_ CHAPTER XXIX
On the following Monday, Lawrence announced that his ankle was now quite well enough for him to go to New York, where his affairs required his presence. Neither he, nor the late Mrs Null, regarded this parting with any satisfaction, but their very natural regrets at the necessary termination of these happy autumn days were a good deal tempered by the fact that Lawrence intended to return in a few weeks, and that then the final arrangements would be made for their marriage. It was not easy to decide what these arrangements would be, for in spite of the many wrongnesses of the old lady's head and heart, Annie had conceived a good deal of affection for her aunt, and felt a strong disinclination to abandon her to her lonely life, which would be more lonely than before, now that Junius was to be married. On the other hand, Lawrence, although he had discovered some estimable points in the very peculiar character of Mrs Keswick, had no intention of living in the same house with her. This whole matter, therefore, was left in abeyance until the lovers should meet again, some time in December.
Lawrence and Annie had desired very much that Junius should visit them before Mr Croft's departure for the North, for they both had a high esteem for him, and both felt a desire that he should be as well satisfied with their matrimonial project as they were with his. But they need not have expected him. Junius had conceived a dislike for Mr Croft, which was based in great part upon disapprobation of what he himself had done in connection with that gentleman; and this manner of dislike is not easily set aside. The time would come when he would take Lawrence Croft and Annie by the hand, and honestly congratulate them, but for that time they must wait.
Lawrence departed in the afternoon; and the next day Mrs Keswick set about that general renovation and rearrangement of her establishment which many good housewives consider necessary at certain epochs, such as the departure of guests, the coming in of spring, or the advent of winter. These arrangements occupied two days, and on the evening that they were finished to her satisfaction, the old lady informed her niece, that early the next morning, she was going to start for Midbranch, and that it was possible, nay, quite probable, that she would stay there over a night. "I might go and come back the same day," she said, "but thirty miles a day is too much for Billy, and besides, I am not sure I could get through what I have to do, if I do not stay over. I would take you with me but this is not to be a mere visit; I have important things to attend to, and you would be in the way. You got along so well without me when you first came here that I have no doubt you will do very well for one night. I shall drive myself, and take Plez along with me, and leave Uncle Isham and Letty to take care of you."
Under ordinary circumstances Annie would have been delighted to go to Midbranch, a place she had never seen, and of which she had heard so much, but she had no present desire to see Roberta March, and said so; further remarking that she was very willing to stay by herself for a night. She hoped much that her aunt would proceed with the conversation, and tell her why she had determined upon such an extraordinary thing as a visit to Midbranch; where she knew the old lady had not been for many, many years. But Mrs Keswick had nothing further to say upon this subject, and began to talk of other matters.
After a very early breakfast next morning, Mrs Keswick set out upon her journey, driving the sorrel horse with much steadiness, intermingled with severity whenever he allowed himself to drop out of his usual jogging pace. Plez sat in the back part of the spring-wagon, and whenever the old lady saw an unusually large stone lying in the track of the road, she would stop, and make him get out and throw it to one side.
"I believe," she said, on one of these occasions, "that a thousand men in buggies might pass along this road thrice a day for a year, and never think of stopping to throw that rock out of the way of people's wheels. They would steer around it every time, or bump over it, but such a thing as moving it would never enter their heads."
The morning was somewhat cool, but fine, and the smile which occasionally flitted over the corrugated countenance of Mrs Keswick seemed to indicate that she was in a pleasant state of mind, which might have been occasioned by the fine weather and the good condition of the roads, or by cheerful anticipations connected with her visit.
It was not very long after noonday that, with a stifled remark of disapprobation upon her lips, she drew up at the foot of the broad flight of steps by which one crossed the fence into the Midbranch yard. Giving Billy into the charge of Plez, with directions to take him round to the stables and tell somebody to put him up and feed him, she mounted the steps, and stopped for a minute or so on the broad platform at the top; looking about her as she stood. Everything, the house, the yard, the row of elms along the fence, the wide-spreading fields, and the farm buildings and cabins, some of which she could see around the end of the house, were all on a scale so much larger and more imposing than those of her own little estate that, although nothing had changed for the better since the days when she was familiar with Midbranch, she was struck with the general superiority of the Brandon possessions to her own. Her eyes twinkled, and she smiled; but there did not appear to be anything envious about her.
She presented a rather remarkable figure as she stood in this conspicuous position. Annie had insisted, when she was helping her aunt to array herself for the journey, that she should wear a bonnet which for many years had been her head-gear on Sundays and important occasions, but to this the old lady positively objected. She was not going on a mere visit of state or ceremony; her visit at Midbranch would require her whole attention, and she did not wish to distract her mind by wondering whether her bonnet was straight on her head or not, and she was so unaccustomed to the feel of it that she would never know if it got turned hind part foremost. She could never be at her ease, nor say freely what she wished to say, if she were dressed in clothes to which she was not accustomed. She was perfectly accustomed to her sun-bonnet, and she intended to wear that. Of course she carried her purple umbrella, and she wore a plain calico dress, blue spotted with white, which was very narrow and short in the skirt, barely touching the tops of her shoes, the stoutest and most serviceable that could be procured in the store at Howlett's. She covered her shoulders with a small red shawl which, much to Annie's surprise, she fastened with a large and somewhat tarnished silver brooch, an ornament her niece had never before seen. Attired thus, she certainly would have attracted attention, had there been any one there to see, but the yard was empty, and the house door closed. She descended the steps, crossed the yard with what might be termed a buoyant gait, and, mounting the porch, knocked on the door with the handle of her umbrella. After some delay a colored woman appeared, and as soon as the door was opened, Mrs Keswick walked in.
"Where is your master?" said she, forgetting all about the Emancipation Act.
"Mahs' Robert is in the libery," said the woman.
"And where are Miss Roberta March and Master Junius Keswick?"
"Miss Rob went Norf day 'fore yestiddy," was the answer, "an' Mahs' Junius done gone 'long to 'scort her. Who shall I tell Mahs' Robert is come?"
"There is no need to tell him who I am," said Mrs Keswick. "Just take me in to him. That's all you have to do."
A good deal doubtful of the propriety of this proceeding, but more doubtful of the propriety of opposing the wishes of such a determined-looking visitor, the woman stepped to the back part of the hall, and opened the door. The moment she did so, Mrs Keswick entered, and closed the door behind her.
Mr Brandon was seated in an arm chair by a table, and not very far from a wood fire of a size suited to the season. His slippered feet were on a cushioned stool; his eye-glasses were carefully adjusted on the capacious bridge of his nose; and, intent upon a newspaper which had arrived by that morning's mail, he presented the appearance of a very well satisfied old gentleman, in very comfortable circumstances. But when he turned his head and saw the Widow Keswick close the door behind her, every idea of satisfaction or comfort seemed to vanish from his mind. He dropped the paper; he rose to his feet; he took off his eye-glasses; he turned somewhat red in the face; and he ejaculated: "What! madam! So it is you, Mrs Keswick?"
The old lady did not immediately answer. Her head dropped a little on one side, a broad smile bewrinkled the lower part of her well-worn visage, and with her eyes half-closed, behind her heavy spectacles, she held out both her hands, the purple umbrella in one of them, and exclaimed in a voice of happy fervor: "Robert! I am yours!"
Mr Brandon, recovered from his first surprise, had made a step forward to go round the table and greet his visitor; but at these words he stopped as if he had been shot. Perception, understanding, and even animation, seemed to have left him as he vacantly stared at the elderly female with purple sun-bonnet and umbrella, blue calico gown, red shawl and coarse boots, who held out her arms towards him, and who gazed upon him with an air of tender, though decrepit, fondness.
"Don't you understand me, Robert?" she continued. "Don't you remember the day, many a good long year ago, it is true, when we walked together down there by the branch, and you asked me to be yours? I refused you, Robert, and, although you went down on your knees in the damp grass and besought me to give you my heart, I would not do it. But I did not know you then as I know you now, Robert, and the words of true love which you spoke to me that morning come to me now with a sweetness which I was too young and trifling to notice then. That heart is yours now, Robert. I am yours." And, with these words, she made a step forward.
At this demonstration Mr Brandon appeared suddenly to recover his consciousness and he precipitately made two steps backwards, just missing tumbling over his footstool into the fireplace.
"Madam!" he exclaimed, "what are you talking about?"
"Of the days of our courtship, and your love, Robert," she said. "My love did not come then, but it is here now. Here now," she repeated, putting the hand with the umbrella in it on her breast.
"Madam," exclaimed the old gentleman, "you must be raving crazy! Those things to which you allude, happened nearly half a century ago; and since that you have been married and settled, and----"
"Robert," interrupted the Widow Keswick, "you are mistaken. It is not quite forty-five years since that morning, and why should hearts like ours allow the passage of time or the mere circumstance of what might be called an outside marriage, but now extinct, to come between them? There is many a spring, Robert, which does not show when a man first begins to dig, but it will bubble up in time. And, Robert, it bubbles now." And with her head bent a little downwards, although her eyes were still fixed upon him, she made another step in his direction.
Mr Brandon now backed himself flat against some book-shelves in his rear. The perspiration began to roll from his face, and his whole form trembled. "Mrs Keswick! Madam!" he exclaimed, "You will drive me mad!"
The old lady dropped the end of her umbrella on the floor, rested her two hands on the head of it, settled herself into an easy position to speak, and, with her head thrown back, fixed a steady gaze upon the trembling old gentleman. "Robert," she said, "do not try to crush emotions which always were a credit to you, although in those days gone by I didn't tell you so. Your hair was black then, Robert, and you looked taller, for you hadn't a stoop, and your face was very smooth, and so was mine, and I remember I had on a white dress with a broad ribbon around the waist, and neither of us wore specs. What you said to me was very fresh and sweet, Robert, and it all comes to me now as it never came before. You have never loved another, Robert, and you don't know how happy it makes me to think that, and to know that I can come to you and find you the same true and constant lover that you were when, forty-five years ago, you went down on your knees to me by the branch. We can't stifle those feelings of by-gone days which well up in our bosoms, Robert. After all these years I have learned what a prize your true love is, and I return it. I am yours."
At this Mr Brandon opened his mouth with a spasmodic gasp, but no word came from him. He looked to the right and left, and then made a lunge to one side, as if he would run around the old lady and gain the door. But Mrs Keswick was too quick for him. With two sudden springs she reached the door and put her back against it.
"Don't leave me, Robert," she said, "I have not told you all. Don't you remember this breastpin?" unfastening the large silver brooch from her shawl and holding it out to him. "You gave it to me, Robert; there were almost tears of joy in your eyes on the first day I wore it, although I was careful to let you know it meant nothing. Where are those tears to-day, Robert? It means something now. I have kept it all these years, although in the lifetime of Mr Keswick it was never cleaned, and I wore it to-day, Robert, that your eyes might rest upon it once again, and that you might speak to me the words you spoke to me the day after I let you pin it on my white neckerchief. You waited then, Robert, a whole day before you spoke, but you needn't wait now. Let your heart speak out, dear Robert."
But dear Robert appeared to have no power to speak, on this or any other subject. He was half sitting, half leaning on the corner of a table which stood by a window, out of which he gave sudden agonized and longing glances, as if, had he strength enough, he would raise the sash and leap out.
The old lady, however, had speech enough for two. "Robert," she exclaimed, "how happy may we be, yet! If you wish to give up, to a younger couple, this spacious mansion, these fine grounds and noble elms, and come to my humble home, I shall only say to you, 'Robert, come!' I shall be alone there, Robert, and shall welcome you with joy. I have nobody now to give anything to. The late Mrs Null, by which I mean my niece, will marry a man who, if reports don't lie, is rich enough to make her want nothing that I have; and as for Junius, he is to have your property, as we all know. So all I have is yours, if you choose to come to me, Robert. But, if you would rather live here, I will come to you, and the young people can board with us until your decease; after that, I'll board with them. And I'm not sure, Robert, but I like the plan of coming here best. There are lots of improvements we could make on this place, with you to furnish the money, and me to advise and direct. The first thing I'd do would be to have down those abominable steps over the front fence, and put a decent gate in its place; and then we would have a gravelled walk across the yard to the porch, wide enough for you and me, Robert, to walk together arm-in-arm when we would go out to look over the plantation, or stroll down to that spot on the branch, Robert, where the first plightings of our troth began."
The words of tender reminiscence, and of fond though rather late devotion, with which Mrs Keswick had stabbed and gashed the soul of the poor old gentleman, had at first deranged his senses, and then driven him into a state of abject despair, but the practical remarks which succeeded seemed to have a more direful effect upon him. The idea of the being with the sun-bonnet and the umbrella entering into his life at Midbranch, tearing down the broad steps which his honored father had built, cutting a gravelled path across the green turf which had been the pride of generations, and doing, no man could say what else, of advice and direction, seemed to strike a chill of terror into his very bones.
The quick perception of Mrs Keswick told her that it was time to terminate the interview. "I will not say anything more to you now, Robert," she said. "Of course you have been surprised at my coming to you to-day, and accepting your offer of marriage, and you must have time to quiet your mind, and think it over. I don't doubt your affection, Robert, and I don't want to hurry you. I am going to stay here to-night, so that we can have plenty of time to settle everything comfortably. I'll go now and get one of the servants to show me to a room where I can take off my things. I'll see you again at dinner."
And, with a smile of antiquated coyness, she left the room. _