CHAPTER LVIII.
GIFTS.
After the rolls and coffee had been finished, Peter walked with hisfriends to their cab. It had all been arranged that they were to go toPeter's quarters, and get some sleep. These were less than eight blocksaway, but the parting was very terrific! However, it had to be done, andso it was gone through with. Hard as it was, Peter had presence of mindenough to say, through the carriage window.
"You had better take my room, Miss D'Alloi, for the spare room is thelargest. I give you the absolute freedom of it, minus the gold-box. Useanything you find."
Then Peter went back to the chaotic street and the now breakfastingregiment, feeling that strikes, anarchists, and dynamite were only minorcircumstances in life.
About noon Leonore came back to life, and succeeded in making a verybewitching toilet despite the absence of her maid. Whether she peepedinto any drawers or other places, is left to feminine readers to decide.If she did, she certainly had ample authority from Peter.
This done she went into the study, and, after sticking her nose intosome of the window flowers, she started to go to the bookshelves. As shewalked her foot struck something which rang with a metallic sound, as itmoved on the wood floor. The next moment, a man started out of a deepchair.
"Oh!" was all Leonore said.
"I hope I didn't startle you. You must have kicked my sword."
"I--I didn't know you were here!" Leonore eyed the door leading to thehall, as if she were planning for a sudden flight.
"The regiment was relieved by another from Albany this morning. So Icame up here for a little sleep."
"What a shame that I should have kept you out of your room," saidLeonore, still eyeing the door. From Leonore's appearance, one wouldhave supposed that she had purloined something of value from hisquarters, and was meditating a sudden dash of escape with it.
"I don't look at it in that light," said Peter. "But since you'vefinished with the room for the moment, I'll borrow the use temporarily.Strikers and anarchists care so little for soap and water themselves,that they show no consideration to other people for those articles."Peter passed through the doorway towards which Leonore had glanced. ThenLeonore's anxious look left her, and she no longer looked at the door.One would almost have inferred that Leonore was afraid of Peter, butthat is absurd, since they were such good friends, since Leonore hadcome all the way from Newport to see him, and since Leonore had decidedthat Peter must do as she pleased.
Yet, curiously enough, when Peter returned in about twenty minutes, thesame look came into Leonore's face.
"We shall have something to eat in ten minutes," Peter said, "for I hearyour father and mother moving."
Leonore looked towards the door. She did not intend that Peter shouldsee her do it, but he did.
"Now what shall we do or talk about?" he said. "You know I am host andmustn't do anything my guests don't wish."
Peter said this in the most matter-of-fact way, but Leonore, after alook from under her eyelashes at him, stopped thinking about the door.She went over to one of the window-seats.
"Come and sit here by me," she said, "and tell me everything about it."
So Peter described "the war, and what they fought each other for," aswell as he was able, for, despite his intentions, his mind would wanderas those eyes looked into his.
"I am glad that Podds was blown to pieces!" said Leonore.
"Don't say that."
"Why?"
"Because it's one of those cases of a man of really good intentions,merely gone wrong. He was a horse-car driver, who got inflammatoryrheumatism by the exposure, and was discharged. He suffered fearfulpain, and saw his family suffer for bread. He grew bitter, and took upwith these wild theories, not having enough original brain force, oreducation, to see their folly. He believed firmly in them. So firmly,that when I tried to reason him out of them many years ago he came todespise me and ordered me out of his rooms. I had once done him aservice, and felt angered at what I thought ungrateful conduct, so Imade no attempt to keep up the friendliness. He knew yesterday thatdynamite was in the hands of some of those men, and tried to warn meaway. When I refused to go, he threw himself upon me, to protect me fromthe explosion. Nothing else saved my life."
"Peter, will your regiment have to do anything more?"
"I don't think so. The dynamite has caused a reaction, and has drivenoff the soberer part of the mob. The pendulum, when it swings too far,always swings correspondingly far the other way. I must stay here for acouple of days, but then if I'm asked, I'll go back to Newport."
"Papa and mamma want you, I'm sure," said Leonore, glancing at the dooragain, after an entire forgetfulness.
"Then I shall go," said Peter, though longing to say something else.
Leonore looked at him and said in the frankest way; "And I want youtoo." That was the way she paid Peter for his forbearance.
Then they all went up on the roof, where in one corner there were potsof flowers about a little table, over which was spread an awning. Overthat table, too, Jenifer had spread himself. How good that breakfastwas! What a glorious September day it was! How beautiful the view of thecity and the bay was! It was all so thoroughly satisfactory, that thethree nearly missed the "limited." Of course Peter went to the stationwith them, and, short as was the time, he succeeded in obtaining for oneof the party, "all the comic papers," "the latest novel," a small basketof fruit, and a bunch of flowers, not one of which, with the exceptionof the latter, the real object of these attentions wanted in the least.
Just here it is of value to record an interesting scientific discoveryof Leonore's, because women so rarely have made them. It was, that thedistance from New York to Newport is very much less than the distancefrom Newport to New York.
Curiously enough, two days later, his journey seemed to Peter thelongest railroad ride he had ever taken. "His friend" did not meet himthis time. His friend felt that her trip to New York must be offsetbefore she could resume her proper self-respect. "He was very nice," shehad said, in monologue, "about putting the trip down to friendship. Andhe was very nice that morning in his study. But I think his veryniceness is suspicious, and so I must be hard on him!" A woman'sreasoning is apt to seem defective, yet sometimes it solves problems nototherwise answerable.
Leonore found her "hard" policy harder than she thought for. She toldPeter the first evening that she was going to a card-party. "I can'ttake you," she said.
"I shall be all the better for a long night's sleep," said Peter,calmly.
This was bad enough, but the next morning, as she was arranging theflowers, she remarked to some one who stood and watched her, "MissWinthrop is engaged. How foolish of a girl in her first season! Beforeshe's had any fun, to settle down to dull married life."
She had a rose in her hand, prepared to revive Peter with it, in caseher speech was too much for one dose, but when she glanced at him, hewas smiling happily.
"What is it?" asked Leonore, disapprovingly.
"I beg your pardon," said Peter. "I wasn't listening. Did you say MissWinthrop was married?"
"What were you smiling over?" said Leonore, in the same voice.
"I was thinking of--of--." Then Peter hesitated and laughed.
"Of what?" asked Leonore.
"You really mustn't ask me," laughed Peter.
"Of what were you thinking?"
"Of eyelashes," confessed Peter.
"It's terrible!" cogitated Leonore, "I can't snub him any more, try as Imay."
In truth, Peter was not worrying any longer over what Leonore said ordid to him. He was merely enjoying her companionship. He was at onceabsolutely happy, and absolutely miserable. Happy in his hope. Miserablein its non-certainty. To make a paradox, he was confident that sheloved him, yet he was not sure. A man will be absolutely confident thata certain horse will win a race, or he will be certain that a profitwill accrue from a given business transaction. Yet, until the horse haswon, or the profit is actually made, he is not assured. So it was wi
thPeter. He thought that he had but to speak, yet dared not do it. Thepresent was so certain, and the future might have such agonies. So fortwo days he merely followed Leonore about, enjoying her pretty ways andhardly heeding her snubs and petulance. He was very silent, and oftenabstracted, but his silence and abstraction brought no relief toLeonore, and only frightened her the more, for he hardly let her out ofhis sight, and the silent devotion and tenderness were so obvious thatLeonore felt how absolutely absurd was her pretence of unconsciousness.In his very "Miss D'Alloi" now, there was a tone in his voice and a lookin his face which really said the words: "My darling." Leonore thoughtthis was a mean trick, of apparently sustaining the conventions ofsociety, while in reality outraging them horribly, but she was helplessto better his conduct. Twice unwittingly he even called her "Leonore"(as he had to himself for two months), thereby terribly disconcertingthe owner of that name. She wanted to catch him up and snub him eachtime, but she was losing her courage. She knew that she was walking on amine, and could not tell what chance word or deed of hers would bring anexplosion. "And then what can I say to him?" she asked.
What she said was this:
Peter came downstairs the third evening of his stay "armed and equippedas the law directs" for a cotillion. In the large hallway, he foundLeonore, likewise in gala dress, resting her hand on the tall mantel ofthe hall, and looking down at the fire. Peter stopped on the landing toenjoy that pose. He went over every detail with deliberation. But girl,gown, and things in general, were much too tempting to make this distantglimpse over lengthy. So he descended to get a closer view. The posesaid nothing, and Peter strolled to the fire, and did likewise. But ifhe did not speak he more than made up for his silence with his eyes.
Finally the pose said, "I suppose it's time we started?"
"Some one's got to speak," the pose had decided. Evidently the pose feltuneasy under that silent gaze.
"It's only a little past ten," said Peter, who was quite satisfied withthe _status quo_.
Then silence came again. After this had held for a few moments, the posesaid: "Do say something!"
"Something," said Peter. "Anything else I can do for you?"
"Unless you can be more entertaining, we might as well be sitting in thePurdies' dressing-rooms, as standing here. Suppose we go to the libraryand sit with mamma and papa?" Clearly the pose felt nervous.
Peter did not like this idea. So he said: "I'll try to amuse you. Let metell you something very interesting to me. It's my birthday to-morrow."
"Oh!" said Leonore. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Then I would havehad a gift for you."
"That's what I was afraid of."
"Don't you want me to give you something?"
"Yes." Then Peter's hands trembled, and he seemed to have hard work inadding, "I want you to give me--a kiss."
"Peter!" said Leonore, drawing back grieved and indignant. "I didn'tthink you would speak to me so. Of all men!"
"You mustn't think," said Peter, "that I meant to pain you."
"You have," said Leonore, almost ready to cry.
"Because," said Peter, "that isn't what I meant." Peter obviouslystruggled to find words to say what he did mean as he had neverstruggled over the knottiest of legal points, or the hardest ofwrestling matches. "If I thought you were a girl who would kiss a manfor the asking, I should not care for a kiss from you." Peter strayedaway from the fire uneasily. "But I know you are not." Peter gazedwildly round, as if the furnishings, of the hall might suggest the wordsfor which he was blindly groping. But they didn't, and after one or twohalf-begun sentences, he continued: "I haven't watched you, and dreamedabout you, and loved you, for all this time, without learning what youare." Peter roamed about the great hall restlessly. "I know that yourlips will never give what your heart doesn't." Then his face took adespairing look, and he continued quite rapidly: "I ask without muchhope. You are so lovely, while I--well I'm not a man women care for.I've tried to please you. Tried to please you so hard, that I may havedeceived you. I probably am what women say of me. But if I've beenotherwise with you it is because you are different from any other womanin the world." Here the sudden flow of words ended, and Peter paced upand down, trying to find what to say. If any one had seen Peter as hepaced, without his present environment, he would have thought him a manmeditating suicide. Suddenly his voice and face became less wild, and hesaid tenderly: "There is no use in my telling you how I love you. Youknow it now, or will never learn it from anything I can say." Peterstrode back to the fire. "It is my love which asks for a kiss. And Iwant it for the love you will give with it, if you can give it."
Leonore had apparently kept her eyes on the blazing logs during thewhole of this monologue. But she must have seen something of Peter'suneasy wanderings about the room, for she had said to herself: "Poordear! He must be fearfully in earnest, I never knew him so restless. Heprowls just like a wild animal."
A moment's silence came after Peter's return to the fire. Then he said:"Will you give it to me, Miss D'Alloi?" But his voice in truth, made thewords, "Give me what I ask, my darling."
"Yes," said Leonore softly. "On your birthday." Then Leonore shrank backa little, as if afraid that her gift would be sought sooner. No younggirl, however much she loves a man, is quite ready for that first kiss.A man's lips upon her own are too contrary to her instinct and previoustraining to make them an unalloyed pleasure. The girl who is over-readyfor her lover's first kiss, has tasted the forbidden fruit already, orhas waited over-long for it.
Peter saw the little shrinking and understood it. What was more, heheeded it as many men would not have done. Perhaps there was somethingselfish in his self-denial, for the purity and girlishness which itindicated were very dear to him, and he hated to lessen them by anythinghe did. He stood quietly by her, and merely said, "I needn't tell youhow happy I am!"
Leonore looked up into Peter's face. If Leonore had seen there any lackof desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, she would never haveforgiven him. But since his face showed beyond doubt that he was longingto do it, Leonore loved him all the better for his repression of self,out of regard for her. She slipped her little hand into Peter'sconfidingly, and said, "So am I." It means a good deal when a girl doesnot wish to run away from her lover the moment after she has confessedher love.
So they stood for some time, Leonore looking down into the fire, andPeter looking down at Leonore.
Finally Peter said, "Will you do me a great favor?"
"No," said Leonore, "I've done enough for one night. But you can tell mewhat it is."
"Will you look up at me?"
"What for?" said Leonore, promptly looking up.
"I want to see your eyes," said Peter.
"Why?" asked Leonore, promptly looking down again.
"Well," said Peter, "I've been dreaming all my life about some eyes, andI want to see what my dream is like in reality."
"That's a very funny request," said Leonore perversely. "You ought tohave found out about them long ago. The idea of any one falling in love,without knowing about the eyes!"
"But you show your eyes so little," said Peter. "I've never had athoroughly satisfying look at them."
"You look at them every time I look at you," said Leonore. "Sometimes itwas very embarrassing. Just supposing that I showed them to you now, andthat you find they aren't what you like?"
"I never waste time discussing impossibilities," said Peter. "Are yougoing to let me see them?"
"How long will it take?"
"I can tell better after I've seen them," said Peter, astutely.
"I don't think I have time this evening," said Leonore, stillperversely, though smiling a look of contentment down into the fire.
Peter said nothing for a moment, wishing to give Leonore's conscience achance to begin to prick. Then be ended the silence by saying: "If I hadanything that would give you pleasure, I wouldn't make you ask for ittwice."
"That's--different," said Leonore. "Still, I'll--well, look at them,"and Leonore lifted
her eyes to Peter's half laughingly and half timidly.
Peter studied those eyes in silence--studied them till Leonore, who didnot find that steady look altogether easy to bear, and yet was notwilling to confess herself stared out of countenance, asked: "Do youlike them?"
"Yes," said Peter.
"Is that all you can say? Other people have said very complimentarythings!" said Leonore, pretending to be grieved over the monosyllable,yet in reality delighting in its expressiveness as Peter said it.
"I think," said Peter, "that before I can tell you what I think of youreyes, we shall have to invent some new words."
Leonore looked down again into the fire, smiling a satisfied smile.Peter looked down at that down-turned head, also with a satisfied smile.Then there was another long silence. Incidentally it is to be noted thatPeter still held the hand given him some time before. To use a pokerterm, Peter was standing "pat," and wished no change. Once or twice thelittle hand had hinted that it had been held long enough, but Peter didnot think so, and the hand had concluded that it was safest to let wellalone. If it was too cruel It might rouse the sleeping lion which theowner of that hand knew to exist behind that firm, quiet face.
Presently Peter put his unoccupied hand in his breast-pocket, andproduced a small sachet. "I did something twice," he said, "that I havefelt very meanly about at times. Perhaps you'll forgive me now?" He tookfrom the sachet, a glove, and a small pocket-handkerchief, and without aword showed them to Leonore.
Leonore looked at them. "That's the glove I lost at Mrs. Costell's,isn't it?" she asked gravely.
Peter nodded his head.
"And is that the handkerchief which disappeared in your rooms, at yoursecond dinner?"
Peter nodded his head.
"And both times you helped me hunt for them?"
Peter nodded his head. He at last knew how prisoners felt when he wascross-examining them.
"I knew you had them all the time," said Leonore laughing. "It wasdreadfully funny to see you pretend to hunt, when the guilty look onyour own face was enough to show you had them. That's why I was sodetermined to find them."
Peter knew how prisoners felt when the jury says, "Not guilty."
"But how did the holes come in them?" said Leonore. "Do you have mice inyour room?" Leonore suddenly looked as worried as had Peter the momentbefore.
Peter put his hand in the sachet, and produced a bent coin. "Look atthat," he said.
"Why, it's my luck-piece!" exclaimed Leonore. "And you've spoiled thattoo. What a careless boy!"
"No," said Peter. "They are not spoiled to me. Do you know what cutthese holes and bent this coin?"
"What?"
"A bullet."
"Peter!"
"Yes. Your luck-piece stopped it, or I shouldn't be here."
"There," said Leonore triumphantly, "I said you weren't hurt, when thenews of the shooting came, because I knew you had it. I was so glad youhad taken it!"
"I am going to give it back to you by and by," said Peter.
"I had rather that you should have it," said Leonore. "I want you tohave my luck."
"I shall have it just the same even after I've given it to you," saidPeter.
"How?"
"I'm going to have it made into a plain gold ring," replied Peter, "andwhen I give it to you, I shall have all your luck."
Then came a silence.
Finally Peter said, "Will you please tell me what you meant by talkingabout five years!"
"Oh! Really, Peter," Leonore hastened to explain, in an anxious way, asif Peter had charged her with murder or some other heinous crime. "I didthink so. I didn't find it out till--till that night. Really! Won't youbelieve me?"
Peter smiled. He could have believed anything.
"Now," he said, "I know at last what Anarchists are for."
His ready acceptance of her statement made Leonore feel a slight prickof conscience. She said: "Well--Peter--I mean--that is--at least, I didsometimes think before then--that when I married, I'd marry you--but Ididn't think it would come so soon. Did you? I thought we'd wait. Itwould have been so much more sensible!"
"I've waited a long time," said Peter.
"Poor dear!" said Leonore, putting her other hand over Peter's, whichheld hers.
Peter enjoyed this exquisite pleasure in silence for a time, but theenjoyment was too great not to be expressed So he said;
"I like your hands almost as much as your eyes."
"That's very nice," said Leonore.
"And I like the way you say 'dear,'" said Peter. "Don't you want to sayit again?"
"No, I hate people who say the same thing twice."
Then there was a long pause.
"What poor things words are?" said Peter, at the end of it.
"I know just what you mean," said Leonore.
Clearly they both meant what they said, for there came another absenceof words. How long the absence would have continued is a debatablepoint. Much too soon a door opened.
"Hello!" said a voice. "Back already? What kind of an evening had you?"
"A very pleasant one," said Peter, calmly, yet expressively.
"Let go my hand, Peter, please," a voice whispered imploringly. "Oh,please! I can't to-night. Oh, please!"
"Say 'dear,'" whispered Peter, meanly.
"Please, dear," said Leonore. Then Leonore went towards the stairshurriedly.
"Not off already, Dot, surely?"
"Yes. I'm going to bed."
"Come and have a cigar, Peter," said Watts, walking towards the library.
"In a moment," said Peter. He went to the foot of the stairs and said,"Please, dear," to the figure going up.
"Well?" said the figure.
Peter went up five steps. "Please," he begged.
"No," said the figure, "but there is my hand."
So Peter turned the little soft palm uppermost and kissed it Then heforgot the cigar and Watts. He went to his room, and thought of--of hisbirthday gift.