Part 48 (1/2)
”Your contact with the truth,” said Mr. Hearn, laughing, ”is somewhat like many people's first experience of the ocean--you are much stirred up, but have not yet reached the point of yielding to the mysterious malady.”
I was disgusted, and was about to reply with a sarcastic compliment upon the elegance of his ill.u.s.tration, when a look of pain upon Miss Warren's face checked me, and I said nothing. Lack of delicacy was one of Mr. Hearn's gravest faults. While courtly, polished, and refined in externals, he lacked in tact and nicety of discrimination. He often said things which a finer-fibred but much worse man would never have said. He had an abundance of intellect, great shrewdness, vast will force, and organizing power, but not much ideality or imagination. This lack rendered him incapable of putting himself in the place of another, and of appreciating their feelings, moods, and motives. The most revolting thought to me of his union with Miss Warren was that he would never appreciate her. He greatly admired and respected her, but his spiritual eyes were too dim to note the exquisite bloom on her character, or to detect the evanescent lights and shades of thought and feeling of which to me her mobile face gave so many hints. He would expect her to be like the July days now pa.s.sing--warm, bright, cloudless, and in keeping with his general prosperity.
”They will disappoint each other inevitably,” I thought, ”and it's strange that her clear eyes cannot see it when mine can. It is perhaps the strongest evidence of her love for him, since love is blind. Still she may love and yet be able to see his foibles and failings clearly; thousands of women do this. But whether the silken cord of love or the chain of supposed duty binds her to him now, I fear that Mrs. Yocomb's sermon has made her his for all time.”
Her manner confirmed my surmise, for she apparently gave me little thought, and was un.o.btrusively attentive and devoted to him. He had the good taste to see that further personal remarks were not agreeable; and since his last attempted witticism fell flat, did not attempt any more.
Our table-talk flagged, and we hastened through the meal. After it was over he asked:
”Emily, what shall we do this afternoon?”
”Anything you wish,” she replied quietly.
”That's the way it will always be,” I muttered as I went dejectedly to my room. ”Through all his life it has been 'anything you wish,' and now it would seem as if religion itself had become his ally. There is nothing to me so wonderful as some men's fortune. Earth and heaven seem in league to forward their interests. But why was she so moved at the meeting-house? Was it merely religious sensibility? It might have been we were all moved deeply. Was it my imagination, or did she really shrink from him, and then glance guiltily at me? Even if she had, it might have been a momentary repulsion caused by his drowsy, heavy aspect at the time, just as his remark at dinner gave her an unpleasant twinge. These little back eddies are no proof that there is not a strong central current.
”Can it be that she was sorrowful in the meeting-house for my sake only? I've had strong proof of her wonderful kindness of heart. Well, G.o.d bless her anyway. I'll wait and watch till I know the truth. I suppose I'm the worst heathen Mrs. Yocomb ever preached to, but I'm going to secure Emily Warren's happiness at any cost. If she truly loves this man, I'll go away and fight it out so st.u.r.dily that she need not worry. That's what her sermon means for me. I'm not going to pump up any religious sentiment. I don't feel any. It's like walking into a bare room to have a turn with a thumb-screw; but Mrs. Yocomb has hedged me up to just this course. Oh, the gentle, inexorable woman! Satan himself might well tremble before her. There is but one that I fear more, and that's the woman I love most. Gentle, tender-hearted as she is, she is more inexorable than Mrs. Yocomb. It's a little strange, but I doubt whether there is anything in the universe that so inspires a man with awe as a thoroughly good, large-minded woman.”
I could not sleep that afternoon, and at last I became so weary of the conflict between my hope and fear that I was glad to hear Miss Warren at the piano, playing softly some old English hymns. The day was growing cool and shadowy, but I hoped that before it pa.s.sed I might get a chance to say something to her which would give a different aspect to the concluding words of Mrs. Yocomb's sermon. I had determined no longer to avoid her society, but rather to seek it, whenever I could in the presence of others, and especially of her affianced. They had returned from a long afternoon in the arbor, which I knew must occasion Miss Warren some unpleasant thoughts, and the banker was sitting on the piazza chatting with Adah.
I strolled into the parlor with as easy and natural a manner as I could a.s.sume, and taking my old seat by the window, said quietly: ”Please go on playing, Miss Warren.”
She turned on me one of her swift looks, which always gave me the impression that she saw all that was in my mind. Her color rose a little, but she continued playing for a time. Then with her right hand evoking low, sweet chords, she asked, with a conciliatory smile:
”Have you been thinking over Mrs. Yocomb's words this afternoon?”
”Not all the time--no. Have you?”
”How could I all the time?”
”Oh, I think you can do anything under heaven you make up your mind to do,” I said, with a slight laugh. The look she gave now was a little apprehensive, and I added hastily: ”I've had one thought that I don't mind telling you, for I think it may be a pleasant one, though it must recall that which is painful. The thought occurred to me when Mrs.
Yocomb was speaking, and since, that your brother had perfect peace as he stood in that line of battle.”
She turned eagerly toward me, and tears rushed into her eyes.
”You may be right,” she said, in a low, tremulous tone.
”Well, I feel sure I'm right. I know it, if he was anything like you.”
”Oh, then I doubt it. I'm not at all brave as he was. You ought to know that.”
”You have the courage that a veteran general most values in a soldier.
You might be half dead from terror, but you wouldn't run away.
Besides,” I added, smiling, ”you would not be afraid of shot and sh.e.l.l, only the noise of a battle. In this respect your brother, no doubt, differed from you. In the grand consciousness of right, and in his faithful performance of duty, I believe his face was as serene as the aspect of Mr. Yocomb when he looked at the coming storm. As far as peace is concerned, his heaven began on earth. I envy him.”
”Mr. Morton, I thank you for these words about my brother,” she said very gently, and with a little pathetic quaver in her voice. ”They have given me a comforting a.s.sociation with that awful day. Oh, I thank G.o.d for the thought. Remembering what Mrs. Yocomb said, it reconciles me to it all, as I never thought I could be reconciled. If Herbert believed that it was his duty to be there, it was best he should be there. How strange it is that you should think of this first, and not I!”
”Will you pardon me if I take exception to one thing you say? I do not think it follows that he ought to have been there simply because he felt it right to be there.”