Part 13 (1/2)
There was no unsteadiness in his tone, no trace of emotion, as he stood up before her. Irene was deeply moved, and when she essayed to thank him, found it impossible to p.r.o.nounce her words. Tears were gliding down her cheeks; he put back the hair, and taking the face softly in his palms, looked long and earnestly at its fascinating beauty. The great, glistening blue eyes gazed into his, and the silky lashes and rich scarlet lips trembled. He felt the hot blood surging like a lava-tide in his veins, and his heart rising in fierce rebellion at the stern interdict which he saw fit to lay upon it; but no token of all this came to the cool, calm surface.
”Good-bye, Irene. May G.o.d bless you, my dear little friend!”
He drew the face close to his own as though he would have kissed her, but forbore, and merely raising her hands to his lips turned and left the room.
Verily, greater is ”he that ruleth his own spirit than he that taketh a city.” He left before breakfast the ensuing morning, bearing his secret with him, having given no intimation, by word or look, of the struggle which his resolution cost him. Once his mother had fancied that he felt more than a friendly interest in their guest, but the absolute repose of his countenance and grave serenity of his manner during the last week of his stay dispersed all her suspicions. From a luxurious home, fond friends, and the girlish face he loved better than his life, the minister went forth to his distant post, offering in sacrifice to G.o.d, upon the altar of duty, his throbbing heart and hopes of earthly happiness.
A cloud of sadness settled on the household after his departure, and scarcely less than Louisa's was Irene's silent grief. The confinement grew doubly irksome when his voice and step had pa.s.sed from the threshold, and she looked forward impatiently to her release. The sprain proved more serious than she at first imagined, and the summer vacation set in before she was able to walk with ease. Mr. Huntingdon had been apprised of her long absence from school, and one day, when she was cautiously trying her strength, he arrived, without having given premonition of his visit. As he took her in his arms and marked the alteration in her thin face, the listlessness of her manner, the sorrowful gravity of her countenance, his fears were fully aroused, and, holding her to his heart, he exclaimed--
”My daughter! my beauty! I must take you out of New York.”
”Yes, father, take me home; do take me home.” She clasped her arms round his neck and nestled her face close to his.
”Not yet, queen. We will go to the Catskill, to Lake George, to Niagara. A few weeks' travel will invigorate you. I have written to Hugh to meet us at Montreal; he is with a gay party, and you shall have a royal time. A pretty piece of business truly, that you can't amuse yourself in any other way than by breaking half the bones in your body.”
Thus the summer programme was determined without any reference to the wishes of the one most concerned, and, knowing her father's disposition, she silently acquiesced. After much persuasion, Mr. Huntingdon prevailed on Louisa's parents to allow her to accompany them. The mother consented very reluctantly, and on the appointed day the party set off for Saratoga. The change was eminently beneficial, and before they reached Canada Irene seemed perfectly restored. But her father was not satisfied. Her unwonted taciturnity annoyed and puzzled him; he knew that beneath the calm surface some strong undercurrent rolled swiftly, and he racked his brain to discover what had rendered her so reserved. Louisa's joyous, elastic spirits probably heightened the effect of her companion's gravity, and the contrast daily presented could not fail to arrest Mr. Huntingdon's attention. On arriving at Montreal the girls were left for a few moments in the parlour of the hotel, while Mr. Huntingdon went to register their names. Irene and Louisa stood by the window looking out into the street, when a happy, ringing voice exclaimed--
”Here you are, at last, Irie! I caught a glimpse of your curls as you pa.s.sed the dining-room door.”
She turned to meet her cousin and held out her hand.
”Does your majesty suppose I shall be satisfied with the tip of your fingers? Pshaw, Irie! I will have my kiss.”
He threw his arm round her shoulder, drew down the s.h.i.+elding hands, and kissed her twice.
”Oh, Hugh, behave yourself! Miss Louisa Young, my cousin, Hugh Seymour.”
He bowed, and shook hands with the stranger, then seized his cousin's fingers and fixed his fine eyes affectionately upon her.
”It seems an age since I saw you, Irie. Come, sit down and let me look at you; how stately you have grown, to be sure! More like a queen than ever; absolutely two inches taller since you entered boarding-school. Irie, I am so glad to see you again!” He s.n.a.t.c.hed up a handful of curls and drew them across his lips, careless of what Louisa might think.
”Thank you, Hugh. I am quite as glad to see you.”
”Oh, humbug! I know better. You would rather see Paragon any day, ten to one. I will kill that dog yet, and shoot Erebus, too; see if I don't! then maybe you can think of somebody else. When you are glad you show it in your eyes, and now they are as still as violets under icicles. I think you might love me a little, at least as much as a dog.”
”Hus.h.!.+ I do love you, but I don't choose to tell it to everybody in Montreal.”
Mr. Huntingdon's entrance diverted the conversation, and Irene was glad to escape to her own room.
”Your cousin seems to be very fond of you,” observed Louisa, as she upbraided her hair.
”He is very impulsive and demonstrative, that is all.”
”How handsome he is!”
”Do you think so, really? Take care, Louisa! I will tell him, and, by way of crus.h.i.+ng his vanity, add '_de gustibus, etc., etc., etc._'”
”How old is he?”
”In his twentieth year.”