CHAPTER XXVIII.
"Loke who that ... most intendeth ay To do the generous deedes that he can, And take _him_ for the greatest gentleman."
--CHAUCER.
"Anne! Is it you?" repeated Dexter.
"Yes," she replied, having seen that it was impossible to escape, sincehe was standing directly in her path. Then she tried to smile. "I shouldnot have thought you would have known me in this twilight."
"I believe I should know you anywhere, even in total darkness. But whereare you going? I will accompany you."
"I am on my way to X station, to take a train."
"Let me carry those books for you. X station? That is at some distance;would it not be better to have a carriage? Here, boy, run and call acarriage. There will be a half-dollar for you if you make haste."
He was the same as ever, prompt, kind, and disposed to have his own way.But Anne, who on another occasion might have objected, now stood besidehim unopposing. She _was_ weary, cold, and disheartened, and she wasglad he was there. He had made her take his arm immediately, and eventhat small support was comforting. The carriage came, they rolled away,Anne leaning back against the cushions, and breathing in the gratefulsense of being cared for and protected, taken from the desolate anddarkening streets which otherwise she must have traversed alone.
"I only arrived in town to-day," Dexter was saying; "and, on my way to afriend's house where I am to dine, I intended calling upon Mrs.Heathcote. I was going there when I met you. I should have inquiredabout you immediately, for I have but just seen the account of thedisposal of Miss Vanhorn's estate, and was thinking of you. I supposed,Miss Douglas, that you were to be her heir."
"No."
"She certainly allowed me to suppose so."
"I do not think she ever had any such intention," replied Anne.
"You are living near the city?"
"Yes; at Lancaster. I give lessons in town."
"And you come in and out on these freezing days, and walk to and fromthe station?"
"It is not always so cold."
"Very well; I am going as far as Lancaster with you," said Dexter. "Ihope I shall be welcome."
"Mr. Dexter, please do not."
But he simply smiled and threw back his head in his old dictatorial way,helped her from the carriage, bought tickets, secured for her the bestseat in the car, and took his place beside her; it seemed to Anne thatbut a few minutes had passed when they heard "Lancaster," and steppingout on the little platform, found the faithful Li in waiting, hiscomforter tied over his ears, and jumping up and down to keep himselfwarm. Anne had not ordered the red wagon, and he was not thereforeallowed to bring it out; but the little freckled knight-errant hadbrought himself instead as faithful escort homeward.
"Is there no carriage here, or any sort of a vehicle?" said Dexter, inhis quick, authoritative way. "Boy, bring a carriage."
"There ain't none; but you can have the red wagon. Horse good, and wagonfirst-rate. It'll be a dollar," answered Li.
"Go and get it, then."
The boy was gone like a dart, and in less time than any one else wouldhave taken, he was back with the wagon, and Mr. Dexter (in spite of herremonstrance) was accompanying Anne homeward in the icy darkness. "Butyou will lose the return train," she said.
"I intend to lose it."
When they stopped at the gate, no light was visible; Anne knocked, butcrippled old Nora was long in coming. When she did open the door, it wasa room nearly as cold as the air outside into which the guest wasushered. As Li was obliged to return with the horse, his willing handswere absent, and the young mistress of the house went out herself,brought in candles and kindling-wood, and was stooping to light thefire, when Dexter took the wood from her, led her to a chair, seated herdespotically, and made the fire himself. Then, standing before it, helooked all round the room, slowly and markedly and in silence; afterwardhis eyes came back to her. "So this is where you live--all the home youhave!"
"It is but a temporary home. Some day I hope to go back to the island,"replied Anne.
"When you have, by teaching, made money enough to live upon, I suppose.It looks like it _here_," he said, with sarcastic emphasis.
"It has not been so cold before," answered Anne. "The house has an emptylook, I acknowledge; that is because I supposed it was furnished; butfinding it bare, I decided to purchase only necessary articles. What isthe use of buying much for a temporary home?"
"Of course. So much better to do without, especially in this weather!"
"I assure you we have not been uncomfortable until, perhaps, to-night."
"May I ask the amount, Miss Douglas, of your present income?"
"I do not think you ought to ask," said the poverty-stricken youngmistress, bravely.
"But I do ask. And you--will answer."
"It has been, although not large, sufficient for our needs," repliedAnne, who, in spite of her desire to hide the truth from him, was yetunable to put the statement into the present tense; but she hoped thathe would not notice it.
On the contrary, however, Dexter answered instantly: "Has been? Then itis not now?"
"I have recently lost my place in a church choir; but I hope soon toobtain another position."
"And in the mean time you live on--hope? Forgive me if I seeminquisitive and even harsh, Miss Douglas; but you do not realize how allthis impresses me. The last time I saw you you were richly dressed, afavorite in a luxurious circle, the reputed heiress of a large fortune.Little more than a year passes, and I meet you in the street attwilight, alone and desolate; I come to your home, and find it cold andempty; I look at you, and note your dress. You can offer me nothing,hardly a fire. It hurts me, Anne--hurts me deeply--to think that allthis time I have had every luxury, while _you_ have suffered."
"No, not suffered," she replied. But her voice trembled. This strongassertive kindness touched her lonely heart keenly.
"Then if you have not suffered as yet--and I am thankful to hear you sayit--you will suffer; or rather you might have suffered if I had not metyou in time. But never again, Anne--never again. Why, my child, do younot remember that I begged you to be my wife? Shall she who, if she hadwilled it, would now have been so near and dear to me, be left toencounter toil and privation, while _I_ have abundance? Never,Anne--never!"
He left his place, took her hand, and held it in his warm grasp. Therewas nothing save friendly earnestness in his eyes as they met her upwardlook, and seeing this, she felt herself leaning as it were in spiritupon him: she had indeed need of aid. He smiled, and comprehended allwithout another word.
"I must go on the ten-o'clock train," he said, cheerfully, coming backto daily life again. "And before I go, in some way or another, that goodIrish goblin of yours must manufacture a supper for me; fromappearances, I should say she had only to wave her broom-stick. When Imet you I was on my way to dine with some friends. What their estimationof me is at this moment I am afraid to think; but that does not make meany the less hungry. With your permission, therefore, I will take offthis heavy overcoat, and dine here." As he spoke he removed his largeshaggy overcoat--a handsome fur-lined Canadian garment, suited to hisstrong figure and the bitter weather, appearing in evening dress, with alittle spray of fern in his button-hole. "Now," he said, "I am going outto plead with the goblin in person."
"I will go," said Anne, laughing, won from her depression by his buoyantmanner.
"On the contrary, you will stay; and not only that, but seated preciselywhere I placed you. I will encounter the goblin alone." He opened thedoor, went through, and closed it behind him. Soon Anne heard the soundof laughter in the kitchen, not only old Nora's hearty Irish mirth, butLi's shriller voice added to it. For the faithful Li had hastened back,after the old horse was housed, in order to be in readiness if MissDouglas, owing to her unexpected visitor, required anything. What Dextersaid and did in that bare, dimly lighted kitchen that night was neverknown, save from results. But certainly he inspired both Nora, Li, andthe stove. He r
eturned to the parlor, made up the fire with so muchskill that it shone out brightly, and then sat down, allowing Anne todo nothing save lean back in the low chair, which he had cushioned forher with his shaggy coat. Before long Li came in, first with fourlighted candles in new candlesticks, which he disposed about the roomaccording to his taste, and then, later, with table-cloth and plates forthe dining-table. The boy's face glowed with glee and exercise; he hadalready been to the store twice on a run, and returned loaded andbreathless, but triumphant. After a while pleasant odors began to stealin from the kitchen, underneath all the inspiring fragrance of coffee.At last the door opened, and Nora herself hobbled in, bringing a covereddish, and then a second, and then a third, Li excitedly handing them toher from the kitchen entrance. When her ambition was aroused, the oldIrishwoman was a good cook. It had been aroused to-night by Dexter'slargess, and the result was an appetizing although nondescript repast,half dinner, half high-tea. The room was now brightly illuminated; thefire-light danced on the bare floor. Dexter, standing by the table, talland commanding, his face full of friendliness, seemed to Anne apersonification of kindly aid and strength. She no longer made anyobjection, but obeyed him smilingly, even as to where she should sit,and what she should eat. His sudden appearance, at the moment of allothers when everything seemed to have failed, was comfort toopenetrating to be resisted. And why should it be resisted? There was nosuggestion in his manner of a return to the old subject; on thecontrary, he had himself spoken of it as a thing of the past. He wouldnot repeat his old request--would not wish to repeat it.
After the repast was over, and Nora and Li were joyously feasting in thekitchen, he drew his chair nearer to hers, and said, "Now tell me aboutyourself, and what your life has been since we parted." For up to thistime, after those few strong words in the beginning, he had spoken onlyon general topics, or at least upon those not closely connected withherself.
Anne, however, merely outlined her present life and position, clearly,but without explanation.
"And Mrs. Heathcote does not know you are here?"
"She does not know, and she must not know. I have your promise, Mr.Dexter, to reveal nothing."
"You have my promise, and I will keep it. Still, I do not comprehend--"
"It is not possible that you should comprehend. And in addition tokeeping my secret, Mr. Dexter, you must tell _me_ nothing of her, or ofany of the people who were at Caryl's."
"It is a great gulf fixed?"
"Yes."
He looked at her in silence; she was quiet and thoughtful, her gazeresting on the fire. After a while she said again, "You will remember?"
"Yes. I never had the talent of forgetting."
Soon afterward he went away, with Li as guide. As he took her hand atparting, he said, "Are you coming in to the city to-morrow?"
"Yes; I must see Herr Scheffel."
"Will you let me meet you somewhere?"
After a moment's hesitation, she answered, "I would rather not."
"As you please. But I shall come and see you on Wednesday, then.Good-night." He went out in the intense country darkness, preceded byLi, who had disposed his comforter about him in such a manner as to lookas much as possible like the shaggy overcoat, which, in his eyes, wasfit for the Czar of all the Russias in his diamond crown.
The next day was even colder. Anne went in to the city, gave one lesson,and then faced the bitter wind on her way down to Herr Scheffel'slodgings. Her heart was not so heavy, in spite of the cold, as it hadbeen the day before, since between that time and this she had heard thecordial voice of a friend.
The musical instrument maker's window was entirely frozen over, thefrost was like a white curtain shutting him out from the world; it wasto be hoped that he found comfort in playing on his tambourine within.This time Herr Scheffel was at home, and he had a hope concerning aplace in another choir. Anne returned to Lancaster cheered. As shewalked homeward from the railway station down the hard country road,darkness was falling, and she wondered why the faithful Li was not thereas usual to meet her. When she came within sight of the half-house, itwas blazing with light; from every window radiance streamed, smokeascended from the chimneys, and she could see figures within movingabout as if at work. What could it mean? She went up the steps, openedthe door, and entered. Was this her barren home?
Workmen were putting the finishing touches to what seemed to have beenan afternoon's labor; Li, in a fever of excitement, was directingeverybody. Through the open door Nora could be seen moving to and froamid barrels, boxes, and bags. The men had evidently received theirorders, for as soon as the young mistress of the house appeared theyhastily concluded their labors, and, taking their tools, vanished likeso many genii of the ring. Anne called them back, but they were alreadyfar down the road. Li and Nora explained together that the men and twowagon-loads of furniture had arrived at the door of the half-house attwo o'clock, and that the head workman, showing Mr. Dexter's card, hadclaimed entrance and liberty to carry out his orders; he had a roughplan of the rooms, sketched by Dexter, and was to follow his directions.Li and Nora, already warm adherents, entered into the scheme with alltheir hearts, and the result was that mademoiselle's little house wasnow carpeted, and warmed, and filled from top to bottom. The barestore-room was crowded, the cupboards garnished; there were easy-chairs,curtains, pictures, and even flowers--tea-roses in a vase. The furniturewas perhaps too massive, the carpets and curtains too costly for theplain abode; Dexter always erred on the side of magnificence. Hislavishness had been brought up at Caryl's as a testimony against him,for it was a decided evidence of newness. But on this gloomy freezingwinter night no one could have the heart to say that the rich fabricswere not full of comfort both to the eye and touch, and Anne, sinkinginto one of the easy-chairs, uncertain what to do, was at least not atall uncertain as to the comfort of the cushioned back; it was luxurious.
Later, in her own room, she sat looking at the unexpected gifts whichfaced her from all sides. What should she do? It was not right to forcethem upon her; and yet how like him was the lavish quick generosity! Inher poverty the gift seemed enormous; yet it was not. The little homepossessed few rooms, had seemed hardly more than a toy house to the cityworkmen who had hastily filled it. But to Anne it seemed magical. Bookshad been bought for her also, the well-proved standard works whichDexter always selected for his own reading. In his busy life thisAmerican had not had time to study the new writers; he was the oneperson left who still quoted Addison. After looking at the books, Anne,opening the closet door by chance, saw a long cedar case upon the floor;it was locked, but the key was in an envelope bearing her name. Sheopened the case; a faint fragrance floated out, as, from its wrappings,she drew forth an India shawl, dark, rich, and costly enough for aduchess. There was a note inside the case from Dexter--a note hastilywritten in pencil:
* * * * *
"DEAR MISS DOUGLAS,--I do not know whether this is anything you canwear, but at least it is warm. On the night I first met you youwere shivering, and I have thought of it ever since. Please acceptthe shawl, therefore, and the other trifles, from your friend, G. D."
* * * * *
The trifles were furs--sable. Here, as usual, Dexter had selected thecostly; he knew no other way. And thus surrounded by all the new luxuryof the room, with the shawl and the furs in her hands, Anne stood, animage of perplexity.
The next day the giver came out. She received him gravely. There was alook in her eyes which told him that he had not won her approval.
"Of course I do not intend to trouble you often with visits," he said,as he gave his furred overcoat to Li. "But one or two may be allowed, Ithink, from such an old friend."
"And to such a desolate girl."
"Desolate no longer," he answered, choosing to ignore the reproach ofthe phrase.
He installed himself in one of the new arm-chairs (looking, it must beconfessed, much more comfortable than before), and began to talk in afluent general way, a
pproaching no topics that were personal. Meanwhileold Nora, hearing from Li that the benefactor of the household waspresent, appeared, strong in the new richness of her store-room, at thedoor, and dropping a courtesy, wished to know at what hour it wouldplease him to dine. She said "your honor"; she had almost said "yourhighness." Her homage was so sincere that Anne smiled, and Dexterlaughed outright.
"You see I am expected to stay, whether you wish it or not," he said."Do let me; it shall be for the last time." Then turning to Nora, hesaid, "At four." And with another reverence, the old woman withdrew.
"It is a viciously disagreeable afternoon. You would not, I think, havethe heart to turn out even a dog," he continued, leaning back at ease,and looking at his hostess, his eyes shining with amusement: he wasreading her objections, and triumphing over them. Then, as he saw hersoberness deepen, he grew grave immediately. "I am staying to-daybecause I wish to talk with you, Anne," he said. "I shall not comeagain. I know as well as you do, of course, that you can not receive mewhile you have no better chaperon than Nora." He paused, looking at herdowncast face. "You do not like what I have done?"
"No."
"Why?"
"You have loaded me with too heavy an obligation."
"Any other reason?"
"I can never repay you."
"In addition?"
"It is not right that you should treat me as though I were a child."
"I knew you would object, and strongly; yet I hope to bring you over yetto my view of the case," said Dexter. "You say that I have placed youunder too heavy an obligation. But pray consider what a slight affairthe little gift seems to me. The house is very small; I have spent but afew hundreds; in all, with the exception of the shawl and furs, not muchover five. What is that to an income like mine? You say you can neverrepay me. You repay me by accepting. It seems to me a noble quality toaccept, simply and generously accept; and I have believed that yours wasa noble nature. Accept, then, generously what it is such a pleasure tome to give. On my own side, I say this: the woman Gregory Dexter onceasked to be his wife shall not suffer from want while Gregory Dexterlives, and knows where to find her. This has nothing to do with you; itis my side of the subject."
He spoke with much feeling. Anne looked at him. Then she rose, and withquiet dignity gave him, as he rose also, her hand. He understood thesilent little action. "You have answered my expectation," he said, andthe subject was at an end forever.
After dinner, in the twilight, he spoke again. "You said, an hour or twoago, that I had treated you as though you were a child. It is true; foryou were a child at Caryl's, and I remembered you as you were then. Butyou are much changed; looking at you now, it is impossible that I shouldever think of you in the same way again."
She made no reply.
"Can you tell me nothing of yourself, of your personal life since weparted? Your engagement, for instance?"
"It is ended. Mr. Pronando is married; he married my sister. You did notsee the notice?" (Anne's thoughts were back in the West Virginiafarm-house now with the folded slip of newspaper.)
"No; I was in the far West until April. I did not come eastward untilthe war broke out. Then you are free, Anne? Do not be afraid to tell me;I remember every word you said in Miss Vanhorn's little red parlor, andI shall not repeat my mistake. You are, then, free?"
"I can not answer you."
"Then I will not ask; it all belongs to the one subject, I suppose. Theonly part intrusted to me--the secret of your being here--I willreligiously guard. As to your present life--you would rather let thisHerr Scheffel continue looking for a place for you?"
"Yes."
"I will not interfere. But I shall write to you now and then, and youmust answer. If at the end of a month you have not obtained thisposition you are hoping for--in a church choir, is it not?--you must letme know. Will you promise?"
"I promise."
"And bear in mind this: you shall never be left friendless again while Iam on earth to protect you."
"But I have no right to--"
"Yes, you have; you have been more to me than you know." Here he paused,and looked away as if debating with himself. "I have always intendedthat you should know it some time," he continued; "perhaps this is asgood a time as any. Will you listen?"
"Yes."
He settled himself anew in his chair, meditated a moment, and then, withall his natural fluency, which nothing could abate, with theself-absorption which men of his temperament always show when speakingof themselves, and yet with a certain guarded look at Anne too all thewhile, as if curious to see how she would take his words, he began:
"You know what my life has been--that is, generally. What I wish to tellyou now is an inner phase. When, at the beginning of middle age, at lastI had gained the wealth I always intended to have, I decided that Iwould marry. I wished to have a home. Of course, during all thosetoiling years, I had not been without what are called love affairs, butI was far too intensely absorbed in my own purposes to spend much timeupon them. Besides, I had preserved an ideal.
"I do not intend to conceal or deny that I am ambitious: I made adeliberate effort to gain admittance into what is called the bestsociety in the Eastern cities, and in a measure I succeeded. I enjoyedthe life; it was another world; but still, wherever I went it seemed tome that the women were artificial. Beautiful, attractive, women I couldnot help admiring, but--not like my ideal of what my wife must be. Theywould never make for me that home I coveted; for while I stood ready tosurround that home with luxury, in its centre I wanted, for myselfalone, a true and loving heart, a heart absorbed in me. And then, whileI knew that I wanted this, while I still cherished my old ideal closely,what did I do? I began to love Rachel Bannert!
"You look at me; you do not understand why I speak in that tone. It isas well that you should not. I can only say that I worshipped her. Itwas not her fault that I began to love her, but it was her fault that Iwas borne on so far; for she made me believe that she loved me; she gaveme the privileges of a lover. I never doubted (how could I?) that shewould be my wife in the end, although, for reasons of her own, shewished to keep the engagement, for the time being, a secret. Isubmitted, because I loved her. And then, when I was helpless, because Iwas so sure of her, she turned upon me and cast me off. Like a worn-outglove!
"Anne, I could not believe it. We were in the ravine; she had strolledoff in that direction, as though by chance, and I had followed her. Iasked her what she meant: no doubt I looked like a dolt. She laughed inmy face. It seemed that she had only been amusing herself; that she hadnever had any intention of marrying me; a 'comedy of the summer.' But noone laughs in my face twice--not even a woman. When, at last, Iunderstood her, my infatuation vanished; and I said some words to herthat night which I think she will not soon forget. Then I turned andleft.
"Remember that this was no boy whose feelings she had played with, whoserespect she had forfeited; it was a man, and one who had expected tofind in this Eastern society a perfection of delicacy and refinement notelsewhere seen. I scorned myself for having loved her, and for themoment I scorned all women too. Then it was, Anne, that the thought of_you_ saved me. I said to myself that if you would be my wife, I couldbe happy with your fresh sincerity, and not sink into that unbelieving,disagreeable cynicism which I had always despised in other men. Actingon the impulse, I asked you.
"I did not love you, save as all right-minded men love and admire asweet young girl; but I believed in you; there was something about youthat aroused trust and confidence. Besides--I tell you this frankly--Ithought I should succeed. I certainly did not want to be repulsed twicein one day. I see now that I was misled by Miss Vanhorn. But I did notsee it then, and when I spoke to you, I fully expected that you wouldanswer yes.
"You answered no, Anne, but you still saved me. I still believed in you.And more than ever after that last interview. I went away from Caryl'searly the next morning, and two days later started for the West. I washurt through and through, angry with myself, disgusted with life. Iwan
ted to breathe again the freedom of the border. Yet through it allyour memory was with me as that of one true, pure, steadfast woman-heartwhich compelled me to believe in goodness and steadfastness aspossibilities in women, although I myself had been so blindly befooled.This is what you, although unconsciously, have done for me: it is aninestimable service.
"I was not much moved from my disgust until something occurred whichswept me out of myself--I mean the breaking out of the war. I had notbelieved in its possibility; but when the first gun was fired, I startedeastward at an hour's notice." Here Dexter rose, and with folded armswalked to and fro across the floor. "The class of people you met atCaryl's used to smile and shrug their shoulders over what is calledpatriotism--I think they are smiling no longer."--(Here Anne remembered"After that attack on Fort Sumter, it seemed to me the only thing todo") "but the tidings of that first gun stirred something in _my_ breastwhich is, I suppose, what that word means. As soon as I reachedPennsylvania, I went up to the district where my mines are, gatheredtogether and equipped all the volunteers who would go. I have been doingsimilar work on a larger scale ever since. I should long ago have beenat the front in person were it not that the Governor requires mypresence at home, and I am well aware also that I am worth twenty timesmore in matters of organization than I should be simply as one more manin the field."
This was true. Gregory Dexter's remarkable business powers and energy,together with his wealth, force, and lavish liberality, made him thestrong arm of his State throughout the entire war.
He asked for no comment upon his story; he had told it briefly as aseries of facts. But from it he hoped that the listener would draw afeeling which would make her rest content under his friendly aid. And hesucceeded.
But before he went away she told him that while accepting all the housecontained, she would rather return those of his gifts which had beenpersonal to herself.
"Why?"
"I would rather do it, but I do not know how to explain the feeling,"she answered, frankly, although her face was one bright blush.
"If you do not, I do," said Dexter, smiling, and looking at her with thebeginnings of a new interest in his eyes. "As you please, of course,although I _did_ try to buy a good shawl for you, Anne. Are you not verypoorly dressed?"
"Plainly and inexpensively. Quite warmly, however."
"But what am I to do with the things? I will tell you what I shall do: Ishall keep them just as they are, in the cedar box. Perhaps some day youwill accept them."
She shook her head. But he only smiled back in answer, and soonafterward he went away.
The next day she sent the cedar case to his city address. She wrote anote to accompany it, and then destroyed it. Why should she write? Allhad been said.
Before the month was quite ended, Herr Scheffel succeeded in obtainingfor her a place in another church choir. It was a small church, and thesalary was not large, but she was glad to accept it, and more than gladto be able to write to Mr. Dexter that she had accepted it. New pupilscame with the new year; she was again able to send money to Miss Lois,for the household supplies, so lavishly provided, were sufficient forthe little family throughout the winter.
In February, being again in New York, Dexter came out to see her. It wasa wild evening; the wind whistled round the house, and blew the hail andsleet against the panes. Most persons would have remained in the city;but after one look at Dexter's face and figure, no one ever spoke to himabout the weather. Anne had received a long letter from Jeanne-Armande;she showed it to him. Also one from Pere Michaux. "I feel now," shesaid, "almost as though you were my--"
"Please do not say father."
"Oh no."
"Brother, then?"
"Hardly that."
"Uncle?"
"Perhaps; I never had an uncle. But, after all, it is more like--" Hereshe stopped again.
"Guardian?" suggested Dexter; "they are always remarkable persons, atleast in books. Never mind the name, Anne; I am content to be simplyyour friend."
During the evening he made one allusion to the forbidden subject. "Youasked me to tell you nothing regarding the people who were at Caryl's,but perhaps the prohibition was not eternal. I spent an hour with Mrs.Heathcote this afternoon (never fear; I kept your secret). Would you notlike to hear something of her?"
Anne's face changed, but she did not swerve. "No; tell me nothing," sheanswered. And he obeyed her wish. In a short time he took leave, andreturned to the city. During the remainder of the winter she did not seehim again.