Part 12 (1/2)
Not even then; for Peter had to discuss the visit and the visitor, and he did so with an interest that astonished Yanna, for she was not aware that her father regarded Rose, not only as an hereditary Van Hoosen, but also as a future daughter-in-law. Afterwards he had to tell Yanna about the horse, and the man who had the horse to sell. ”No created creatures,” he said, ”are so eulogized as horses are by their owners. And when a man has a horse to sell, you would think, Yanna, that horse flesh was better than human nature. However, I bought the animal, and as Antony says, if it is half as good as warranted, I have bought a horse with which I can live happy ever after.”
In such homelike confidence the hours pa.s.sed, until at length the moment came which released Yanna from her self-imposed repression and her gracious office of happiness-maker. She had not grudged the effort, and she had not missed the strength and consolation which any healthy self-denial imparts. ”Your merry heart goes all the day.” Yes, and this truth came from one who knew how much a merry heart may have to carry. But once within her own room she let all go--all her heartache, all her wounded love, and wounded self-esteem. She had hoped, she had surely thought, that Harry would come again; and all that day her ear and eyes had been on the watch.
Yes, it had been--
”From rosy morn to evening grey A waiting day; a day of fear, Of listening for a footfall dear, That came not.”
The watch was over; and she was so weary that she could not weep nor think nor pray. She could only send one tired hope upward, whose whole plea was--
”_Because_ I pray not, seek not, give Thou heed.”
Now Yanna was built silently on her trust in G.o.d, and on the strength of her day's work. Hitherto, her trust in G.o.d had been very like that of a child who takes its father's love as easily and carelessly as its daily bread. But her disappointment in Harry had made her cling to the Never-Failing One with more intelligent reliance. Certainly the loss of confidence in her lover and his palpable shortcoming had left her shaken to her inmost being; but she was still erect. No dropping of daily duty! No folding of her hands to weep! No enervating luxury of self-pity troubled this girl, whose feet stood on the rock of Eternal Love, and who had the healthy habit of her ancestors--a frank, unconscious way of doing her household tasks, without incessantly looking after her heart, or making inquiry of her feelings.
True, her ear and heart were on the watch for the sound of one step, and one voice; and she would have been most happy if that ache of listening had been answered. But the morning pa.s.sed, and Harry neither came nor yet sent any message. She dared not hope that the afternoon would be more fortunate, and yet surely, surely, he would not leave her without any attempt to make the future possible. Soon after dinner her anxieties were complicated by a message from Mrs. Wyk, an infirm lady who was related to Yanna by her mother's side, and to whom Yanna was accustomed to render many services. Mrs. Wyk sent a messenger to say that ”she had a new novel, and she wanted Yanna to come and read it to her.”
Yanna was much disturbed by the decision she was now compelled to make. If she went to Mrs. Wyk's Harry might call while she was from home, and then he would be certain her absence was premeditated. Yet if she did not go to Mrs. Wyk's, she would neglect an evident duty for an uncertain personal pleasure; and then, if Harry did not come, she would have disappointed her relative, she would ”be out” with herself, and yet have done nothing towards being reconciled to her lover. The child who brought the message stood looking at her impatiently. It was near the school hour, and the answer was to be taken back, and Yanna was one of those women who hate to be hurried.
She could not decide with that restless boy looking into her eyes and standing on tiptoes to be gone. She said, ”Wait a moment, Willie,” and she ran into the parlor, shut the door, and stood silently in the darkened room to consider. Her hands hung clasped before her, her eyes were cast down, and in a painful suspense of self-seeking, she asked her heart, ”What shall I do? What shall I do?” Thus she waited; wistful, intent, sorrowful, until the answer came. It came from her own conscience:
”_One can always do right!_”
”True!” She accepted the response immediately. ”One can always do right! That settles the most difficult question. And it is right to put the pleasure of the sick and aged before my own pleasure. I will go and read to Aunt Wyk.”
She thought it no violation of duty, however, to hurry her departure, and thus be able to get the reading finished by three o'clock. Then she began to put on her hat and cloak, and Mrs. Wyk said: ”What are you in such a hurry for, Yanna? Sit down, I want to tell you about my winter apples. I have been so badly used by old Van Winkle.”
”I am in a hurry this afternoon, auntie. The Filmers are leaving Woodsome, and I think some of them will want to see me. Rose was at our house yesterday--but----”
”Oh, yes! the Filmers! the Filmers! n.o.body but the Filmers! Your own mother's kin is not to be thought of if the Filmers but ring at your doorstep.”
”Dear auntie, you should not talk in that way. I will come to-morrow afternoon and finish the book.”
”Thank you! But the Filmers may want you.” And the old lady made no response to Yanna's kiss, nor did she answer her twice repeated ”Good afternoon, aunt.”
It was precisely such a result as most frequently follows a conscious exercise of self-denial; but it depressed and vexed Yanna. Her cheeks flushed to the sense of wrong, and she could hardly keep the tears out of her eyes, as she walked swiftly homeward. When she was nearly at her own gate, she heard the rattle of the Filmer dog-cart, and her heart beat rapidly, and she began instinctively to hurry her footsteps, and then consciously to moderate them to her normal pace.
Should she turn her face to the pa.s.sing vehicle or not? The question was quickly answered. Not to do so would be pettishly self-cognizant.
It stopped when near her, and she turned towards it. Harry flung the reins to his servant, and in a moment was at her side.
”I was just coming to see you, Yanna. May I walk home with you? Or has your father forbidden you to receive my visits?”
”That would be very unlike father, Harry. He leaves your visits to your own sense of honor; and to my loyalty to his wishes. I think he can trust both.”
”I have been so utterly wretched since I saw you last, my dear.”
”I have not been happy, Harry.”
”Yanna, I am going into a life full of excitement and temptation. Will you not straighten me for it by the promise I ask for?”
”Have you spoken to Mrs. Filmer again?”