The Mountain Girl

  CHAPTER XXV

  IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG VISITS HIS MOTHER

  How wise was the advice of the old doctor to make short work of theconfession to his mother, and to face the matter of his marriage bravelywith his august friends and connections, David little knew. If hismarriage had been rash in its haste, nothing in the future should bedone rashly. Possibly he might be obliged to return to America before hemade a full revelation that a wife awaited him in that far and but dimlyappreciated land. In his mind the matter resolved itself into a questionof time and careful adjustment.

  Slowly as the boat ploughed through the never resting waters,--slowly asthe western land with its dreams and realities drifted farther into thevapors that blended the line of the land and the sea,--so slowly thefuture unveiled itself and drew him on, into its new dreams, revealing,with the inevitable progression of the hours, a life heretofore shroudedand only vaguely imagined, as a glowing reality filled with opportunityand power.

  He felt his whole nature expand and become imbued with intoxicatingambitions, as if hereafter he would be swept onward to ride through lifetriumphant, even as the boat was riding the sea, surmounting itsmysterious depths and taking its unerring way in spite of buffeting ofwinds and beating of waves.

  Still young, with renewed vitality, his hopes turned to the future,recognizing the tremendous scope for his energies which his ownparticular prospects presented. Often he stood alone in the prow, amongthe coils of rope, and watched the distance unroll before him, while thesalt breeze played with his clustering hair and filled his lungs. Heloved the long sweep of the prow, as it divided the water and cast itfoaming on either side, in opaline and turquoise tints, shifting andfalling into the indigo depths of the vastness around.

  In thought he spanned the wide spaces and leaped still toward thefuture; before him the gray-haired mother who trembled to hold him oncemore in her arms, behind him the young wife waiting his return,enclosing him serenely and adoringly in her heart.

  Each day while on shipboard, David wrote to Cassandra, voluminously. Hefound it a pleasant way of passing the hours. He described hissurroundings and unfolded such of his anticipations as he felt she couldbest understand and with which she could sympathize, trying to explainto her what the years to come might hold for them both, and telling heralways to wait with patience for his return. This could not be knowndefinitely until he had looked into the state of his uncle'saffairs--which would hereafter be his own.

  Sometimes his letter contained only a review of some of the happiesthours they had spent together, as if he were placing his thoughts ofthose blessed days on paper, that they might be for their mutualcommuning. Sometimes he discoursed of the calamity he had suffered, theuselessness of his brother's death, and the cruelty and wastefulness ofwar. At such times he was minded to write her of the opportunity nowgiven him to serve his country, and the power he might some day attainto promote peace and avert rash legislation.

  Never once did he allow an inadvertent word to slip from his pen,whereby she could suspect that she, as his wife, might be a cause ofembarrassment to him, or a clog in the wheel of the chariot which fromnow on was to bear him triumphantly among his social friends orpolitical enemies. Never would he disturb the sweet serenity thatencompassed her. Yet well he knew what an incongruity she would appearshould he present her now--as she had stood by her loom, or in theploughed field at his side--to the company he would find in his mother'shome.

  Simple and direct as she was, she would walk over their conventions andproprieties, and never know it. How strange many of those customs oftheirs would appear to her, and how unnecessary! He feared for her mostin her utter ignorance of everything pertaining to the daily existenceof the over-civilized circle to which the changed conditions of his lifewould bring her.

  Much, he knew, would pass unseen by her, but soon she would begin tounderstand, and to wince under their exclamations of "Howextraordinary!" The masklike expression would steal over her face, herpride would encase her spirit in the deep reserve he himself had foundso hard to penetrate, and he could see her withdrawing more and morefrom all, until at last-- Ah! it must not be. He must manage verycarefully, lest Doctor Hoyle's prophecy indeed be fulfilled.

  At last the lifting of the veil to the eastward revealed the boldpromontory of Land's End, and soon, beyond, the fair green slopes of hisown beautiful Old England. For all of the captious criticism he hadfallen in the way of bestowing upon her, how he loved her! He felt as ifhe must throw up his arms and shout for joy. Suddenly she had becomehis, with a sense of possession new to him, and sweet to feel. Theorderliness and stereotyped lines of her social system against which hehad rebelled, and the iron bars of her customs which his soul hadabhorred in the past,--against which his spirit had bruised and beatenitself,--now lured him on as a security for things stable and fine. Insubtile ways as yet unrealized, he was being drawn back into the cagefrom which he had fled for freedom and life.

  How quickly he had become accustomed to the air of deference in Mr.Stretton's continual use of his newly acquired title--"my lord." Whynot? It was his right. The same laws which had held him subservientbefore, now gave him this, and he who a few months earlier had beenproudly ploughing his first furrows in his little leased farm on amountain meadow, now walked with lifted head, "to the manor born," alongthe platform, and entered the first-class compartment with Mr. Stretton,where a few rich Americans had already installed themselves.

  David noticed, with inward amusement, their surreptitious glances, whenthe lawyer addressed him; how they plumed themselves, yet tried toappear nonchalant and indifferent to the fact that they were riding inthe same compartment with a lord. In time he would cease to notice evensuch incongruities as this tacit homage from a professedlytitle-scorning people.

  David's mother had moved into the town house, whither his uncle hadsent for her, when, stricken with grief, he had lain down for his lastbrief illness. The old servants had all been retained, and David wasushered to his mother's own sitting-room by the same household dignitarywho was wont to preside there when, as a lad, he had been allowed rarevisits to his cousins in the city.

  How well he remembered his fine, punctilious old uncle, and the feelingof awe tempered by anticipation with which he used to enter those halls.He was overwhelmed with a sense of loss and disaster as he glanced upthe great stairway where his cousins were wont to come bounding down tohim, handsome, hearty, romping lads.

  It had been a man's household, for his aunt had been dead many years--aman's household characterized by a man's sense of heavy order withoutthe many touches of feminine occupation and arrangement which tend tosoften a man's half military reign. As he was being led through thehalls, he noticed a subtile change which warmed his quick senses. Was itthe presence of his mother and Laura? His entrance interrupted ananimated conversation which was being held between the two as themanservant announced his name, and, in another instant, his mother wasin his arms.

  "Dear little mother! Dear little mother!" But she was not small. She wastall and dignified, and David had to stoop but little to bring his eyeslevel with hers.

  "David, I'm here, too." A hand was laid on his arm, and he released hismother to turn and look into two warm brown eyes.

  "And so the little sister is grown up," he said, embracing her, thenholding her off at arm's-length. "Five years! When I look at you,mother, they don't seem so long--but Laura here!"

  "You didn't expect me to stay a little girl all my life, did you,David?"

  "No, no." He took her by the shoulder and shook her a little and pinchedher cheeks. "What roses! Why, sis, I say, you know, I'm proud of you.What have you been up to, anyway?" He flung himself on the sofa andpulled her down beside him. "Give an account of yourself."

  "I've gone in for athletics."

  "Right."

  "And-- Oh! lots of things. You give an account of yourself."

  David glanced at his mother. She was seated opposite them, regarding himwith brimming eyes. No, he could not giv
e an account of himself yet. Hewould wait until he and his mother were alone. He lifted Laura's heavyhair, which, confined only by a great bow of black ribbon, hungstreaming down her back, in a dark mass that gave her a tousled, unkemptlook, and which, taken together with her dead black dress, and her darktanned skin, roughened by exposure to wind and sun, greatly marred herbeauty, in spite of her roses and the warmth of her large dark eyes.

  As David surveyed his sister, he thought of Cassandra, and was mindedthen and there to describe her--to attempt to unveil the events of thepast year, and make them see and know, as far as possible, what his lifehad been. He held this thought a moment, poised ready for utterance--amoment of hesitation as to how to begin, and then forever lost, as hismother began speaking.

  "Laura hasn't come out yet. As events have turned, it is just as well,for her chances, naturally, will be much better now than they would havebeen if we had had her coming out last year."

  "I don't see how, mamma, with all this heavy black. I can't come outuntil I leave it off, and it will be so long to wait." Laura pouted alittle, discontentedly, then flushed a disfiguring flush of shame underher dark skin, as she caught the look in her brother's eyes. "Not butwhat I shall keep on mourning for Bob, as long as I live--he was such adear," she added, her eyes filling with quick, impulsive tears. "But howyou make out my chances will be better now, mamma, I can't see,really,--I look such a fright."

  "Chances for what?" asked David, dryly.

  "For matrimony--naturally," his sister flung out defiantly, half smilingthrough her tears. "Don't you know that's all a girl of my age livesfor--matrimony and a kennel? I mean to have one, now we will have ourown preserves. It will be ripping, you know."

  "Certainly, our own preserves," said David, still dryly, thinking howCassandra would wonder what preserves were, and what she would say iftold that in preserves, wild harmless animals were kept from beingkilled by the common people for food, in order that those of his ownclass might chase them down and kill them for their amusement.

  "Oh, David, I remember how you used to be always putting on a look likethat, and thinking a lot of nasty things under your breath. I hoped youwould come home vastly improved. Was it what I said about matrimony?Mamma knows it's true."

  "Hardly as you put it, my child; there is much besides for a girl tothink about."

  "You said 'chances' yourself, mamma."

  "Certainly, but that is for me to consider. You must remember that itwas you who refused to have your coming out last year."

  "I didn't want my good times cut short then, mamma, and have to take upproprieties--or at least I would have had to be dreadfully proper for awhile, anyway--and now--why I have to be naturally; and here I am unableto come out for another year yet and my hair streaming down my back allthe time. I'm sure I can't see how my chances are in the least improvedby it all; and by that time I shall be so old."

  "Oh, you will be quite young enough," said David.

  "You occupy a far different position now, child. To make your debut asLady Laura will give you quite another place in the world. Yourheadstrong postponement, fortunately, will do no harm. It will make yourintroduction to the circle where you are eventually to move, muchsimpler."

  Laura lifted her eyebrows and glanced from her mother to her brother."Very well, mamma, but one thing you might as well know now. I shan'tdrop some of my friends--if being Lady Laura lifts me above them as highas the moon. I like them, and I don't care."

  She whistled, and a beautiful, silken-haired setter crept from under thesofa whereon she had been sitting, and wriggled about after the mannerof guilty dogs.

  "Laura, dear!"

  "Yes, mamma, I've been hiding him with my skirts by sitting there. Hewas bad and followed me in. We've been out riding together." She strokedhis silken coat with her riding crop. "Mamma won't allow him in here,and he jolly well knows it. Bad Zip, bad, sir! Look at him. Isn't heclever? I must go and dress for dinner. Mamma wants you to herself, Iknow, and Mr. Stretton will be here soon. You can't think, David, howglad I am we have you back! You couldn't think it from my way--but Iam--rather! It's been awful here--simply awful, since the boys allleft."

  Again her eyes filled with quick tears, and she dashed out with the dogbounding about her and leaping up to thrust his great tongue in herface. "You are too big for the house, Zip. Down, sir!" In an instant shewas back, putting her tousled head in at the door.

  "David, when mamma is finished with you, come out and see my dogs. Ihave five already, and Nancy is going to litter soon. Calkins is to takethem into the country to-morrow, for they are just cooped up here." Shewithdrew, and David heard her heavy-soled shoes clatter down the longhalls. He and his mother smiled as they listened, looking into eachother's eyes.

  "She is a dear child, but life means only a good time to her as yet."

  "Well, let it. She has splendid stuff in her and is bound to make asplendid woman."

  "She's right, David. It has been awful since your brother left." Davidsat beside her and placed his hand on hers. Again it was in his mind totell her of Cassandra, and again he was stopped by the tenor of her nextremark. "You see how it is, my son; Laura can't understand, but youwill."

  "I'm not sure that I do. Open your heart to me, mother; tell me what youmean."

  "My dear son. I don't like to begin with worries. It is so sweet to haveyou back in the home. May you always stay with us."

  "I don't mind the worries, mother," he said tenderly; "I am here to helpyou. What is it?

  "It is only that, although we have inherited the title and estates, weare not there. We will be received, of course, but at first only bythose who have axes to grind. There are so many such, and it is hard toprotect one's self from them. For instance, there is Lady Willisbeck.Her own set have cut her completely for--certain reasons--there is noneed to retail unpleasant gossip,--but she was one of the first to call.Her daughter, Lady Isabel, gave Laura that dog,--but all the morebecause Laura and Lady Isabel were in school together, and were on thesame hockey team, they will have that excuse for clinging to us likeburs.

  "Lady Willisbeck would like very much now, for her daughter's sake, towin back her place in society, although she did not seem to value it forherself. Long before her mother's life became common talk,--because shewas infatuated with your cousin Lyon, Lady Isabel chose Laura for herchum, and the two have worked up a very romantic situation out of theaffair. You see I have cause for anxiety, David."

  He still held her hand, looking kindly in her face. "Is Lady Isabel theright sort?" he asked.

  "What do you mean by 'the right sort,' David? She isn't like her mother,naturally, or I would have been more decided; but she is not the rightsort for us. Lady Willisbeck is ostracized, and it is a grave matter.Her daughter will be ostracized with her, unless she can find a chaperonof quality to champion her--to--to--well, you understand that Lauracan't afford to make her debut handicapped with such a friendship. Notnow."

  "I fail to see until I know more of her friend."

  "But, David, we can't be visionary now. We must be practical and facethe difficulties of our situation. We are honorably entitled to all thatthe inheritance implies, but it is another thing to avail ourselves ofit. Your uncle led a most secluded life. He had no visitors, and wasknown only among men, and politically as a close conservative. His seatin the House meant only that. So now we enter a circle in which we nevermoved before, and we are not of it. For the present, our deep mourningis prohibitory, but it is also Laura's protection, although she does notknow it." His mother paused. She was not regarding him. She seemed to belooking into the future, and a little line, which had formed during theyears of David's absence, deepened in her forehead.

  "Be a little more explicit, mother. Protection from what?"

  "From undesirable people, dear. We are very conspicuous; to be frank, weare new. My own family connections are all good, but they will not bethe slightest help to Laura in maintaining her position. We have alwayslived in the country, and know no one." br />
  "You have refinement and good taste, mother."

  "I know it; that and this inheritance and the title."

  "Isn't that 'protection' enough? I really fail to see-- Whatever wouldplease you would be right. You may have what friendships you--"

  "Not at all, David. Everything is iron-bound. They are simply watchinglest we bring a lot of common people in our train. Things grow worse andworse in that way. There are so many rich tradespeople who arestruggling to get in, and clinging desperately to the skirts of thepoorer nobility. Of course, it all goes to show what a tremendous thinggood birth is, and the iron laws of custom are, after all, a propersafeguard and should be respected. Nevertheless we, who are so new, mustnot allow ourselves to become stepping-stones. It is perfectly right.

  "That is why I said this period of mourning is Laura's protection. Shewill have time to know what friendships are best, and an opportunity toavoid undesirable ones. You have been away so long, David, where theclass lines are not so rigidly drawn, that you forget--or never knew. Itis my duty, without any foolish sentiment, to guard Laura and see to itthat her coming out is what it should be. For one thing, she is so veryplain. If she were a beauty, it would help, but her plainness must becompensated for in other ways. She will have a large settlement, Mr.Stretton thinks, if your uncle's interests are not too much jeopardizedin South Africa by this terrible war. That is something you will have tolook into before you take your seat in the House."

  "Oh, mother, mother! I can't--"

  "My dear boy, your brother died for his country, and can you not give alittle of your life for it? I can rely on you to be practicallyinclined, now that you are placed at the head of such a family? I'm gladnow you never cared for Muriel Hunt. She could never have filled theposition as her ladyship, your uncle's wife, did. She was Lady ThomasiaHarcourt Glendyne of Wales. Beside her, Muriel would appear silly. It ismost fortunate you have no such entanglement now."

  "Mother, mother! I am astounded! I never dreamed my dear, beautifulmother could descend to such worldliness. You are changed, mother. Thereis something fundamentally wrong in all this."

  She looked up at him, aghast at his vehemence.

  "My son, my son! Let us have only love between us--only love. I am notchanged. I was content as I was, nor ever tried to enter a sphere aboveme. Now that this comes to me--forced on me by right of English law--Itake it thankfully, with all it brings. I will fill the place as itshould be filled, and Laura shall do the same, and you also, my son. Asfor Muriel Hunt, I will make concessions if--if your happiness demandsit."

  David groaned inwardly. "No, mother, no. It goes deeper than Muriel; itgoes deeper." They had both risen. She placed her hands on his shouldersand looked levelly in his eyes, and her own lightened, through tearsheld bravely back.

  "It may well go deeper than Muriel, and still not go very deep."

  "And yet the time was when Muriel Hunt was thought quite deep enough,"he said sadly, still looking in his mother's eyes--but she onlycontinued:--

  "Never doubt for a moment, dear, that Laura's welfare and yours aredearer to me than life. You are very weary; I see it in your eyes. Haveyou been to your apartment? Clark will show you." She kissed his browand departed.