Part 21 (1/2)
CHAPTER XIII.
MARAH'S MEMORIES.
In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein, And gazing down with a timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face.
--Whittier.
”Dear Marah, I cannot understand your strong attachment to that bronzed and grizzled old man, who has, besides, treated you so barbarously,”
said Herbert.
”Is he bronzed and gray?” asked Marah, looking up with gentle pity in her eyes and tone.
”Why, of course he is. He is sixty-two.”
”He was forty-five when I first knew him, and he was very handsome then.
At least, I thought him the very perfection of manly strength and beauty and goodness. True, it was the mature, warm beauty of the Indian summer, for he was more than middle-aged; but it was very genial to the chilly, loveless morning of my own early life,” said Marah, dropping her head upon her hand and sliding into reminiscences of the past.
”Dear Marah, I wish you would tell me all about your marriage and misfortunes,” said Herbert, in a tone of the deepest sympathy and respect.
”Yes, he was very handsome,” continued Mrs. Rocke, speaking more to herself than to her companion; ”his form was tall, full and stately; his complexion warm, rich and glowing; his fine face was lighted up by a pair of strong, dark-gray eyes, full of fire and tenderness, and was surrounded by waving ma.s.ses of jet-black hair and whiskers; they are gray now, you say, Herbert?”
”Gray and grizzled, and bristling up around his hard face like thorn-bushes around a rock in winter!” said Herbert, bluntly, for it enraged his honest but inexperienced boyish heart to hear this wronged woman speak so enthusiastically.
”Ah! it is winter with him now; but then it was glorious Indian summer!
He was a handsome, strong and ardent man. I was a young, slight, pale girl, with no beauty but the cold and colorless beauty of a statue; with no learning but such as I had picked up from a country school; with no love to bless my lonely life--for I was a friendless orphan, without either parents or relatives, and living by sufferance in a cold and loveless home.”
”Poor girl!” murmured Herbert, in almost inaudible tones.
”Our log cabin stood beside the military road leading through the wilderness to the fort where he was stationed. And, oh! when he came riding by each day upon his n.o.ble, coal-black steed and in his martial uniform, looking so vigorous, handsome and kingly, he seemed to me almost a G.o.d to wors.h.i.+p! Sometimes he drew rein in front of the old oak tree that stood in front of our cabin to breathe his horse or to ask for a draught of water. I used to bring it to him. Oh! then, when he looked at me, his eyes seemed to send new warmth to my chilled heart; when he spoke, too, his tones seemed to strengthen me; while he stayed his presence seemed to protect me!”
”Aye, such protection as vultures give to doves--covering and devouring them,” muttered Herbert to himself. Mrs. Rocke, too absorbed in her reminiscences to heed his interruptions, continued:
”One day he asked me to be his wife. I do not know what I answered. I only know that when I understood what he meant, my heart trembled with instinctive terror at its own excessive joy! We were privately married by the chaplain at the fort. There were no accommodations for the wives of officers there. And, besides, my husband did not wish to announce our marriage until he was ready to take me to his princely mansion in Virginia.”
”Humph!” grunted Herbert inwardly, for comment.
”But he built for me a pretty cabin in the woods below the fort, furnished it simply and hired a half-breed Indian woman to wait on me.
Oh, I was too happy! To my wintry spring of life summer had come, warm, rich and beautiful! There is a clause in the marriage service which enjoins the husband to cherish his wife. I do not believe many people ever stop to think how much is in that word. He did; he cherished my little, thin, chill, feeble life until I became strong, warm and healthful. Oh! even as the blessed sun warms and animates and glorifies the earth, causing it to brighten with life and blossom with flowers and bloom with fruit, so did my husband enrich and cherish and bless my life! Such happiness could not and it did not last!”
”Of course not!” muttered Herbert to himself.
”At first the fault was in myself. Yes, Herbert it was! you need not look incredulous or hope to cast all the blame on him! Listen: Happy, grateful, adoring as I was, I was also shy, timid and bashful--never proving the deep love I bore my husband except by the most perfect self-abandonment to his will. All this deep, though quiet, devotion he understood as mere pa.s.sive obedience void of love. As this continued he grew uneasy, and often asked me if I cared for him at all, or if it were possible for a young girl like me to love an old man like himself.”
”A very natural question,” thought Herbert.
”Well, I used to whisper in answer, 'Yes,' and still 'Yes.' But this never satisfied Major Warfield. One day, when he asked me if I cared for him the least in the world, I suddenly answered that if he were to die I should throw myself across his grave and lie there until death should release me! whereupon he broke into a loud laugh, saying, 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much.' I was already blus.h.i.+ng deeply at the unwonted vehemence of my own words, although I had spoken only as I felt--the very, very truth. But his laugh and his test so increased my confusion that, in fine, that was the first and last time I ever did protest! Like Lear's Cordelia, I was tongue-tied--I had no words to a.s.sure him. Sometimes I wept to think how poor I was in resources to make him happy. Then came another annoyance--my name and fame were freely discussed at the fort.”
”A natural consequence,” sighed Herbert.
”The younger officers discovered my woodland home, and often stole out to reconnoitre my calm. Among them was Captain Le Noir, who, after he had discovered my retreat, picked acquaintance with Lura, my attendant.