez, carrying a basket, she did not seem to be taking that enjoyment in her walk which was her wont. Her brows were slightly contracted and she looked straight in front of her, without seeing anything in particular, after the manner of persons whose attention is entirely occupied in looking into their own minds, at something they do not like. "It is too much!" she said, almost loud, her brows contracting a little more as she spoke. "It was bad enough to have to furnish the paper, but for me to have to carry the letter, is entirely too much!" And, at this, she involuntarily glanced at the thick and double stamped missive, which, having no pocket, she carried in her hand. She had not looked at it before, and as her eyes fell upon the address, she stopped so suddenly that Plez, who was dozing as he walked, nearly ran into her. "What!" she exclaimed, "'Junius Keswick, five Q street, Washington, District of Columbia!' Is it possible that Mr Croft has been writing to him, all this time?" She now walked on; and although she still seemed to notice not the material objects around her, the frown disappeared from her brow, and her mental vision seemed to be fixed upon something more pleasant than that which had occupied it before. As it will be remembered, she had refused positively to have anything to do with Lawrence's suit to Miss March, and it was a relief to her to know that the letter she was carrying was not for that lady. "But why," thought she, "should he be writing, for two whole evenings, to Junius. I expected that he would write to her, to find out why she went off and left him in that way, but I did not suppose he would want to write to Junius. It seems to me they had time enough, that night they were together, to talk over everything they had to say."
And then she began to wonder what they had to say, and, gradually, the conviction grew upon her that Mr Croft was a very, very honorable man. Of course it was wrong that he should have come here to try to win a lady who, if one looked at it in the proper light, really belonged to another. But it now came into her mind that Mr Croft must, by degrees, have seen this, for himself, and that it was the subject of his long conference with Junius, and also, most probably, of this letter. The conference certainly ended amicably, and, in that case, it was scarcely possible that Junius had given up his claim. He was not that kind of a man.
If Mr Croft had become convinced that he ought to retire from this contest, and had done so, and Roberta had been informed of it, that would explain everything that had happened. Roberta's state of mind, after she had had the talk in the parlor with Junius, and her hurried departure, without taking the slightest notice of either of the gentlemen, was quite natural. What woman would like to know that she had been bargained about, and that her two lovers had agreed which of them should have her? It was quite to be expected that she would be very angry, at first, though there was no doubt she would get over it, so far as Junius was concerned.
Having thus decided, entirely to her own satisfaction, that this was the state of affairs, she thought it was a grand thing that there were two such young men in the world, as her cousin and Mr Croft, who could arrange such an affair in so kindly and honorable a manner, without feeling that they were obliged to fight--that horribly stupid way in which such things used to be settled.
This vision of masculine high-mindedness, which Miss Annie had called up, seemed very pleasant to her, and her mental satisfaction was denoted by a pretty little glow which came into her face, and by a certain increase of sprightliness in her walk. "Now then,--" she said to herself; and although she did not finish the sentence, even in her own mind, the sky increased the intensity of its beautiful blue; the sun began to shine with a more golden radiance; the little birds who had not yet gone South, chirped to each other as merrily as if it had been early summer; the yellow and purple wild flowers of autumn threw into their blossoms a richer coloring; and even the blades of grass seemed to stretch themselves upward, green, tender, and promising; and when the young lady skipped up the step of the post-office, she dropped the letter into Miss Harriet Corvey's little box, with the air of a mother-bird feeding a young one with the first ripe cherry of the year.
A day or two after this, Lawrence found himself able, by the aid of a cane and a rude crutch, which Uncle Isham had made for him and the top of which Mrs Keswick had carefully padded, to make his way from the office to the house; and, after that, he took his meals, and passed the greater part of his time in the larger edifice. Sometimes, he ransacked the old library; sometimes, Miss Annie read to him; and sometimes, he read to her. In the evening, there were games of cards, in which the old lady would occasionally take a hand, although more frequently Miss Annie and Mr Croft were obliged to content themselves with some game at which two could play. But the pleasantest hours, perhaps, were those which were spent in talking, for Lawrence had travelled a good deal, and had seen so many of the things in foreign lands which Miss Annie had always wished, that she could see. Lawrence was waiting until he should hear from Mr Keswick; so that, with some confidence in his position, he could write to Miss March. His trunk had been sent over from the Green Sulphur Springs, and he was much better satisfied to wait here than at that deserted watering-place. It was, indeed, a very agreeable spot in which to wait, and quite near enough to Midbranch for him to carry on his desired operations, when the time should arrive. He was a little annoyed that Keswick's answer should be so long in coming, but he resolved not to worry himself about it. The answer was, probably, a difficult letter to write, and one which Keswick would not be likely to dash off in a hurry. He remembered, too, that the mail was sent and received only twice a week at Howlett's.
Old Mrs Keswick was kind to him, but grave, and rather silent. Once she passed the open door of the parlor, by the window of which sat Miss Annie and Lawrence, deeply engaged, their heads together, in studying out something on a map, and as she went up-stairs she grimly grinned, and said to herself: "If that Null could look in and see them now, I reckon our young man would wish he had the use of all his arms and legs."
But if Mr Null should disapprove of his wife and that gentleman from New York spending so much of their time together, old Mrs Keswick had not the least objection in the world. She was well satisfied that Mr Croft should find it interesting enough to stay here until the time came when he should be able to go to Midbranch. When that period arrived she would not be slow to urge him to his duty, in spite of any obstacles Mr Brandon might put in his way. So, for the present, she possessed her soul in as much peace as the soul of a headstrong and very wilful old lady is capable of being possessed. _