Part 52 (2/2)
The uncle at first tried to be grim and obstinate, but he soon broke down completely. ”I'm glad you've come,” he said huskily.
”My conscience hasn't given me any peace for months, and I wanted to give in, but you know that it's like drawing an eye-tooth for an Atwood to give in. I'm proud of the boy, and he'll be a blessing to us all. He IS a new departure in the family; he's got more brains than any of us, and with it all a big, brave heart. He shall marry the girl if he wants to; and now that her old wretch of a father is dead, no harm need come of it. But they're young; they must wait until Roger is educated up to the best of 'em. Well, now that I've given in, there shall be no half-way work,” and he insisted on sending for his lawyer and making his will in Roger's favor at once.
”I didn't come for any such purpose as this,” said Roger's mother, wiping her eyes, while his father could scarcely conceal his exultation; ”but I felt that it was time for us to stop living like heathen,” and after a visit of a very different nature from the one they had feared, the worthy couple returned to Forestville well content with the results of their expedition.
Roger was jubilant over the news, and he hastened to impart it to Mildred, who was spending the remaining weeks of her sojourn in the country with her friend Mrs. Wilson.
”Millie,” he said, ”you shall never want again. My good fortune would be nothing to me unless I shared it with you.”
But she disappointed him by saying, ”No, Roger, you must let me live the independent life that my nature requires,” and the only concession that he could obtain from her was a promise to receive his aid should any emergency require it.
Before Mildred's return a letter from Vinton Arnold was forwarded to her at Forestville, and it must be admitted that it gave her sad heart something like a thrill of happiness. It was an eloquent and grateful outpouring of affection, and was full of a.s.surances that she had now given him a chance for life and happiness.
When she told Roger, he looked very grim for a moment, and then by a visible effort brightened up and said, ”It's all right, Millie.”
After pacing the room for a few moments with a contracted brow, he continued, ”Millie, you must grant me one request--you must not say anything to Arnold about me.”
”How can I say anything then about myself?” she answered. ”I want him to know that I owe everything to you, and I hope to see the day when you will be the closest of friends.”
”Well, that will be a good way on. I must see him first, and learn more about him, and--well, friends related as Arnold will be to me are not common. I've too much of the old untamed man in me to go readily into that kind of thing. I will do anything in the world for you, but you must not expect much more till I have a few gray hairs in my head. Come now, you must humor me a little in this affair; you can say generally that some friends were kind, and all that, without much personal reference to me. If you should write as you propose, he might be jealous, or--worse yet--write me a letter of thanks. It may prevent complications, and will certainly save me some confoundedly disagreeable experiences. After I've seen him and get more used to it all, I may feel differently.”
”You certainly will, Roger. Your life will gradually become so rich, full, and happy, that some day you will look back in wonder at your present feelings.”
”Life will be full enough if work can make it so; but you must not expect me to outgrow this. It will strengthen with my years. It's my nature as well as yours. But I foresee how it will be,” he continued despondently; ”I shall inevitably be pushed further and further into the background. In your happy home life--”
Before he could utter another word Mildred was sobbing pa.s.sionately.
”Roger,” she cried, ”don't talk that way. I can't bear it. If Vinton is jealous of you, if he fails in manly appreciation of you, I will never marry him. Strong as my love is for him, such a course would destroy it. There are certain kinds of weakness that I can't and won't tolerate.”
He was surprised and deeply touched, for her manner was usually so quiet and well controlled that even he was at times tempted to forget how strong and pa.s.sionate was her nature on occasions sufficient to awaken it. ”There, Millie, I've hurt your feelings,”
he said remorsefully. ”Even I do not half understand your good, kind heart. Well, you must have patience with me. When the right time comes my deeds will satisfy you, I think, though my words are now so unpromising. But please don't deny me--don't say anything about me until I give you permission. What has occurred between us is sacred to me--it's our affair.”
”Very well, if you so wish it; but never even think again that you will ever be less to me than you are now.”
Nevertheless he went sadly away, saying to himself, ”She's sincere, Heaven knows, but what I said will be true in spite of her best intentions.”
The next day, after many farewells and an hour spent beside Belle's grave, Roger returned to the city, far better prepared for life's battle than when he first left his native village. Two or three days later Mildred followed him, accompanied by Mrs. Wilson, who was determined to see her safely settled in Mrs. Wheaton's care.
Pain and pleasure were almost equally blended in Mildred's experience as she looked upon the furniture and the one or two pictures that had escaped their poverty--all of which were so inseparable, in their a.s.sociations, from those who were gone, yet never absent long from memory. But the pleasure soon got the better of the pain, for she did not wish to forget. Mrs. Wheaton's welcome was so hearty as to be almost overpowering, and when Roger appeared in the evening with a beautiful picture for her walls she smiled as she once thought she never could smile again. Mr. Wentworth also called, and was so kind and sympathetic that the young girl felt that she was far from friendless. ”I so managed it,” he whispered in parting, ”that there was little public reference to your father's sad end.
Now, Millie, turn your thoughts toward the future. Let Roger make you happy. Believe me, he's pure gold.”
”Just what poor Belle said,” she thought sighingly after he had gone. ”I must disappoint them all. But Roger will help me out. He deserves a far better wife than poor shamed, half-crushed Millie Jocelyn can ever make him, and he shall have her, too, for he is much too young and strong not to get over all this before many years elapse.”
Life soon pa.s.sed into a peaceful, busy routine. Roger was preparing himself for the junior cla.s.s in college under the best of tutors, and his evenings, spent with Mildred, were usually prefaced by a brisk walk in the frosty air. Then he either read aloud to her or talked of what was Greek to good-natured Mrs. Wheaton, who sat knitting in a corner discreetly blind and deaf. Unknown to Mildred, he was able to aid her very efficiently, for he taxed Mrs.
Wentworth's ingenuity in the invention of all kinds of delicate fancy work, and that good lady, in the most business-like manner, gave the orders to Mildred, who thought that, considering the hard times, she was wonderfully prosperous.
Twice during the winter she went with Roger to Forestville, and she had her little brother and sister spend the Christmas week with her. It was the brightest experience the little people ever remembered, although, unnoted by them, Mildred, with sad memories that do not belong to childhood, often wiped bitter tears from her eyes as she recalled the terrible events of the preceding holiday season. She became an efficient ally of Mr. Wentworth, and was almost as glad to aid him, in return for his stanch friends.h.i.+p, as the cause he represented.
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