Part 6 (1/2)
All alike were waiting for an opportunity. And the days went by, and it did not come, because it was watched for. But suddenly Mrs. Filmer resolved to give a ”Good-bye Ball,” and then, when everybody's thoughts were on the trivialities of flowers and ribbons, destiny, one morning, called them to account for the love she had given. She wanted to know what harvest of joy or sorrow had been grown upon the slopes of the sunny summer days, and whether the love that had brightened them was to be homed forever in faithful hearts; or cast out wounded and forlorn, to perish and be forgotten on the hard highways of selfish and mercenary life!
CHAPTER III
It was the morning before ”the Ball,” and Mrs. Filmer was busy about the packing of some valuable bric-a-brac, which was to be taken with them to the city. She went into Harry's room, to see if the pieces adorning it had been attended to properly; and, glancing carefully around, her eyes fell upon a book of expensive ill.u.s.trations. She determined to lock it away, and lifted it for that purpose. A letter fell from its pages, and she read it. As she did so, her eyes flashed, and her face grew pa.s.sionately sombre.
”The idea!” she muttered. ”The very idea of such a thing!”
She did not replace the letter, but taking it in her hand, went in search of Harry; and as she could not find him, she proceeded to Mr.
Filmer's study. He looked up with fidgety annoyance, and she said crossly:
”Henry, I am sorry to disturb you; but I suppose your son is of more importance than your book.”
”Is there anything amiss with Harry?”
”Harry is on the point of making a dreadful _mesalliance_.”
”With whom?”
”That Van Hoosen girl.”
”How do you know?”
”I found a letter in his room--a perfectly dreadful letter.”
”Dreadful!”
”You know what I mean--a letter asking her to be his wife.”
”It might be worse than that. If Harry loves her, I am glad he loves her honorably.”
”Honorably! Such a marriage is impossible; and for once, you must take Harry in hand, and tell him so.”
”Harry is of age. He is independent of me, in so far that he makes his own living, and has his own income. I can advise, but if you have your usual wisdom, Emma, you will not attempt to coerce him. I am sure the furnace needs attending to. This room is cold, and you know, when I am writing, I always do have cold feet.” He was turning the leaves of his book with impatience, and a total withdrawal of interest from the subject of conversation. Mrs. Filmer left him with a look of contempt.
”The man has lost all natural feeling,” she sighed. ”He gets his very pa.s.sions out of a bookcase. There is no use in expecting help from him.”
She put the letter in her pocket, and tried to go on with the domestic affairs interesting her; but she found the effort impossible. A fierce jealousy of her son swallowed up every smaller feeling; she had a nausea when she thought he might at that very moment be ”making an irredeemable fool of himself.” But she took into consideration what Mr. Filmer had said, and acknowledged that, careless as he seemed about the matter, he had touched its vital point at once. Harry would not bear coercion. Her tactics would have to be straightforward and persuasive.
She sat motionless, with eyes cast down, considering them; and schooling herself into such control of her pa.s.sion as would compel Harry to respect her objections. She resolved also to say nothing of her plans to Rose. Rose had a romantic fancy for the girl's brother; and she was quite capable of justifying her own penchant behind Harry's. As she pondered these things, she heard the carpenters from the village preparing the ball-room. They were tacking up bunting and wreaths of autumn leaves, but though the designs were her own, and she had been much interested in them, everything about the entertainment had suddenly become a weariness. She felt that until she had an understanding with Harry, she could do nothing; no, nor even care for what others were doing.
Fortunately, as she stood at the window, gloomily looking into a future her own sick fancy conjured, she saw Harry coming slowly up the avenue. He had the air of a man in suspense or anxiety, and she whispered, ”There! I know he has done something awful! He looks like it. It is a shame that a strange girl should come into my home and make so much trouble. It is, really!”
Her intense recognition of Harry caused him to look up, and she made a motion which he hastened to answer. For here it must be admitted that Harry had a certain fear of his mother--a fear all compact of love--a fear of wounding or offending her--a fear of seeing her weeping or troubled--a tender fear, which was partly the habit of years, and very much the result of a generous estimate of her many excellences, and of his own indebtedness to them. And from the beginning of time, men have desired to wors.h.i.+p a woman; some men take naturally to the wors.h.i.+p of the Blessed Virgin; others turn their religion of woman to motherhood, and find that among the millions of earth-mothers, there is no mother like the mother that bore them. Harry was one of these disciples.
He had been insensible so long to the charms of maidenhood, because he gave all the tenderness of his nature to his mother; and even his love for Rose was not so much on the ground that she was his sister as that she was his mother's daughter. And undoubtedly, this mother love had been hitherto the salt of his life. It had preserved him from all excesses that would grieve her, it had sanctified the idea of home in his heart; and if it had in a measure narrowed his nature, it had kept him from those gross vices men do not go from a mother's side to practice.
He came into the room with a conscious alertness, blaming himself for not taking more interest in the coming entertainment. Yet he had felt it hard to do so; in the first place, Yanna would not be present, her father having positive convictions about the folly--perhaps the sin--of dancing. In the second place, he had really written to Yanna; the letter in the possession of Mrs. Filmer being a mild draft of the one actually sent; so that the air of anxiety was a very natural one.
He perceived at once that his mother was much annoyed, and his face was instantly sympathetic.