Part 11 (1/2)
”Do I look as if I were laughing at you?” And indeed he did not.
”Well, but,” I continued, ”you know perfectly well I like you, and would do anything in the world to serve you, but that cannot make up for my inability to do it, you see.”
”You can do a great deal to help me,” he answered. ”There are a hundred ways in which you can prove yourself my friend.”
I laughed incredulously.
”You doubt it?” he said. ”Listen, little girl. I have not many friends.
I do not choose to believe in many people. I choose to believe in you; therefore you can do me a kindness by keeping alive in my heart a little faith in human nature. I have many cares to hara.s.s me in the present; much that is sad to remember of the past. By your youth and cheerfulness you can brighten the one; by your gentleness and sympathy you can soothe the recollections of the other. Youth is gone from me forever, but you can be the link between it and me, and keep it in sight a little longer.
You can show me what I once was, earnest, hopeful, and trusting, and so keep me from forgetting what I should be. Above all, you can be honest, and never deceive me; and faithful, and never withdraw from your allegiance. This is what you can do for me: now, what can I do for you?”
I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come, so he helped me to them.
”You find it difficult to enumerate my duties? Something like this, perhaps, is what you will require of me. I must be careful not to wound the sensitiveness of one naturally much more susceptible to unkindness than myself. I must bear patiently with childish faults, and not forget the indulgence due to youth. I must be just and unflattering, and when my maturer judgment suggests amendment, it is my duty, is it not, to point it out? For having been over the same ground that you are to travel, I can give you many hints that will make your path an easier one, if you will but receive them. And finally, I am to have your interest always at heart, and to observe the same faith and truthfulness toward you that I expect you to maintain toward me. Will you subscribe to that? Is it what you would require of me?”
”Yes, that is fair, I think.”
”Well, then, give me your hand upon it, and remember the compact is sealed; we are friends henceforth! Stay, what shall we have as a reminder of this promise? Some pledge, some security is necessary, for we might forget, in the lapse of years, you know.”
He went up to an escritoire in a distant corner of the room, and unlocking it, took from a secret drawer two or three little boxes, and from these selecting one, replaced the others, turned the key, and came back to the table. The box contained a bracelet of curious foreign coins, handsomely mounted--a very unique and elegant ornament. This Mr.
Rutledge proceeded to fit around my wrist, and with my a.s.sistance (having the use of only one hand) clasped.
”Are you willing to wear it always,” he said, ”_in memoriam_?”
”Yes.”
”Well, then good bye to liberty!” and he turned a tiny gold key that I had not noticed in the clasp, and took it out. I must confess to a feeling not unlike bondage when the lock was snapped and the key withdrawn; and involuntarily exclaimed:
”But what if I want to take it off?”
”You must not want to, the thing is irrevocable,” he said coolly, fastening the key upon his watch-chain, ”help me with this. I have but one hand, you know.”
”I don't altogether like the idea,” I said obeying him nevertheless, and arranging the little key on his chain.
”You should have thought of that before,” he said with a laugh. ”It is too late to retract. You may well look serious,” he continued noticing my expression. ”You forgot, when you made it, what a solemn thing a promise was; but now you'll have something to remind you of its weight, and of the impossibility of getting rid of it. There's no danger now that you'll forget you promised to be my friend; you are bound, irrevocably, solemnly, forever!”
”I thought you weren't to tease,” I exclaimed shaking my arm. ”It's a very pretty thing, but I shall hate it if I feel that I must wear it always, and that I can't take it off when I want to.”
”That's exactly what I meant to guard against. If you could take it off whenever you were tired of it, you would of course soon throw it aside, and there would be an end of compact, friends.h.i.+p and all. I hope you know me better than to suppose I would be satisfied with such an arrangement! _Now_, no matter how many little obstacles in the way of oceans, mountains, and other imbecile contrivances of Nature for the separation of friends, intervene, I shall feel as if I had a check upon your conduct, a guardian of my place in your affections that will make me quite easy about it. For you know of course, the legends that are related of such gifts. I hope you are not superst.i.tious, but you remember the power attributed to them; how such a pledge will surely take the giver's part, and grow tighter and tighter till the pain is unendurable should the wearer, in her inmost heart, harbor a thought of treachery or faithlessness.”
”I suppose, sir, having my arm amputated in case I changed my mind, would free me from the obligation of wearing it, would it not?”
Mr. Rutledge shook his head gravely.
”I am not of the opinion that it would; but I hope we shall not have to proceed to any such extreme measures.”