Part 7 (2/2)
”When, if the truth were known, the practical Professor would be better pleased--aye! and better served in the long run, were his Jessamine to confine her ambition to the realms of cake, and bread, and b.u.t.ter making. I have seen other women as mistakenly risk complexions and eyes in poring over books, under the fond impression that they were 'qualifying' themselves to be their husband's 'help-meets'! What an age of shams is this!”
Since, however, this was Jessie's delusion, it might as well be indulged. She could have excellent music and language masters in Hamilton. He would, himself, s.n.a.t.c.h a few hours, weekly, that he might read German with her. The readings would prevent him from rusting in a language once familiar to him, as his own, and he would find further compensation for his trouble in the enjoyment he foresaw in guiding her eager mind through the rich storehouses of literature a knowledge of German would unlock for her. Waxing more complacently benevolent, he dwelt upon the comfort and pleasure Mrs.
Baxter--a worthy, though ridiculous, creature--would derive from the companions.h.i.+p of her young friend. The Lady President was a born Patroness. The introduction of the sparkling luminary he was sure Jessie would become in the Hamiltonian firmament, would be with her a work of pride and love. She would spare no pains to make the novice's sojourn in her abode delightful to all parties interested in it.
Notwithstanding which irrefragable reasoning--such was the effect of atmospheric and other extraneous influences upon one in the undisputed possession of a sound body, sane mind, and serenely approving conscience--Mr. Wyllys relapsed into discouragement several times in the earlier stages of his journey; wrote himself down an a.s.s for taking the trouble of a ten hours' ride into the country at this gloomy season to accomplish that, which, after all, might have been settled by letter. Breakfast by gas-light, a hard run through muddy streets to catch the train; a seat in a damp, close-smelling car, which was chilled, rather than warmed, by a stove-full of green wood, were sorry tonics for preparing spirits and temper for the duties of a new day. It annoyed the philanthropist that he could not put from his mind the vision of Roy Fordham's happy face as it shone upon his waking sight one July morning--the first of the summer vacation. Valise in hand, he had burst into his cousin's sleeping-room to say ”Good-by,” for he was off, by peep of dawn, to Dundee and Jessie. Orrin remembered every word that had been spoken; how he had forborne to remind the rapturous lover that this was the last visit he could pay his promised bride before his departure for Europe in August, and the calm surprise he had felt at seeing ”prudent,” far-seeing Roy apparently oblivious of all save present delight. Oddly, enough, it would have been more agreeable to his trusty relative to think of the absentee as a staid, studious personage, whose affections were always subservient to duty and judgment.
Few of earthly mould--such are the freaks of imagination and the complications of nervous irritation--are, at all times, superior to like vicissitudes of purpose and temper. I trust, then, that my hero will not suffer materially in the opinion of the exceptional minority when I state that it was near noon ere he finally and stably rea.s.sured his dubious mind that in this flying visit to the parsonage, he was acting wisely for himself, and, as secondary, third and fourth rate considerations, for Jessie, Roy, and Mrs.
Baxter. The lever that completed the task of elevating his self-esteem from the slough of doubt, was not the antic.i.p.ation of Jessie's personal and mental improvement, or Mrs. Baxter's gratified maternal longings. It was the thought how the light imprisoned in Eunice Kirke's berylline eyes, would break up to the surface in the golden glints he had seen, at infrequent intervals, dash their placid darkness; how her slow, bright smile would greet his unexpected appearance, and applaud his vivacious sallies; the sweet monotone, many a queen of fas.h.i.+on would give her costliest jewels to imitate successfully, reply to his questioning. For he would have many questions to put. This was a studious autumn with the sisters.
While Roy had laughed at Jessie's lamentations over her lack of learning, protesting that she ”knew more already of books and men than any professor's wife he had ever met,” he had, in compliance with her desire, and believing that active employment would be wholesome discipline for her in the weary months of their separation, arranged a schedule of history, ancient and modern, French, German, and general reading for her. Orrin had also visited Dundee in the August vacation, accompanying Roy back to town, and not quitting him until he waved his farewell from the pier to the slowly-moving steams.h.i.+p ”outward bound.” During those sad, precious ”last days,” the disengaged pair were, of necessity, often left to entertain one another for hours together, and their decorous friends.h.i.+p had matured naturally and gracefully into an equally decorous intimacy. Orrin had marked pa.s.sages for Eunice's consideration in divers books they had glanced over in company; sent to her after his return to Hamilton, Carlyle, Emerson, and Macaulay; besides running down for a day in October, to bring a thick roll of duets, sonatas and _etudes_, and the whole of Mozart's Twelfth Ma.s.s for Miss Kirke's practice in the lengthening evenings.
He had taken extraordinary pains to ascertain her tastes, and displayed his customary tact in ministering to these.
”We are almost relations-in-law, you know!” had been his only apology for attentions and gifts, and Eunice had accepted all in simple good faith.
Her interest in his talk and her manifest liking for him, were a more flattering tribute to his vanity than was Jessie's frank cousinliness. I think it is always thus with the tokens of favor vouchsafed to friend and admirer by reserved, self-concentrated women. While Jessie was his especial study (or quarry) just now, he did not disdain the goods the G.o.ds offered him in the esteem and preference of the handsome elder sister. He had found her eminently convenient when his motive was to pique and mystify his cousin's betrothed by a feint of haughty indifference, and he was too wise an economist to cast aside what he had gained. He would be a clumsy diplomatist, indeed, were he to prove himself incompetent to the management of two affairs at the same time.
If my attempted a.n.a.lyzation of a ”fascinating man's” principles and intentions has seemed prolix to the surface-reader, he will bear in mind that it is but a meagre abstract of what Mr. Wyllys thought, felt, and reasoned through the dreary November day, that did not see the sun until a break in the clouds low upon the western hills let out his light upon a sodden, wretched earth.
The late rays burnished Windbeam's coronal of cedars into golden-green, but curling fleeces of mist clung about his mighty chest and flanks, making him look grimmer and blacker by contrast; the valley was full of shadows, purple and gray; the old church was lightless save for the one dazzling arrow which was s.h.i.+vered against the slender tip of the spire, when Orrin undid the latch of the parsonage-gate. Provencal warmth and roses were things that belonged to the dead summer. Eunice's evergreens hardly redeemed the garden from desolation. A trim arbor-vitae hedge kept warm the southern border, that would be gay in March with crocuses and tulips; the box-trees were the only leafy shrubs in the alley down which Jessie had crept, to faint in his arms at the other end. A thrifty holly, beaded with scarlet, mounted guard at the left of the front steps, as did a cedar, covered with bluish-white berries, at the right. A stately young pine he remembered as a favorite of Jessie's, filled the air with its solemn sighing, while he awaited the answer to his knock.
”So, Winter comes even to the Happy Valley!” he moralized. ”I ought to have known it, of course, only I had not thought of it.”
Patsey, the good-humored servant-girl, opened the door, and welcomed Mr. Wyllys with the broadest of smiles.
”Mr. Kirke and Miss Eunice is not at home, sir. They're a-visiting some place in the village. Miss Jessie is in, though. Be pleased to walk into the parlor, and I'll tell her you're here.”
He heard swift feet skim the floor overhead as his name was repeated, and Jessie was in the room before he could take off his gloves. With a wild, scared face, lips that moved without sound, and eyes that demanded confirmation or denial of the dread that was strangling her heart, she caught his hands and looked up dumbly at him. His smile broke the spell sooner and more effectually than words could have done. She wrested her fingers from his, with a laugh so burdened with shame and happiness as to be more like a sob, testifying what had been the pressure and what was the release.
”I was sure”--
”That I was the bearer of bad news from abroad. I understand,” Orrin took up the broken sentence. ”You were never more mistaken. Your letter, enclosing Mrs. Baxter's, brought me. Your fears must take counsel of hope and faith another time. Roy was well when last heard from--well and happy, and, you may be sure, very busy. But what is this?” leading her to the window and scrutinizing her with fond solicitude. ”What have you been doing with yourself? I am afraid he keeps his pledge of health, and resignation to the Inevitable better than you do yours to him. Are you not well? You have been sick, and I was not told of it!”
Her complexion was dead to sallowness; her eyes were leaden, the lids drooping wearily, and she was thinner in face and figure than when he had parted from her six weeks ago. Her dress, of dark, ”navy” blue serge, made plainly, the long skirt heavy and still while she stood, and unrelieved save by narrow linen collar and cuffs, looked like a mourning garb.
”The _Mater Dolorosa_ to the life!” said the quick-eyed lover of the fine arts to himself. ”A blue hood drawn well forward would make the likeness perfect. Who would have thought that a morbidly love-sick girl could, by dreaming and fretting, stamp her features with the imprint of that divine sorrow! Marvellous are the tricks of Nature!”
All this while he held Jessie's hand; his eyes seemed as if they could not leave the countenance whose change had so pained him. The girl's faint smile was very grateful.
”I am not sick! I have no physical ailment beyond a sensation of general good-for-nothingness. I ought to be ashamed to confess it, but I imagine I have a touch of what fine ladies call the 'blues.'
Papa would have in Dr. Winters a month ago, in spite of all I could do and say. He laughed at me a little, scolded me a great deal, and p.r.o.nounced my malady dyspepsia, or low fever, or nervous debility--he was not certain which. In any case, his prescription was quinine, dumb-bells, and porter, ale, lager beer, or a decoction of gentian-root and chamomile flowers. Think of it!” with a grimace.
”Could my cup of existence be more effectually embittered? I take quinine, and swing the bells a thousand times each day, but I do not see that the regimen increases my appet.i.te or makes me sleep better.
There is nothing the matter with me that will not yield to resolution and common-sense and--and--time! I shall be all right when I get used to things as they are,” she continued, with feverish rapidity, marking his doubtful look. ”I need discipline, hardening, tempering. If papa and Euna would rate me soundly for my folly and childishness, the counter-irritant would brace my system. I should need no other medicine. But they won't, unfortunately!”
She was laughing now, but not with her native glee. Orrin's scrutiny--serious and tender--was prolonged until her eyes sank and a blush of the lost color tinged her temples. A sigh escaped him as he relinquished her hand, and walked twice through the apartment to collect thoughts and words.
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