CHAPTER XXXIII
A week later Ann Penhallow was told that she might see her husband. Sheentered his bedroom with timidity. "Oh, Ann, my most dear Ann!" he cried,as she kissed him. His expression of recovered intelligence overcame herfor a moment.
She faltered, "How are you feeling, James--any better?"
"Better--I am well."
"Hardly, dear--do be careful." She was unable to accept as a wholesomereality this amazing resurrection of a mind.
He understood her need for some reassurance, and said, "Don't worry aboutme, Ann. It is like a vague dream, all these many months--but a dream youknow fades fast. My own memories get clearer--some things are quitelost--some are as distinct as if they happened yesterday. The war is apuzzle to me--and--if I try to remember, it confuses me. But I must nottalk war to you--I do remember that. I won't do it again, dear."
There was something so childlike in this that it almost overcame thewoman's steadily guarded calm. She had been warned to be careful thatthere should be no excitement to agitate a mind which was slowly gropingits way out of the shadows of half-illumined memories.
"Oh, my dear James," she said quietly, "talk of war or anything; it isover." Despite her cautious command of her voice it trembled with emotionas she said, "Nothing is of any moment but you--you. What do I care forthe war or--or anything but to have you as you were? Oh, my God! I amthankful."
It disturbed him, as she saw. He felt and looked puzzled as he said, "Isee--I am not quite clear-headed yet, Ann."
"No, but you will be. Don't try too hard, James. We must be patient andwait."
"I will--I will--and it is such a relief to have no pain and to see you."
Then as he asked about Leila and the mill work, the younger doctor camein and said, "Time is up, Mrs. Penhallow."
"What--already, Tom?"
"But I want to know more," said the Colonel. "Wasn't there arummage-sale--"
"Yes; but now you must let Mrs. Penhallow go. You are mending daily.To-morrow Mrs. Penhallow may come again, and there will be to-morrow, andmany happy to-morrows." She went out and downstairs singing in a lowsweet voice--a long lost habit.
If to watch with an aching heart the hopeless decay of a mind be the mostdistressing of all human trials, surely there can be few greater joysthan to see a disordered intellect emerge day by day into possession ofits long lost capacities. James Penhallow was soon able to sign a powerof attorney enabling John to reconstruct the old partnership with his ownname added to the firm.
Very soon town and county shared in the growth of prosperity whichfollowed the war. Rivers was the only one who was not what his friendsdesired, and never was his melancholy mood more noticeable.
The master of Grey Pine was, of course, many months in recovering hisnormal state of mind. The man's bodily strength had not been seriouslyimpaired, and the return of his natural gaiety and his eager resumptionone by one of his old habits filled his home with that cheerfulness whichis the relieving and precious gift of convalescence. Penhallow'sremembrances of the war were rapidly recovered as he talked to John,but much of his recent life was buried in the strange graveyard ofmemory, which gave up no reminding ghosts of what all who loved the manfeared might haunt him.
When satisfied of the certainty of his uncle's recovery John Penhallowhurt by Leila's continual coldness and seeing for it no reasonableexplanation gave more and more time to the mills in which the familyfortunes were so seriously concerned. On the first of September he wasglad to go away on business which carried him to several of the largecities, and resulted in orders which would keep the works busy for manymonths. He no longer wrote to Leila, nor did he expect letters from her.He considered any nearer relation than friendship to be at an end, but tolose that also seemed to him a quite too needlessly cruel loss, and nowfor the first time on returning he approached Grey Pine without pleasure.He had telegraphed to have a horse sent to meet him at Westways Crossing,that he might ride on to the mills after seeing his uncle.
Having taken the night train, it was about noon when Leila saw him comingup the avenue. She went forward to the roadside and as he sat in thesaddle shook his hand, saying, "I am sorry you were delayed, John. Youwill be disappointed to know that Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann left homeyesterday." She wished that he had not quite so clearly shown the limitsof his regret, as he said quietly, "Well, I shall miss them, of course."
"A letter from aunt's brother, Henry Grey, asked them to visit him at theold Maryland home. I think it both pleased and surprised Aunt Ann. I amto join them later. Josiah is to matronize me--or, if you like, patronizeme. Uncle Jim was delighted to be asked and hopes to reconcile thebrothers. Henry's letter was very kind, but he is still suffering fromhis wound. Of course, Aunt Ann was happy."
He looked down at the upturned face as he sat in the saddle. She hadgiven him no warm word of personal welcome. "Well, it can't be helped.I had much to talk over with uncle." Then he laughed.
"What amuses you, John?"
"Oh, I should like to see the interview. Both Uncle Jim and I had queerencounters with Henry Grey."
"Uncle Jim!--what--when?"
"Ask him. I should have liked to add George Grey to the party. As foryour Uncle Henry"--John smiled--"a serious wound is rather productive ofthe unexpected, as I know. I will see you at dinner--now I must go on tothe mills." He rode away thinking without pleasure of being alone withLeila.
The presence of the maids who waited at dinner kept their conversationon the Colonel's rapid gain in health, village incidents, and the milllife--mere loitering disconnected talk of no interest except to fill thehour of two people who would have preferred to be silent.
John said, as he rose from the table, "I have a letter to write, Leila,and so I must leave you to the better company of your book." Once--but alittle while ago--he would have asked what book was now on hand. "Anymessages for aunt or uncle?"
"None--I wrote this morning."
He sat down in the library at his old desk and wrote: "Dear Leila"--Thenhe stood up--the easy freedom of the letter was denied to him. He was inthe mood when outspoken speech, always for him the more natural way ofexpressing himself, became imperative. He went back to the hall.
The book lay face down on her lap. "What is it, John?" she asked.
"I want to talk to you--not here. Come into the library; those maids heareverything."
"Certainly," she said, "if you want me."
She sat down, and John leaning against the mantel and looking down ather, said, "I came in here to write to you what is not easy to write orsay--I prefer to put it into speech."
"Indeed! I am quite ready to listen."
"After your recent treatment of me, I have no inclination to make myselfneedlessly unpleasant. You have made it plain to me that what my heartlongs for is to be put aside forever. There is something due to a man'sself-respect. But if you were a man, Leila, I could say more easilysomething else. Are we--am I to lose also your friendship--or is eventhat at an end?"
The blue eyes became less adventurous as she said, "I don't understandyou, John."
"I think you do. Long as I have known you, I cannot have known you fully.Blake used to say that everybody is several people, and just now--herehas come into my life some one I don't know--and don't want to know."
"Indeed! It must be rather confusing to be several people. Your friend,Mr. Blake, as your letters showed, was rather given to enigmaticalstatements. I should like to know him. Would you please, John, to bringme my fan--I left it in that delightful book you interrupted."
"Certainly," he said, now a trifle more at ease. For Leila to ask of anyone such a service was so unlike her that he felt it to be a betrayal ofembarrassment, and was humorously pleased as he went and came again.
She took the fan and played with that expressive piece of a woman'soutfit while John brought the talk back to its starting-point.
"Cannot you be the Leila I used to know--a frank girl; or are you to useone of your many disguises and just leave things as
they have been oflate?"
"If you will say plainly just what you mean, John"--the fan was in activeuse--"I will be as frank as possible."
"But you may not like it, Leila."
"Oh, go on. I know you are going to be unpleasant."
He looked at her with surprise. "We are fencing--and I hate it. Once atWest Point I was fencing with a man, my friend; the button broke off myfoil and I hurt him seriously. He fell dead beside me in the trenches atVicksburg--dead!"
"Oh, John!"--the fan ceased moving.
"What I mean is that one may chance, you or I, to say something that willleave in memory that which no years will blot out. Don't be vexed withme. I have had a cruel summer. What with Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann--and nowwith you, I--well--you told me after that dreadful night when Uncle Jimwas so wild that I had insulted you--"
"Don't talk of it," she cried. "I was put to shame before all thosegrinning people. You ought to have said nothing--or something better thanthat farmer boy said--"
"Well--perhaps, Leila; but the point is not _what_ I said in my desire tohelp you and stop a man for the time insane. The point is that I did notinsult you; for an insult to be really that it must be intentional."
"Then you think I was unreasonably angry?"
"Yes, I do; and ever since then you have been coldly civil. I cannotstand it. I shall never again ask you for what you cannot give, but ifyou are to continue to resent what I said, then Grey Pine is no home forme."
She stood up, the fan falling to the floor. "What do you want me to say,John Penhallow?"
"Wait a little--just a word more. It was what poor Uncle Jim said thathurt you. You could not turn on him; in your quite natural dismay ordisgust you turned on me, who meant only to help in a dreadful situation.You know I am right"--his voice rose as he went on--"it is I, not you,who am insulted. If you were a man, I should ask for an apology; asyou are the woman I have hopelessly loved for years, I will not ask youto say you were wrong--I do not want you to say that. I want you to sayyou are sorry you hurt me."
"I am sorry I hurt you, John. Will that do?"--her eyes were filling.
"Yes--but--"
"But what?"
"Oh, I want you to feel sorry."
"Don't say any more," she returned. "Let us be friends again." She putout her hand, he took it, picked up her fan, laid it on the table, andsaying "Thank you!" opened the door towards which she moved and closed itafter her.
"And so"--she kept saying to herself--"we are to be no more thanfriends." She sat still staring across the hall, trying to read. She wasfast losing control of the woman who was fenced in by social rule andcustom, trained to suppress emotion and to be the steady mistress ofinsurgent passion. "My God," she murmured, "I should never have beenangry when he bought me, if I had not loved him--and now it is allover--perhaps!"
Some readjustment there may have been, for when he reentered the hall anhour later, she was reading. He said, as she looked up, "I mean to have along tramp to-morrow. I shall start early and walk to the mills and on tothe ore-beds. Then I shall return over the hills back of Westways, andbring you, I hope, a few wood-pigeons. I may be a little late fordinner."
"But, John, it is quite twelve miles, and you will have to carry agun--and your arm--"
John laughed happy laughter. "That was so like Aunt Ann!"
"Was it?--and now you will say 'yes, yes, you are quite right,' and walkaway and do just as you meant to do, like Uncle Jim."
"I may, but I will not walk further than Grey Pine." The air hadcleared--he had done some good!
"Good-night," he said, "it is late."
"Don't go too far, John. I shall read a while. This book is really sointeresting. We will talk about it."
"Good-night, once more."
The woman he left in the hall laid her book aside. Her unreasonablevexation had gone, defeated by the quiet statement of his simplyconfessed unhappiness. She looked about the hall and recalled their youthand the love of which she still felt sure. The manliness of his waysappealed to her sense of the value of character. Why she had been socoldly difficult of approach she did not know. What woman can define thatdefensive instinct? "He shall ask me again, and I--ah, Heaven!--I lovehim." A wild passionate longing shook her as she rose to her feet.
At early morning John wandered away through the woods feeling the joyfulrelief from the hot air of cities. After his visit to the mills and theiron-mines, he struck across a somewhat unfamiliar country, found fewbirds, and the blackened ravage of an old forest fire. He returned to thewell-known river-bank below the garden and the pines, and instead ofgoing to Grey Pine as he had meant to do went on as far as the cabin,failing to get any more birds. He had walked some fourteen miles, and wasreminded by a distinct sense of fatigue that the body had not yetregained its former vigour.
It was about five of the warm September day when he came to the oldlog-house. Smiling as he recalled the memories of his childhood, he wentinto the cabin and found its shelter pleasant and the cooling air ofevening grateful. He took off his game bag, laid it on the floor, set hisgun against the wall, and glad of a rest sat down. Having enjoyed hisfirst smoke of the day, he let his head drop on the floor, and by nomeans intending it fell asleep.
Leila too was in a happier mood, and sure of not meeting John set out towalk through the forest. After a pleasant loitering stroll she stopped atthe cabin door, and as she glanced in saw John Penhallow asleep. Sheleaned against the door post and considered the motionless sleeper in theshadows of the closing day. She was alone with him--alone as neverbefore. He would neither question nor make answer. Strange thoughts cameinto her mind, disturbing, novel. How could he sleep without a pillow? Itmust be an army habit after tent-less nights of exhaustion in the deadlytrenches. People--men--had tried to kill this living silent thing beforeher; and he too--he too had wanted to kill. She wondered at that as withthe motion of a will-less automaton she drew nearer step by step. Herfeet unwatched struck the half-filled game-bag. She stumbled, caught herbreath, and had a moment of fear as she hung the bag on the wooden hookupon which as a child she used to hang her sun-bonnet.
Then again some natural yearning moved her, and unresisting as in a dreamshe drew still nearer--merely a woman in an unguarded moment once againunder the control of a great passion which knew no social rule of conductnor the maiden modesties of a serenely dutiful life. At each approach,she stood still, unashamed, innocent of guile, thrilling with emotionwhich before in quiet hours had been felt as no more disturbing than thewandering little breezes which scarcely stir the leafage of the youngspring. She stood still until she won bodily mastery of this stormyinfluence with its faintly conveyed sense of maiden terror. Her thoughtswandered as she looked down on the sleeper. In voiceless self-whisperedspeech she said, "Ah me! he used to be so vexed when I said he was tooyoung to ask me--a woman--to marry him. How young he looks now!" Thewounded arm forever crippled lay across his breast. She caught herbreath. "I wonder," she thought, "if we get younger in sleep--and thenage in the daytime. Good Heavens! he is smiling like a baby. Oh! but Ishould like to know what he is thinking of." There was unresistedfascination in the little drama of passionate love so long repressed.
She knelt beside him, saw the one great beauty of the hardy bronzedface, the mouth now relaxed, with the perfect lip lines of a youngAntinous. She bent over him intent, reading his face as a child readssome forbidden book, reading it feature by feature as a woman readsfor the first time with understanding a passionate love-poem. Ah, if hewould but open his eyes and then sleep again and never know. He moved,and she drew back ready for flight, shy and startled. And now he wasquiet. "I must--I must," she murmured. "His lips? Ah! would theyforgive?--and--if, if he wakens, I shall die of shame. Oh, naughtylove of mine that was so cruel yesterday, I forgive you!" What would hedo--must he do--if he wakened? The risk, the urgent passion of appealinglove, gave her approach the quality of a sacred ceremonial. She bentlower, not breathing, fearful, helpless, and dropt on his forehead akiss, light as the touch
a honey-seeking butterfly leaves on an unstirredflower. He moved a little; she rose in alarm and backed to the door. "Oh!why did I?" she said to herself, reproachful for a moment's deliciousweakness. She looked back at the motionless sleeper, as she stood in thedoorway. "Why did I?--but then he does look so young--and innocent."
Once more in the world of custom, she fled through the forest shadows,and far away sank down panting. She caught up the tumbled downfall ofhair, and suddenly another Leila, laughed as she remembered that he wouldmiss the game-bag he had set at his side. How puzzled he would be when hemissed it. Amused delight in his wondering search captured her. She sawagain the beauty of his mouth and the face above it as she recalled whather Aunt Margaret Grey had mischievously said to her, a girl, of JamesPenhallow. "He has the one Penhallow beauty--the mouth, but then he hasthat monumental Penhallow nose--it might be in the way." She had notunderstood, but now she did, and again laughing went away homeward, notat all unhappy or repentant, for who would ever know, and love is apriest who gives absolution easily.
CHAPTER XXXIV
In her room she went straight to the long cheval glass and looked atLeila Grey. "So, he will never ask me again?" The mirror reported a quiteother answer. "Mark Rivers once said conscience runs down at times like awatch. I must have forgotten to wind up mine. How could I have done it!"She blushed a little at the remembrance. "Well, he will never know." Shedressed in white summer garb with unusual care and went down the stairssmiling.
"The Captain is not in yet," said the maid.
She waited long for John Penhallow, who had gone up the back stairs, andnow at last came down to dinner.
"Excuse me, Leila. I was so very tired that I fell asleep in the oldcabin, but I had a noble tramp, and there are some birds, not many; Ishot badly." He said no word of the displaced game-bag, which made heruneasy, but talked of the mills and of some trouble at the mines aboutwages. She pretended to be interested.
After dinner, she said, "You will want to smoke--come into Uncle Jim'slibrary. I like the pipe smell. How Aunt Ann detests it!"
"Has Uncle Jim gone back to his pipe?" he inquired, as she sat down.
"Yes, and Aunt Ann declares that she likes it now."
"How pleasantly you women can fib," remarked John.
She made no reply except, "Well, sometimes." He did not fill his pipealthough he lighted in succession two matches and let them burn out.
"Why don't you smoke, John?" This was a vague effort at the self-defencewhich she felt might be needed, the mood of the hour not being at alllike the mood of two hours ago.
"No," he replied, "not yet. Where did you walk--or did you walk?"
"Oh, I took a little stroll through the woods."
"Did you chance to go by the old cabin?" This was very dreadful.
"Oh, one hardly remembers if one passes places seen every day. Why do youask, John?"--and then knew she was fatally blundering.
"Why? Oh, I fell asleep, and when I woke up my game-bag had mysteriouslyhung itself on the wall."
"You might have put it there and forgotten it."
"No, some one must have been in the cabin."
"Oh, John, how stupid of us! Why, of course, it was Josiah."
John was in a state of mind to enjoy the game, and shaking his head innegation said, "No, Josiah passed me long before. He had a lot of frogshe caught in Lonesome Man's Swamp."
Miss Leila having exhausted all the possible explanations, said withsweet simplicity, "Did you ever find out the origin of that name? Who wasthe _lonesome man_? You see, John, lonesome seems to stand for lonely andsad, as Mr. Rivers said." This was rather too clever, but the young womanwas so near detection as not to think wisely.
John repeated her words, "Lonely and sad." He had been humorously sure ofhis prey, but the words she used had the effect of bringing into directspeech the appeal she had been trying to evade and knew was near at hand.
He stood leaning against the mantel, his crippled arm caught in hiswaistcoat. Repeating her word "lonesome" "more than merely alone"--heput aside his pipe, the companion of many camp-fires. His moment ofafter-silence caused the blue eyes to question timidly with upward glanceas their owner sat below him. He was very grave as he said, "I have come,Leila, to a critical time in my life. I loved you in a boy's unmeaningway; I loved you as a lad and a man. I have said so often in one way oranother. You told me at West Point pretty plainly that--oh, you made itclear--that I was a boy asking a woman for her heart. It was years ago."
"John, I--want to--"
"Well--later--now I mean to have my say. You were not altogether wrong.I told you that I should ask again when I had more to offer than a boycadet. Since then I have held my tongue, or said enough to be sure thatyour reply made clear that my time had not yet come.
"You cannot know how much you have been a part of my life. I wentgladly into the war because it was a righteous cause. No man thinksas he goes into action, this is for my country, but--well, Leila, manytimes when men were falling around me, you have been with me. If a fatalball had found me, I should have carried with me to another world athought of you. This is not mere lover's talk. I believe in you--you area noble-minded woman, worthy of any man's love, but"--and he smiled--"asJosiah put it, you are rather numerous."
"Am I?--I am much obliged by Josiah's study of my character."
"Don't, please, Leila! It is true. I have been as good as my word.I have been through all that can tempt in camps and cities. I was onlya young officer, but I have won praise from men whose praise is history.Did you ever think that an honest love may be to a man like a second--anangelic--conscience? By Heaven! Leila, it should make a woman careful."
The woman's eyes had long since been lost to the man's, as with bent headshe listened intently, for the first time amazed at what she had been toa man whose ideals were of the highest and his ways beyond reproach. Acoy upward lift of the proudly carried head--a mere glance of transientreply--too brief for the man to read--might have meant, "Have not Itoo been careful of my life!"
He went on slowly. "You and I have not been spared the discipline ofresponsibility. Action, danger--helps a man. You at home have had theworst of it--you dear, sweet, beautiful thing. It would have made somewomen peevish or rebellious. You have grown under it in mind and heart,and I think the soul has fed the dear body. To have set you free fromAunt Ann's morbid unreason and the sorrow of Uncle Jim's condition wouldhave been enough to repay my taking over responsibilities which Aunt Annshould have borne."
"John--I--"
"No, dear, let me say a word more. I have at last talked myself out--oralmost. It is vain to put me aside again. You do not dare to say you donot love me--"
"You have not asked me," she murmured.
"No, I said I would not yesterday. A tender word would have brought me toyour feet--and I was very sore."
"If you were a woman, you would have understood and--"
"Oh, wait a little," he said. "You are going to ask me to marry you,Leila Grey--" She was on her feet. "Take care," he cried, and a smile onthe strong battle-tried face arrested her angry outburst.
She said only, "Why?--I ask--you--why indeed?"
"Because, Leila, you owe it to my self-respect--because you have giventhat which implies love, and all I ask--"
She looked up at him with eyes that implored pity, but all she foundherself able to say was, "I don't understand."
"You kissed me in the cabin this afternoon--I was not asleep--I had halfrisen when I heard you, and I fell back in wondering quiet to see whatyou would do or say when you should wake me up."
She was silent.
"And then you kissed me--"
"Oh, John! how wicked of you--why did you keep so still?"
"I waited--longing."
"For what?"
"Hoping you would kiss me again."
"What! twice?" she cried. "How could you think I would kiss you twice--Iwas so ashamed--"
"Well, Leila?"
She began to feel that she was per
ilously close to tears, as he saidsoftly, "Leila Grey!"
"John Penhallow, will you take me--oh, John! I love you."
He caught her hand and touched it with his lips reverently.
"If," she cried, "if you do not give me back my kiss, I shall die ofshame."
He bent over her and kissed her forehead lightly, as though he were infear of too familiar approach to a thing too sacred for a rude caress. Agreat surf-like rush of comprehension swept over the woman. "Was I soloved as this--so honoured?" Then she said suddenly, "You are pale--areyou in pain?" for she saw him grasp the wounded arm and set his teeth.
"Yes, yes--sometimes--when things happen--it wakes up and reminds me. Ishall be better in a moment. Take care"--for her arms were around him--"Ithink, dear, I am not yet as strong as I shall be--but love is a greattonic, and--I can bear no more to-night. I am in pain. I fear this hasbeen too much for me."
Then he kissed her on lips that took it as a great draft from thefountain of youth and love. "To-morrow, dear, we will ride together--inthe morning. Ah, together!"
"Where--Jack?"
"Oh, into fairyland! God bless you! Great Heavens, how beautiful you are!Good-night!"
She fell into a seat as he went out, and heard his feet on thestair--then he stood beside her again.
"Leila, forgive me--I was hard--uncourteous--to make you say--"
"Hush!" she cried, between tears and laughter, as she put her hand overhis mouth, "no one shall abuse my Jack--not even Captain Penhallow.There, sir! I deserved it." She ran by him, and was gone.
I have not the pass-words into fairyland, and where they rode thatmorning in September is not within my knowledge; nor can I say whatadventures they may have met with. The byways of this enchanted landhere and there by ill-luck come near to the haunts of men, who may catchglimpses of such as ride through fairyland unsuspicious of other eyes.Billy neglectful of mails this morning, was on the river bobbing foreels. To be long attentive to anything was for him impossible, whereforehis wandering gaze caught sight for a moment through the fringe ofwillows of two people riding slowly. He saw with amazement that onhorseback in fairyland the feat of kissing is possible.
Some hours later, my lovers, feeling as John wickedly quoted, that "theworld is too much with us," rode into Westways to get Billy's neglectedmail.
Mr. Crocker, lean and deaf, at ease in charge of the grocery counter, satunoccupied in his shirt sleeves, while Mrs. Crocker bent over the mailshe had sorted. There were letters for the little group of village folk,who read them at once as they sat on the step or as they moved awaystumbling along the sidewalk.
Mrs. Crocker sallied out with a batch of letters. "Quite a lot, Captain.Good-morning, Leila."
"Mail these, Mrs. Crocker," said the travellers fresh from fairyland.
"I saw some was from the Squire and some from Mrs. Penhallow--Squire'swriting better."
"You wicked Mrs. Crocker," said John, "how much you pick up of folk'ssecrets, I should like to know--"
"Secrets!" laughed Leila. "They can't be read on the outside of letters."
Then Mrs. Crocker on the sidewalk to them on horseback began to talk.John seeing that Leila was interested and amused sat still and listened.
"Secrets," exclaimed the post-mistress, "ain't all inside of letters.They're on the envelopes sometimes. Oh! I've seen 'em in war time,letters that looked like they'd been out in the rain--sort of blistered;and people here in those days just tore open their letters and laughed orcried." Mrs. Crocker caught her breath and paused.
"I know, John," said Leila in a low aside.
"And there used to come back from the front letters marked 'missing' or'can't be found.' Folks used to come in gay and go away with a letterjust crumpled up in a hand. And now it's all over--and up you come rightgallant and happy. Here comes old Granny Lamb tottering along. I'd inventa letter from that brute if I could. I tell you, Leila, mother-hope dieshard."
"It is sad--dreadful. Come, John."
"One minute, please," said Mrs. Crocker, "I'm not half done. I tell you,Captain John, there's a heap of human nature comin' and goin' through apost-office. Well, good-bye."
They rode away to Grey Pine exchanging bits from their letters. Theiruncle and aunt would be home in a week. "Sooner--if they get the letterI mailed last night," laughed Leila.
"I should like to have seen it."
"No doubt."
At the open avenue gate Josiah was waiting. He saluted in soldierfashion, Penhallow acknowledging the greeting in like manner.
Josiah said, "Wouldn't you just let me have a minute with the Captain?"
Leila laughed. "Certainly." She rode away wondering what Josiah had toreport alone to the man who for him was and always would he Captaindespite the old custom of the regular army.
"Well, Josiah--nothing wrong, I trust."
"No, sir--everything just entirely right--but first I got to ask youradvice. I've had a letter from the Colonel--he just says some thingsought to make a man kind of blush."
John had the odd thought that a blush must be the securely privateproperty of a fellow as black as this grey-headed old friend. "What doeshe say, Josiah?"
"He wants to give me a farm."
"Well, why not--you have earned a dozen."
"I'd like it--but--if you're goin' to marry Miss Leila, I'd rather livewith you."
"Good Heavens!" said the traveller out of fairyland, "what put that inyour head?"
Josiah smiled. "You'll please to excuse me, Captain--but I thought Iought to tell you about that fool Billy. He was bobbin' for eels--and--hesaw you go by--"
"Well, what else?"
"He met me and he said, 'Saw Mr. John kissin' Miss Leila!' He was offlike a shot singin' out 'Goin' to get married, sure.' It will be all overWestways by noon, sir."
John laughed. "Well, it's true, Josiah--Confound Billy! Well, what more?"
"Oh, I would rather live with you. The Colonel wants to give me afarm--don't want any farm."
"Well, well--we'll see about it later."
"The trouble would be, sir, who's to shave the Colonel?"
"That's serious," said John, as he rode away to rejoin Leila, who hadmeant to keep their secret from the village until their aunt's return.Three days went by before Ann Penhallow's letter of reply came to hand.
"Well, any more news, Leila?" said John.
"Yes, but not altogether pleasant--I am to leave early tomorrow. UncleJim will meet me in Philadelphia--and, oh! I know Aunt Ann well--therewill be no end of shopping."
"I should feel worse about it, Leila, but I see by one of my lettersthat there is some row in Pittsburgh over our last rails. I am notresponsible, but I must go to-night and see about it. Isn't it dreadful,Leila?"
The two having come of late into a great inheritance in fairylanddemanding close personal attention were at one as regarded absence.
After dinner Leila said, "My order to report to headquarters fromheart-quarters was in the second post-script. I have saved the rest ofthe letter for you."
"Read it, please."
"MY DEAR CHILDREN: You are a pair of young ostriches--you know what theydo. Did you suppose a middle-aged ostrich could not use her eyes? I didthink it took a quite needless length of time."
"Isn't that absurd, John, as if--"
"Well, what more?"
She read on--"I dislike long engagements--"
"Now, that is better, Leila."
"Your uncle says you must live at Grey Pine. I said, no--young marriedpeople had better be alone. He must build you a house on the river nearerthe mills. I am making a list of what furniture you will require--"
"There is more of that--much more, John, and a list of things to be donebefore her return. Isn't that like what aunt was before the war?"
John laughed. "Well, she will have her way."
"More or less," said Leila. "Oh, there's another postscript!"
"Well?"
"I think you should be married about Christmas week. Of course, MarkRivers will m
arry you, and I shall ask the Bishop to assist, when I seehim on our way home. Don't fail to write to both your uncles."
"It is certainly complete," said John. He left for Pittsburgh that night.
* * * * *
I have little to add to this long story. The days went by swiftly, andafter a week all of the family, except John, were once more together atGrey Pine. Mark Rivers had also returned. He was too evidently in one ofhis moods of sombre silentness, but his congratulations were warm and ashe sat at dinner he made unusual efforts to be at his agreeable best.
When they left the table, he said, "No, Colonel, I shall not smoketo-night. May I have a few minutes of your time, Mrs. Penhallow?"
"Certainly, Mark--I want to talk to you about the Bible Class--I mean totake it up again." She led the way into her own little library. "Sitdown--there is so much to talk over. Of course, you will marry these dearchildren somewhere about Christmas time."
"No," he said, "I shall be far away."
"Away! Oh, Mark! surely you do not mean to leave us."
"Yes, I am going to live as a missionary among the Indians."
"You cannot--you really cannot--where could you be more useful thanhere?"
"No, I must go. My life on the whole has been most happy here--and how tothank you I fail to be able to say."
"But why," she urged, "why do you go?"
"Oh--I want--I must have an active life, open air, even risks. The wargave me what I need for entire competence of body and mind to use in myMaster's service. But now, the war is at an end--"
"Thank God! But all you ask--and more--Mark, except danger, arehere--and oh, but we shall miss you, and more than ever when we misstoo these children. Think of it--don't make up your mind until Jamestalks to you--"
"No, I go to-morrow."
"But it does seem to me, Mark, that you are making a serious changewithout sufficient consideration of what you lose and we lose."
"Yes, yes," he returned, "I know--but to remain is for me impossible."
"But why?"
He was silent a moment, looking at this dear friend with the over-filledeyes of a troubled and yet resolute manhood. Then he said, "I did notmean to tell you why in my weakness flight alone will save me from whathas been to me unbearable here and ever will be."
"Can I in any way help you?"
"No."
"But what is it--trust me a little--what is it?"
He hesitated, and then said, "It is Leila Grey! God pity my weakness, andyou will say good-bye and give the Squire this note and them my love." Hewas gone.
The woman sat still for an hour, pitiful, and understanding the flightof a too sensitive man. Then she gave her husband the note, with hergood-night, and no other word. Of why her friend had gone she said laternothing, except to defend him for his obedience to the call of duty. Latethat evening John returned.
When after breakfast next day he and Leila were riding through thewood-roads of the forest, John said, "I cannot or I could not see whyMr. Rivers went away so abruptly."
"Nor I," said Leila. Then there was one of those long silences dear tolovers.
"What are you thinking of, Jack?"
"Uncle Jim told me last night the story of the early life of MarkRivers."
"Tell it to me."
He told it--"But," he continued, "that was not all of him. I have heardMr. Rivers hold at the closest attention a great crowd of soldiers withthat far-carrying voice; and then to hear as he led them singing the oldfamiliar hymns--perhaps a thousand men--oh, it was a thing to remember!And they loved him, Leila, because behind the battle line he was coolly,serviceably brave; and in the hospital wards--well, as tender as--well,as you would have been. I wondered, Leila, why he did not marry again.The first was a mistake, but I suppose he knew that for him to marrywould have been wrong, with that sad family history. Probably life neveroffered him the temptation."
"Perhaps not," said Leila, and they rode out of the woods and over themeadows. "Let us talk of something less sad."
"Well, Leila, a pleasant thing to discuss is Tom McGregor. I suspect himof a fortunate love affair with the daughter of the General at FortressMonroe."
"Indeed--but what else? Oh, our own great debt to him!"
"Uncle Jim is considering that. We may trust him to be more thangenerous. Yes, surely. Now for a run over this grass. Can you take thatfence?"
"Can I, indeed! Follow me, Jack."
"Anywhere. Everywhere, Leila!"
THE END
Books by
Dr. S. Weir Mitchell
Fiction
HUGH WYNNE.
CONSTANCE TRESCOT.
THE YOUTH OF WASHINGTON.
CIRCUMSTANCE.
THE ADVENTURES OF FRANCOIS.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK.
DR. NORTH AND HIS FRIENDS.
IN WAR TIME.
ROLAND BLAKE.
FAR IN THE FOREST.
CHARACTERISTICS.
WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN.
A MADEIRA PARTY.
THE RED CITY.
HEPHZIBAH GUINNESS.
A COMEDY OF CONSCIENCE.
A DIPLOMATIC ADVENTURE.
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB.
JOHN SHERWOOD, IRONMASTER.
WESTWAYS.
Essays.
DOCTOR AND PATIENT.
WEAR AND TEAR.--HINTS FOR THE OVERWORKED.
Poems.
COLLECTED POEMS.
THE WAGER, AND OTHER POEMS.
THE COMFORT OF THE HILLS.
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