Part 6 (1/2)
Rufus expressed his opinion of the wisdom of putting this question with his customary plainness of language. ”When there's a rash thing to be done by a man and a woman together, sir, philosophers have remarked that it's always the woman who leads the way. Of course she was alone.”
”She had a little present for me on my birthday,” Amelius explained--”a purse of her own making. And she was afraid of the ridicule of the young women, if she gave it to me openly. 'You have my heart's dearest wishes for your happiness; think of me sometimes, Amelius, when you open your purse.' If you had been in my place, could you have told her to go away, when she said that, and put her gift into your hand? Not if she had been looking at you at the moment--I'll swear you couldn't have done it!”
The lean yellow face of Rufus Dingwell relaxed for the first time into a broad grin. ”There are further particulars, sir, stated in the newspaper,” he said slily.
”d.a.m.n the newspaper!” Amelius answered.
Rufus bowed, serenely courteous, with the air of a man who accepted a British oath as an unwilling compliment paid by the old country to the American press. ”The newspaper report states, sir, that she kissed you.”
”It's a lie!” Amelius shouted.
”Perhaps it's an error of the press,” Rufus persisted. ”Perhaps, _you_ kissed _her?”_
”Never mind what I did,” said Amelius savagely.
Mr. Hethcote felt it necessary to interfere. He addressed Rufus in his most magnificent manner. ”In England, Mr. Dingwell, a gentleman is not in the habit of disclosing these--er--these--er, er--”
”These kissings in a wood?” suggested Rufus. ”In my country, sir, we do not regard kissing, in or out of a wood, in the light of a shameful proceeding. Quite the contrary, I do a.s.sure you.”
Amelius recovered his temper. The discussion was becoming too ridiculous to be endured by the unfortunate person who was the object of it.
”Don't let us make mountains out of molehills,” he said. ”I did kiss her--there! A woman pressing the prettiest little purse you ever saw into your hand, and wis.h.i.+ng you many happy returns of the day with the tears in her eyes; I should like to know what else was to be done but to kiss her. Ah, yes, smooth out your newspaper report, and have another look at it! She _did_ rest her head on my shoulder, poor soul, and she _did_ say, 'Oh, Amelius, I thought my heart was turned to stone; feel how you have made it beat!' When I remembered what she had told me in the boat, I declare to G.o.d I almost burst out crying myself--it was so innocent and so pitiful.”
Rufus held out his hand with true American cordiality. ”I do a.s.sure you, sir, I meant no harm,” he said. ”The right grit is in you, and no mistake--and there goes the newspaper!” He rolled up the slip, and flung it overboard.
Mr. Hethcote nodded his entire approval of this proceeding. Amelius went on with his story.
”I'm near the end now,” he said. ”If I had known it would have taken so long to tell--never mind! We got out of the wood at last, Mr. Rufus; and left it without a suspicion that we had been watched. I was prudent enough (when it was too late, you will say) to suggest to her that we had better be careful for the future. Instead of taking it seriously, she laughed. 'Have you altered your mind, since you wrote to me?' I asked. 'To be sure I have,' she said. 'When I wrote to you I forgot the difference between your age and mine. Nothing that _we_ do will be taken seriously. I am afraid of their laughing at me, Amelius; but I am afraid of nothing else.' I did my best to undeceive her. I told her plainly that people unequally matched in years--women older than men, as well as men older than women--were not uncommonly married among us. The council only looked to their being well suited in other ways, and declined to trouble itself about the question of age. I don't think I produced much effect; she seemed, for once in her life, poor thing, to be too happy to look beyond the pa.s.sing moment. Besides, there was the birthday festival to keep her mind from dwelling on doubts and fears that were not agreeable to her. And the next day there was another event to occupy our attention--the arrival of the lawyer's letter from London, with the announcement of my inheritance on coming of age. It was settled, as you know, that I was to go out into the world, and to judge for myself; but the date of my departure was not fixed. Two days later, the storm that had been gathering for weeks past burst on us--we were cited to appear before the council to answer for an infraction of the Rules. Everything that I have confessed to you, and some things besides that I have kept to myself, lay formally inscribed on a sheet of paper placed on the council table--and pinned to the sheet of paper was Mellicent's letter to me, found in my room. I took the whole blame on myself, and insisted on being confronted with the unknown person who had informed against us. The council met this by a question:--'Is the information, in any particular, false?' Neither of us could deny that it was, in every particular, true. Hearing this, the council decided that there was no need, on our own showing, to confront us with the informer. From that day to this, I have never known who the spy was. Neither Mellicent nor I had an enemy in the Community. The girls who had seen us on the lake, and some other members who had met us together, only gave their evidence on compulsion--and even then they prevaricated, they were so fond of us and so sorry for us. After waiting a day, the governing body p.r.o.nounced their judgment. Their duty was prescribed to them by the Rules. We were sentenced to six months' absence from the Community; to return or not as we pleased. A hard sentence, gentlemen--whatever _we_ may think of it--to homeless and friendless people, to the Fallen Leaves that had drifted to Tadmor. In my case it had been already arranged that I was to leave. After what had happened, my departure was made compulsory in four-and-twenty hours; and I was forbidden to return, until the date of my sentence had expired. In Mellicent's case they were still more strict. They would not trust her to travel by herself. A female member of the Community was appointed to accompany her to the house of her married sister at New York: she was ordered to be ready for the journey by sunrise the next morning. We both understood, of course, that the object of this was to prevent our travelling together. They might have saved themselves the trouble of putting obstacles in our way.”
”So far as You were concerned, I suppose?” said Mr. Hethcote.
”So far as She was concerned also,” Amelius answered.
”How did she take it, sir?” Rufus inquired.
”With a composure that astonished us all,” said Amelius. ”We had antic.i.p.ated tears and entreaties for mercy. She stood up perfectly calm, far calmer than I was, with her head turned towards me, and her eyes resting quietly on my face. If you can imagine a woman whose whole being was absorbed in looking into the future; seeing what no mortal creature about her saw; sustained by hopes that no mortal creature about her could share--you may see her as I did, when she heard her sentence p.r.o.nounced. The members of the Community, accustomed to take leave of an erring brother or sister with loving and merciful words, were all more or less distressed as they bade her farewell. Most of the women were in tears as they kissed her. They said the same kind words to her over and over again. 'We are heartily sorry for you, dear; we shall all be glad to welcome you back.' They sang our customary hymn at parting--and broke down before they got to the end. It was _she_ who consoled _them!_ Not once, through all that melancholy ceremony, did she lose her strange composure, her rapt mysterious look. I was the last to say farewell; and I own I couldn't trust myself to speak. She held my hand in hers. For a moment, her face lighted up softly with a radiant smile--then the strange preoccupied expression flowed over her again, like shadow over a light. Her eyes, still looking into mine, seemed to look beyond me. She spoke low, in sad steady tones. 'Be comforted, Amelius; the end is not yet.' She put her hands on my head, and drew it down to her. 'You will come back to me,' she whispered--and kissed me on the forehead, before them all. When I looked up again, she was gone. I have neither seen her nor heard from her since. It's all told, gentlemen--and some of it has distressed me in the telling. Let me go away for a minute by myself, and look at the sea.”
BOOK THE SECOND. AMELIUS IN LONDON
CHAPTER 1
Oh, Rufus Dingwell, it is such a rainy day! And the London street which I look out on from my hotel window presents such a dirty and such a miserable view! Do you know, I hardly feel like the same Amelius who promised to write to you when you left the steamer at Queenstown. My spirits are sinking; I begin to feel old. Am I in the right state of mind to tell you what are my first impressions of London? Perhaps I may alter my opinion. At present (this is between ourselves), I don't like London or London people--excepting two ladies, who, in very different ways, have interested and charmed me.
Who are the ladies? I must tell you what I heard about them from Mr.
Hethcote, before I present them to you on my own responsibility.
After you left us, I found the last day of the voyage to Liverpool dull enough. Mr. Hethcote did not seem to feel it in the same way: on the contrary, he grew more familiar and confidential in his talk with me. He has some of the English stiffness, you see, and your American pace was a little too fast for him. On our last night on board, we had some more conversation about the Farnabys. You were not interested enough in the subject to attend to what he said about them while you were with us; but if you are to be introduced to the ladies, you must be interested now.
Let me first inform you that Mr. and Mrs. Farnaby have no children; and let me add that they have adopted the daughter and orphan child of Mrs.
Farnaby's sister. This sister, it seems, died many years ago, surviving her husband for a few months only. To complete the story of the past, death has also taken old Mr. Ronald, the founder of the stationer's business, and his wife, Mrs. Farnaby's mother. Dry facts these--I don't deny it; but there is something more interesting to follow. I have next to tell you how Mr. Hethcote first became acquainted with Mrs. Farnaby.