CHAPTER IX.
HA! HA! THE WOOING ON'T.
It was twilight when Meshach Milburn closed his story, and silence andpallid eve drew together in the Custis sitting-room, resembling the twopeople there, thinking on matrimony, the one grave as consciousserpenthood could make him, the other fluttering like the charmed bird.Vesta spoke first:
"How intense must be your head to create so many objects around itwithin the world of a hat! You have only brought the story down a littleway towards our times."
"I began the tale of Raleigh out of proportion," said Milburn, "and itgrew upon the same scale, like the passion I conceived for you sointensely at the outset, that in the climax of this night I am scarcelybegun."
"Yet, like Raleigh, I see the scaffold," said Vesta, with an attempt athumor that for the first time broke her down, and she raised her handsto her face to hush the burst of anguish. It would not be repressed, andone low cry, deep with the sense of desertion and captivity, soundedthrough the deepening room and smote Milburn's innermost heart. Heobeyed an impulse he had not felt since his mother died, startingtowards Vesta and throwing his arms around her, and drawing her to hisbreast.
"Honey, honey," he whispered, kissing her like a child, "don't cry now,honey. It will break my heart."
The act of nature seldom is misinterpreted; Vesta, having labored solong alone with this obdurate man, her young faculties of the headstrained by the first encounter beyond her strength, accepted thefriendship of his sympathy and contrition, as if he had been her father.In a few moments the paroxysm of grief was past, and she disengaged hisarms.
"You are not merciless," said Vesta. "Tell me what I must do! You havebroken my father down and he cannot come to my help. Take pity on myinequality and advise me!"
"Alas! child," said Milburn, "my advice must be in my own interest,though I wish I could find your confidence. I am a poor creature, and donot know how. It is you who must encourage the faith I feel startingsomewhere in this room, like a chimney swallow that would fain fly out.Chirrup, chirrup to it, and it may come!"
Standing a moment, trying to collect her thoughts and wholly failing,Vesta accepted the confidence he held out to her with open arms.Blushing as she had never blushed in her life, though he could not knowit in the evening dark, she walked to him and kissed him once.
"Will that encourage you to advise me like a friend?" she said.
"Alas! no," sighed Milburn fervently, "it makes me the more your unjustlover. I cannot advise you away from me. Oh, let me plead for myself. Ilove you!"
"Then what shall I do," exclaimed Vesta, in low tones, "if you areunable to rise to the height of my friend, and my father is your slave?Do you think God can bless your prosperity, when you are so hard withyour debtor? On me the full sacrifice falls, though I never was in yourdebt consciously, and I have never to my remembrance wished injury toany one."
"Would you accept your father's independence at the expense of the mostdespised man in Princess Anne?" Milburn spoke without changing his kindtone. "Would you let me give him the fruit of many years of hard toiland careful saving, in order that I shall be disappointed in the onlymotive of assisting him--the honorable wooing of his daughter?"
She felt her pride rising.
"Your father's debts to me are tens of thousands of dollars," continuedMilburn. "Do you ask me to present that sum to you, and retire to myloneliness out of this bright light of home and family, warmth andmusic, that you have made? That is the test you put my love to:banishment from you. Will you ask it?"
"I have not asked for your money, sir," said Vesta. "Yet I have heard ofLove doing as much as that, relieving the anguish of its object, andfinding sufficient joy in the self-denying deed."
"I do not think you personally know of any such case, though you mayhave read it in a novel or tract. Men have died, and left a fortune theycould no longer keep, to some cherished lady; or they have made aconsiderable sacrifice for a beautiful and noble woman; but where didyou ever hear, Miss Vesta, of a famished lover, surrendering everyendowment that might win the peerless one, to be himself returned to hissorrow, tortured still by love, and by his neighbors ridiculed? Whatwould Princess Anne say of me? That I had been made a fool of, and hurlnew epithets after my hat?"
Vesta searched her mind, thinking she must alight upon some such examplethere, but none suited the case. Meshach took advantage of her silence:
"The gifts of a lover are everywhere steps to love, as I haveunderstood. He makes his impression with them; they are expected.Nothing creates happiness like a gift, and it is an old saying thatblessings await him who gives, and also her who takes, and that to seekand ask and knock are praiseworthy."
"Oh," said Vesta, "but to be _bought_, Mr. Milburn? To be weighedagainst a father's debts--is it not degrading?"
"Not where such respect and cherishing as mine will be. Rather exaltyourself as more valuable to a miser than his whole lendings, andgreater than all your father's losses as an equivalent, and even thenputting your husband in debt, being so much richer than his account."
"Where will be my share of love in this world, married so?" asked Vesta."To love is the globe itself to a woman, her youth the mere atmospherethereof, her widowhood the perfume of that extinguished star; and all mymind has been alert to discover the image I shall serve, the brightyouth ready for me, looking on one after another to see if it might behe, and suddenly you hold between me and my faith a paper with myfather's obligations, and say: 'Here is your fate; this is your wholeromance; you are foreclosed upon!' How are you to take a withered heartlike that and find glad companionship in it? No, you will bedisappointed. It will recoil upon me that I sold myself."
"The image you waited for may have come," said Milburn undauntedly,"even in me; for love often springs from an ambush, nor can you preparethe heart for it like a field. I recollect a fable I read of a godloving a woman, and he burst upon her in a shower of gold; and what wasthat but a rich man's wooing? We get gold to equalize nobility in women;beauty is luxurious, and demands adornment and a rich setting; therichest man in Princess Anne is not good enough for you, and the mereboys your mind has been filled with are more unworthy of being yourhusband than the humble creditor of your father. Such a creation as MissVesta required a special sacrifice and success in the character of herhusband. The annual life of this peninsula could not match you, and amonster had to be raised to carry you away."
"You are not exactly a monster," Vesta remarked, with naturalcompassion, "and you compliment me so warmly that it relieves the strainof this encounter a little. Do not draw a woman's attention to yourdefects, as she might otherwise be charmed by your voice."
"That also is a part of my sacrifice," said Meshach, "like the moneywhich I have accumulated. Without a teacher, but love and hope, I haveeducated myself to be fit to talk to you. It is all crude now, like acrow that I have taught to speak, but encouragement will make meconfident and saucy, and you will forget my sable raiment--even my hat."
A chilliness seemed to attend this conclusion, and Vesta touched herbell. Virgie, entering, took her mistress's instructions: "Bring a trayand tea, and lights, and place Mr. Milburn's hat upon the rack!"
The girl glanced at the antique hat with a timid light in her eye, buther mistress's head was turned as if to intimate that she must take it,though it might be red-hot. Virgie obeyed, and soon brought in the tea.
"It is good tea," spoke Milburn, drinking not from the cup, but thesaucer, while Vesta observed him oddly, "and it is chill this evening.Let me start your fire!"
He shivered a little as he stood up and walked across the room, andpoking the charred logs into a flame; and, setting on more wood, he madethe walls spring into yellow flashes, between which Vesta saw herforefathers dart cold glances at her, in their gilt frames--yet howhelpless they were, with all their respectability, to take her body orher father's honor out of pawn!--and she felt for the first time thehollowness of family power, except in the ever-preserved mail of asolvent posterity. She a
lso made a long, careful survey of her suitor,to see if there was any apology for him as a husband.
His figure was short, but with strength and elasticity in it; betterclothes might fit him daintily, and Vesta re-dressed him in fancy withlavender kids upon his small hands, a ring upon his long little finger,a carnelian seal and a ribbon at his fob-pocket, and ruffles in hisshirt-bosom. In place of his dull cloth suit, she would give him a buffvest and pearl buttons with eyelet rings, and white gaiters instead ofthose shabby green things over his feet, and put upon his head a neatsilk hat with narrow brim to raise his height slenderly, and let a coatof olive or dark-blue, and trousers of the same color, relieve hisornaments. Thus transformed, Vesta could conceive a peculiar yet apassable man, whom a lady might grow considerate towards by much prayingand striving, and she wondered, now, how this man had managed to sootheher already to that degree that she had voluntarily kissed him. Shewould be afraid to do it again, but it was as clearly on record as thatshe had once put a flower in his hat; and Vesta said to herself:
"He has power of some kind! That story, little as I heard of it, wastold with an opinionated confidence I wish my poor father had somethingof. Could I ever be happy with this man, by study and piety? God mightopen the way, but it seems closed to me now."
"The night wears on, Miss Custis," spoke Meshach. "Its rewards arealready great to me. When may I return?"
"I think we must determine what to do this night, Mr. Milburn," Vestasaid, with rising determination. "Not one point nearer have we come toany solution of this obligation of my father. We have considered it upto this time as my obligation, and that may have unduly encouraged you.Sir, I can work for my living."
"You _work_?" repeated Milburn.
"Why not? I love my father. As other women who are left poor work fortheir children or a sick husband, why should not I for him! Poverty hasno terrors but--but the loss of pride."
"You hazard that, whatever happens," said her suitor, "but you will notlose it by evading the lesser evil for the greater. I have heard ofwomen who fled to poverty from dissatisfaction with a husband, but pridesurvived and made poverty dreadful. Pride in either case increased thediscontent. You should take the step which will let pride be absorbed induty, if not in love."
"Duty?" thought Vesta. "That is a reposeful word, better than Love. Mr.Milburn," she said aloud, "how is it my duty to do what you ask?"
"I think I perceive that you have a loyal heart, a conscientiousnessthat deceit cannot even approach. Something has already made you slow tomarriage, else, with your wonders, I would not have had the chance tobe now rejected by you. Marriage has become too formidable, perhaps, toyou, by the purity of your heart, the more so because you looked upon itto be your destiny. It _is_ your fate, but you contend against it. Lookupon it, then, as a duty, such as you expect in others--in your slavemaid, for instance."
"Alas!" Vesta said, "she may marry freely. I am the slave."
"No, Miss Vesta, she has been free, but, sold among strangers with yourfather's effects, will feel so perishing for sympathy and protectionthat love, in whatever ugly form it comes, will be God's blessing to herpoor heart. What you repel in the revulsion of fortune--the yoke of ahusband--millions of women have bent to as if it was the very rainbow ofpromise set in heaven."
"How do you know so much of women's trials, Mr. Milburn? Have you hadsisters, or other ladies to woo?"
"I have seen human nature in my little shop, not, like your rare nature,refined by happy fortune and descent, but of moderate kind, andstruggling downward like a wounded eagle. They have come to me at firstfor cheaper articles of necessity or smaller portions than other storeswould sell, looking on me with contempt. At last they have sacrificedtheir last slave, their last pair of shoes, and, when it was too late,their false pride has surrendered to shelter under a negro's hut, ordance barefooted in my store for a cup of whiskey."
"Sir," exclaimed Vesta indignantly, rising from her rocker, "do you setthis warning for me?"
As she rose Meshach Milburn thought his wealth was merely pebbles andshells to her perfection, now animated with a queen's spirit.
"Miss Vesta," he said, "pardon me, but I have just issued from manygenerations of forest poverty, and knowing how hard it is to break thatthraldom, I would stop you from taking the first step towards it. Thebloom upon your cheek, the mould you are the product of without flaw,the chaste lady's tastes and thoughts, and inborn strength and joy, arethe work of God's favor to your family for generations. That favor hecontinues in laying those family burdens on another's shoulders, tospare you the toil and care, anxiety and slow decay, that this violentchange of circumstances means. It would be a sin to relapse from thisperfection to that penury."
"I cannot see that honorable poverty would make me less a woman,"exclaimed Vesta.
"You do not dread poverty because you do not know it," Milburncontinued. "It grows in this region like the old field-pines and littleoaks over a neglected farm. Once there was a court-house settlement onDividing Creek, where justice, eloquence, talent, wit, and heroism madethe social centre of two counties, but they moved the court-house andthe forest speedily choked the spot. Now not an echo lingers of thatformer glory. You can save your house from being swallowed up in theforest."
"By marrying the forest hero?" Vesta said, though she immediatelyregretted it.
"Yes," Milburn uttered stubbornly, after a pause. "I have met the houseof Custis half-way. I am coming out of the woods as they are going in,unless the sacrifice be mutual."
"Let us not be personal," Vesta pleaded, with her grace of sorrow; "Ifeel that you are a kind man, at least to me, but a poor girl must makea struggle for herself."
She saw the tears stand instantly in his eyes, and pressed heradvantage:
"Your tears are like the springs we find here, so close under the flintysand that nobody would suspect them, but I have seen them trickle out.Tell me, now, if I would not be happier to take up the burden of myfather and mother, and let us diminish and be frugal, instead ofcowardly flying into the protection of our creditor, by a union whichthe world, at least, would pronounce mercenary. My father might come upagain, in some way."
"No, Miss Vesta. Your father can hold no property while any portion ofhis debts remains unpaid. The easier way is to show the world that ourunion is not mercenary, by trying to love each other. Throughout theearth marriage is the reparation of ruined families--the short path, andthe most natural one, too. Ruth was poor kin, but she turned from theharvest stubble that made her beautiful feet bleed, to crawl to the feetof old Boaz and find wifely rest, and her wisdom of choice we sing inthe psalms of King David, and hear in the proverbs of King Solomon, sonsof her sons."
"I am not thinking of myself, God knows!" said Vesta. "Gladly could Iteach a little school, or be a governess somewhere, or, like ourconnection, the mother of Washington, ride afield in my sun-bonnet andstraw hat and oversee the laborers."
"That never made General Washington, Miss Vesta. It was marriage thatlent him to the world; first, his half-brother's marriage with theFairfaxes; next, his own with Custis's rich widow. Had they been lookingfor natural parts only, some Daniel Morgan or Ethan Allen would havebeen Washington's commander."
"Why do you draw me to you by awakening the motive of my self-love?"asked Vesta. "That is not the way to preserve my heart as you would haveit."
"In every way I can draw you to me," spoke Milburn, again trembling withearnestness, "I feel desperate to try. If it is wrong, it arises from mysense of self-preservation. Without you I am a dismal failure, and mylabor in life is thrown away."
"Do you really believe you love me? Is it not ambition of some kind;perhaps a social ambition?"
"To marry a Custis?" Milburn exclaimed. "No, it is to marry _you_. Iwould rather you were not a Custis."
"Ah! I see, sir;" Vesta's face flushed with some admiration for the man;"you think your family name is quite as good. So you ought to do. Thenyou love me from a passion?"
"Partly that," answe
red Milburn. "I love you from my whole temperament,whatever it is; from the glow of youth and the reflection of manhood,from appreciation of you, and from worship, also; from the eye and themind. I love you in the vision of domestic settlement, in thecompanionship of thought, in the partition of my ambition, in myinstinct for cultivation. I love you, too, with the ardor of a lover,stronger than all, because I must possess you to possess myself; becauseyou kindle flame in me, and my humanity of pity is trampled down by myhumanity of desire; I cannot hear your appeal to escape! I am deaf tosentiments of honor and courtesy, if they let you slip me! Give yourselfto me, and these better angels may prevail, being perhaps accessory tothe mighty instinct I obey at the command of the Creator!"
As he proceeded, Vesta saw shine in Meshach Milburn's face the veryecstacy of love. His dark, resinous eyes were like forest ponds flashingat night under the torches of negro 'coon-hunters. His long lady's handstrembled as he stretched them towards her to clasp her, and she saw uponhis brow and in his open nostril and firm mouth the presence of a willthat seldom fails, when exerted mightily, to reduce a woman's, and makeher recognize her lord.
Yet, with this strong excitement of mental and animal love, whichgenerally animates man to eloquence, if not to beauty, a wearysomething, nearly like pain, marked the bold intruder, and a quiver, notlike will and courage, went through his frame. It was this which touchedVesta with the sense that perhaps she was not the only sufferer there,and pity, which saves many a lover when his merits could not win,brought the Judge's daughter to an impulsive determination.
"Mr. Milburn," she said at last, pressing her hands to her head, "thisday's trials have been too much for my brain. Never, in all my lifetogether, have I had realities like these to contend with. I am wornout. Nay, sir, do not touch me now!" He had tried to repeat hissympathetic overture, and pet her in his arms. "Let us end this conflictat once. You say you will marry me; when?"
"It is yours to say when, Miss Custis. I am ready any day."
"And you will give me every note and obligation of my father, so that mymother's portion shall be returned to her in full, and this house,servants, and demesnes be mine in my own right?"
"Yes," said Milburn; "I have such confidence in your truth and virtuethat you shall keep these papers from this moment until themarriage-day."
"It will not be long, then," Vesta said, looking at Milburn with a willand authority fully equal to his own. "Will you take me to-night?"
"To-night?" he repeated. "Not to-night, surely?"
"To-night, or probably never."
He drew nearer, so as to look into her countenance by the strongfirelight. Calm courage, that would die, like Joan of Arc in the flames,met his inquiry.
"Yes," said Milburn, "at your command I will take you to-night, thoughit is a surprise to me."
He flinched a little, nevertheless, his conscience being uneasy, and thesame trembling Vesta had already observed went through his frame again.
"What will the world say to your marriage after a single day'sacquaintance with me?"
"Nothing," Vesta answered, "except that I am your wife. That will, atleast, silence advice and prevent intrusion. If I delay, theseforebodings may prevail, if not with me, with my family, some of whomare to be feared."
He seemed to have no curiosity on that subject, only saying:
"It is you, dear child, I am thinking of--whether this haste will not berepented, or become a subject of reproach to yourself. To me it cannotbe, having no world, no tribe--only myself and you!"
Vesta came forward and lifted his hand, which was cold.
"I believe that you love me," she said. "I believe this hand has thelines of a gentleman. Now, I will trust to you a family confidence. Thetroubles of this house are like a fire which there is no other way oftreating than to put it out at once. My father will not be disturbed,beyond his secret pain, at the step I am to take, for he appreciatesyour talents and success. It is for him I shall take this step, if Itake it at all, and I have yet an hour to reflect. But my mother will beresentful, and her brothers and kindred in Baltimore will express asavage rage, in the first place, at my father's losing her portion; nextto that, and I hope less bitterly, they will resent my marriage to you.Exposed to their interference, I might be restrained from going to myfather's assistance; they might even force me away, and break our familyup, leaving father alone to encounter his miseries."
"I see," said Milburn; "you would give me the legal right to meet yourmother's excited people."
"Not that merely," Vesta said; "I would put it out of her power andtheirs to prevent the sacrifice I meditate making. My father's immediatedread is my mother's upbraiding--that he has risked and lost her money.It has sent her to bed already, sick and almost violent. I might as wellsave the poor gentleman his whole distress, if I am to save him apart."
"Brave girl!" exclaimed Meshach Milburn, in admiration. "It is true,then, that blood will tell. You intend to give your mother the moneywhich has been lost, and silence her complaint before she makes it?"
"Just that, Mr. Milburn, and to say, 'It is my husband's gift, and apeace-offering from us all.'"
"Is it not your intention, honey," asked the creditor, "to take Mrs.Custis into your confidence before this marriage?"
She looked at him with the entreaty of one in doubt, who would beresolved. "Advise me," she said. "I want to do the best for all, andspare all bitter words, which rankle so long. Is it necessary to tell mymother?"
"No. You are a free woman. I know your age--though I shall forget it byand by." This first gleam of humor rather became his strange face. "Ifyou tell your father, it is enough."
"I hope I am doing right," Vesta said, "and now I shall take my hour tomy soul and my Saviour. Sir, do you ever pray?"
Milburn recoiled a little.
"I do not pray like you," he replied; "my prayers are dry things. I dosay a little rhyme over that my mother taught me in the forest."
"Try to pray for me to do right," said Vesta, "that I may not make thissacrifice, and leave a wounded conscience. And now, sir, farewell. Atnine o'clock go to our church and wait. If I resolve to come, there youwill find the rector, and all the arrangements made. If I do not come, Ithink you will see me no more."
"Oh, beautiful spirit," exclaimed her lover, "oppress me not with thatfear!"
"If another way is made plain to me," Vesta said, "I shall go that way.If my duty leads me to you again, you will be my master. Sir, thoughyour errand here was a severe one, I thank you for your sincerity andthe kind consideration you seem to have had for me so long. Farewell."
"Angel! Vesta! Honey!" Milburn cried, "may I kiss you?"
"Not now," she answered, cold as superiority, and interposing her hand.
The door stood wide open, and the slave-girl, Virgie, in it, holding theEntailed Hat. Milburn, with a shudder, took it, and covered himself, anddeparted.