Part 5 (1/2)
”I think that Richard loves Judith.”
”Molly, Molly, stop romancing!”
”I am not romancing. I don't believe in it. That week last summer he used to watch her and Mr. Stafford--and there was a look in his eyes like the knight's in the 'Arcadia'--”
”Molly! Molly!”
”And everybody knew that Mr. Stafford was a suitor. _I_ knew it--Easter told me. And everybody thought that Judith was going to make him happy, only she doesn't seem to have done so--at least, not yet. And there was the big tournament, and Richard and Dundee took all the rings, though I know that Mr. Stafford had expected to, and Judith let Richard crown her queen, but she looked just as pale and still! and Richard had a line between his brows, and I think he thought she would rather have had the Maid of Honour's crown that Mr. Stafford won and gave to just a little girl--”
”Molly, I am going to lock up every poetry book in the house--”
”And that was one day, and the next morning Richard looked stern and fine, and rode away. He isn't really handsome--not like Edward, that is--only he has a way of looking so. And Judith--”
”Molly, you're uncanny--”
”I'm not uncanny. I can't help seeing. And the night after the tournament I slept in Judith's room, and I woke up three times, and each time there was Judith still sitting in the window, in the moonlight, and the roses Richard had crowned her with beside her in grandmother's Lowestoft bowl. And each time I asked her, 'Why don't you come to bed, Judith?' and each time she said, 'I'm not sleepy.' Then in the morning Richard rode away, and the next day was Sunday, and Judith went to church both morning and evening, and that night she took so long to say her prayers she must have been praying for the whole world--”
Miss Lucy rose with energy. ”Stop, Molly! I shouldn't have let you ever begin. It's not kind to watch people like that.”
”I wasn't watching Judith,” said Molly. ”I'd scorn to do such a thing! I was just seeing. And I never said a word about her and Richard until this instant when the suns.h.i.+ne came in somehow and started it. And I don't know that she likes Richard any more. I think she's trying hard to like Mr. Stafford--he wants her to so much!”
”Stop talking, honey, and don't have so many fancies, and don't read so much poetry!--Who is it coming up the drive?”
”It's Mr. Wood on his old grey horse--like a nice, quiet knight out of the 'Faery Queen.' Didn't you ever notice, Aunt Lucy, how everybody really belongs in a book?”
On the old, broad, pillared porch the two found the second Miss Cary and young Hairston Breckinridge. Apparently in training the roses they had discovered a thorn. They sat in silence--at opposite sides of the steps--nursing the recollection. Breckinridge regarded the toe of his boot, Unity the distant Blue Ridge, until, Mr. Corbin Wood and his grey horse coming into view between the oaks, they regarded him.
”The air,” said Miss Lucy, from the doorway, ”is turning cold. What did you fall out about?”
”South Carolina,” answered Unity, with serenity. ”It's not unlikely that our grandchildren will be falling out about South Carolina. Mr.
Breckinridge is a Democrat and a fire-eater. Anyhow, Virginia is not going to secede just because he wants her to!”
The angry young disciple of Calhoun opposite was moved to reply, but at that moment Mr. Corbin Wood arriving before the steps, he must perforce run down to greet him and help him dismount. A negro had hardly taken the grey, and Mr. Wood was yet speaking to the ladies upon the porch, when two other hors.e.m.e.n appeared, mounted on much more fiery steeds, and coming at a gait that approached the ancient ”planter's pace.” ”Edward and Hilary Preston,” said Miss Lucy, ”and away down the road, I see Judith and Mr. Stafford.”
The two in advance riding up the drive beneath the mighty oaks and dismounting, the gravel s.p.a.ce before the white-pillared porch became a scene of animation, with beautiful, spirited horses, leaping dogs, negro servants, and gay hors.e.m.e.n. Edward Cary sprang up the steps. ”Aunt Lucy, you remember Hilary Preston!--and this is my sister Unity, Preston,--the Quakeress we call her! and this is Molly, the little one!--Mr. Wood, I am very glad to see you, sir! Aunt Lucy! Virginia Page, the two Masons, and Nancy Carter are coming over after supper with Cousin William, and I fancy that Peyton and Dabney and Rives and Lee will arrive about the same time. We might have a little dance, eh?
Here's Stafford with Judith, now!”
In the Greenwood drawing-room, after candle-light, they had the little dance. Negro fiddlers, two of them, born musicians, came from the quarter. They were dressed in an elaborate best, they were as suavely happy as tropical children, and beamingly eager for the credit in the dance, as in all things else, of ”de fambly.” Down came the bow upon the strings, out upon the April night floated ”Money Musk!” All the furniture was pushed aside, the polished floor gave back the lights.
From the walls men and women of the past smiled upon a stage they no longer trod, and between garlands of roses the shepherds and shepherdesses pursued their long, long courts.h.i.+p. The night was mild, the windows partly open, the young girls dancing in gowns of summery stuff. Their very wide skirts were printed over with pale flowers, their bodices were cut low, with a fall of lace against the white bosom. The hair was worn smooth and drawn over the ear, with on either side a bright cl.u.s.ter of blossoms. The fiddlers played ”Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre.” Laughter, quick and gay, or low and ripplingly sweet, flowed through the old room. The dances were all square, for there existed in the country a prejudice against round dancing. Once Edward Cary pushed a friend down on the piano stool, and whirled with Nancy Carter into the middle of the room in a waltz. But Miss Lucy shook her head at her nephew, and Cousin William gazed sternly at Nancy, and the fiddlers looked scandalized. Scipio, the old, old one, who could remember the Lafayette ball, held his bow awfully poised.
Judith Cary, dressed in a soft, strange, dull blue, and wearing a little crown of rosy flowers, danced along like the lady of Saint Agnes Eve.
Maury Stafford marked how absent was her gaze, and he hoped that she was dreaming of their ride that afternoon, of the clear green woods and the dogwood stars, and of some words that he had said. In these days he was hoping against hope. Well off and well-bred, good to look at, pleasant of speech, at times indolent, at times ardent, a little silent on the whole, and never failing to match the occasion with just the right shade of intelligence, a certain grip and essence in this man made itself felt like the firm bed of a river beneath the flowing water. He was not of Albemarle; he was of a tide-water county, but he came to Albemarle and stayed with kindred, and no one doubted that he strove for an Albemarle bride. It was the opinion of the county people that he would win her. It was hard to see why he should not. He was desperately in love, and far too determined to take the first ”No” for an answer. Until the last eight months it had been his own conclusion that he would win.
The old clock in the hall struck ten; in an interval between the dances Judith slipped away. Stafford wished to follow her, but Cousin William held him like the Ancient Mariner and talked of the long past on the Eastern Sh.o.r.e. Judith, entering the library, came upon the Reverend Mr.
Corbin Wood, deep in a great chair and a calf-bound volume. ”Come in, come in, Judith my dear, and tell me about the dance.”
”It is a pretty dance,” said Judith. ”Do you think it would be very wrong of you to watch it?”
Mr. Wood, the long thin fingers of one hand lightly touching the long thin fingers of the other hand, considered the matter. ”Why, no,” he said in a mellow and genial voice. ”Why, no--it is always hard for me to think that anything beautiful is wrong. It is this way. I go into the drawing-room and watch you. It is, as you say, a very pretty sight! But if I find it so and still keep a long face, I am to myself something of a hypocrite. And if I testify my delight, if I am absorbed in your evolutions, and think only of springtime and growing things, and show my thought, then to every one of you, and indeed to myself too, my dear, I am something out of my character! So it seems better to sit here and read Jeremy Taylor.”
”You have the book upside down,” said Judith softly. Her old friend put on his gla.s.ses, gravely looked, and reversed the volume. He laughed, and then he sighed. ”I was thinking of the country, Judith. It's the only book that is interesting now--and the recital's tragic, my dear; the recital's tragic!”
From the hall came Edward Cary's voice, ”Judith, Judith, we want you for the reel!”