An Original Belle

  IN due time Strahan departed, hopeful and eager to enter on theduties pertaining to his higher rank. He felt that Marian's farewellhad been more than she had ever given him any right to expect.Her manner had ever been too frank and friendly to awaken delusivehopes, and, after all, his regard for her was characterized moreby boyish adoration than by the deep passion of manhood. To hissanguine spirit the excitement of camp and the responsibilities ofhis new position formed attractions which took all poignant regretfrom his leave-taking, and she was glad to recognize this truth.She had failed signally to carry out her self-sacrificing impulse,when he was so ill, to reward his heroism and supplement his lifewith her own; and she was much relieved to find that he appearedsatisfied with the friendship she gave, and that there was noneed of giving more. Indeed, he made it very clear that he was nota patriotic martyr in returning to the front, and his accounts ofarmy life had shown that the semi-humorous journal, kept by himselfand Blauvelt, was not altogether a generous effort to conceal fromher a condition of dreary duty, hardship, and danger. Life in thefield has ever had its fascinations to the masculine nature, andher friends were apparently finding an average enjoyment equalto her own. She liked them all the better for this, since, to hermind, it proved that that the knightly impulses of the past wereunspent,--that, latent in the breasts of those who had seemed meresociety fellows, dwelt the old virile forces.

  "I shall prove," she assured herself, proudly, "that since true menare the same now as when they almost lived in armor, so ladies intheir bowers have favors only for those to whom heroic action issecond nature."

  Blauvelt had maintained the journal during Strahan's absence, doingmore with pencil than pen, and she had rewarded him abundantlyby spicy little notes, full of cheer and appreciation. She hadno scruples in maintaining this correspondence, for in it she hadher father's sanction, and the letters were open to her parents'inspection when they cared to see them. Indeed, Mr. and Mrs.Vosburgh enjoyed the journal almost as much as Marian herself.

  After Strahan's departure, life was unusually quiet in the younggirl's home. Her father was busy, as usual, and at times anxious,for he was surrounded by elements hostile to the government. Aware,however, that the army of the Potomac was being largely reinforced,that General Hooker was reorganizing it with great success, andthat he was infusing into it his own sanguine spirit, Mr. Vosburghgrew hopeful that, with more genial skies and firmer roads, a blowwould be struck which would intimidate disloyalty at the North aswell as in the South.

  Marian shared in this hopefulness, although she dreaded to thinkhow much this blow might cost her, as well as tens of thousands ofother anxious hearts.

  At present her mind was at rest in regard to Mr. Lane, for he hadwritten that his regiment had returned from an expedition on whichthey had encountered little else than mud, sleet, and rain. Theprospects now were that some monotonous picket-duty in a regionlittle exposed to danger would be their chief service, and thatthey would be given time to rest and recruit.

  This lull in the storm of war was Merwyn's opportunity. The inclementevenings often left Marian unoccupied, and she divided her timebetween her mother's sitting-room and her father's library, whereshe often found her quondam suitor, and not infrequently he spentan hour or two with her in the parlor. In a certain sense she hadaccepted her father's suggestions. She was studying the enigma witha lively curiosity, as she believed, and had to admit to herselfthat the puzzle daily became more interesting. Merwyn pleased herfastidious taste and interested her mind, and the possibilitiessuggested by her own and her father's words made him an objectof peculiar and personal interest. The very uniqueness of theirrelations increased her disposition to think about him. It mightbe impossible that he should ever become even her friend; he mightbecome her husband. Her father's remark, "I don't know how much itmight cost you to dismiss him finally," had led to many questionings.Other young men she substantially understood. She could gauge theirvalue, influence, and attractiveness almost at once; but whatpossibilities lurked in this reticent man who came so near her ideal,yet failed at a vital point? The wish, the effort to understandhim, gave an increasing zest to their interviews. He had asked herto be his wife. She had understood him then, and had replied as shewould again if he should approach her in a similar spirit. Again,at any hour he would ask her hand if she gave him sufficientencouragement, and she knew it. He would be humility itself in suingfor the boon, and she knew this also, yet she did not understandhim at all. His secret fascinated her, yet she feared it. It mustbe either some fatal flaw in his character, or else a powerfulrestraint imposed from without. If it was the former she would shrinkfrom him at once; if the latter, it would indeed be a triumph, aproof of her power, to so influence him that he would make her thefirst consideration in the world.

  Every day, however, increased her determination to exert thisinfluence only by firmly maintaining her position. If he wishedher friendship and an equal chance with others for more, he mustprove himself the equal of others in all respects. By no wordswould she ever now hint that he should take their course; but sheallowed herself to enhance his motives by permitting him to seeher often, and by an alluring yet elusive courtesy, of which shewas a perfect mistress.

  This period was one of mingled pain and pleasure to Merwyn.Remembering his interview with Mr. Vosburgh, he felt that he hadbeen treated with a degree of confidence that was even generous. Buthe knew that from Mr. Vosburgh he did not receive full trust,--thatthere were certain topics which each touched upon with restraint.Even with the father he was made to feel that he had reached thelimit of their friendly relations. They could advance no fartherunless the barrier of his reserve was broken down.

  He believed that he was dissipating the prejudices of the daughter;that she was ceasing to dislike him personally. He exerted everyfaculty of his mind to interest her; he studied her tastes and viewswith careful analysis, that he might speak to her intelligentlyand acceptably. The kindling light in her eyes, and her animatedtones, often proved that he succeeded. Was it the theme wholly thatinterested her? or was the speaker also gaining some place in herthoughts? He never could be quite certain as to these points, andyet the impression was growing stronger that if he came some dayand said, quietly, "Good-by, Miss Vosburgh, I am going to face everydanger which any man dare meet," she would give him both hands infriendly warmth, and that there would be an expression on her facewhich had never been turned towards him.

  A stormy day, not far from the middle of April, ended in a stormierevening. Marian had not been able to go out, and had suffereda little from ennui. Her mother had a headache, Mr. Vosburgh hadgone to keep an appointment, and the evening promised to be aninterminable one to the young girl. She unconsciously wished thatMerwyn would come, and half-smilingly wondered whether he wouldbrave the storm to see her.

  She was not kept long in suspense, for he soon appeared with a bookwhich he wished to return, he said.

  "Papa is out," Marian began, affably, "and you will have to becontent with seeing me. You have a morbidly acute conscience, Mr.Merwyn, to return a book on a night like this."

  "My conscience certainly is very troublesome."

  Almost before she was aware of it the trite saying slipped out,"Honest confession is good for the soul."

  "To some souls it is denied, Miss Vosburgh;" and there was a traceof bitterness in his tones. Then, with resolute promptness, heresumed their usual impersonal conversation.

  While they talked, the desire to penetrate his secret grew strongupon the young girl. It was almost certain that they would not beinterrupted, and this knowledge led her to yield to her mood. Shefelt a strange relenting towards him. A woman to her finger-tips,she could not constantly face this embodied mystery without anincreasing desire to solve it. Cold curiosity, however, was not thechief inspiration of her impulse. The youth who sat on the oppositeside of the glowing grate had grown old by months as if they wereyears. His secret was evidently not only a restraint, but a wearingburden. By leading her companion to reveal
so much of his troubleas would give opportunity for her womanly ministry, might she not,in a degree yet unequalled, carry out her scheme of life to makethe "most and best of those over whom she had influence"?

  "Many brood over an infirmity, a fault, or an obligation till theygrow morbid," she thought. "I might not be able to show him whatwas best and right, but papa could if we only knew."

  Therefore her words and tones were kinder than usual, and she madeslight and delicate references to herself, that he might be led tospeak of himself. At last she hit upon domestic affairs as a safe,natural ground of approach, and gave a humorous account of some ofher recent efforts to learn the mysteries of housekeeping, and shedid not fail to observe his wistful and deeply-interested expression.

  Suddenly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, sheremarked: "I do not see how you manage to keep house in that great,empty mansion of yours."

  "You know, then, where I live?"

  "Oh, yes. I saw you descend the steps of a house on Madison Avenueone morning last fall, and supposed it was your home."

  "You were undoubtedly right. I can tell you just how I manage, orrather, how everything IS managed, for I have little to do with thematter. An old family servant looks after everything and providesme with my meals. She makes out my daily menu according to her 'ownwill,' which is 'sweet' if not crossed."

  "Indeed! Are you so indifferent? I thought men gave much attentionto their dinners."

  "I do to mine, after it is provided. Were I fastidious, old Cynthywould give me no cause for complaint. Then I have a man who looksafter the fires and the horses, etc. I am too good a republican tokeep a valet. So you see that my domestic arrangements are simplein the extreme."

  "And do those two people constitute your whole household?" sheasked, wondering at a frankness which seemed complete.

  "Yes. The ghosts and I have the house practically to ourselves mostof the time."

  "Are there ghosts?" she asked, laughing, but with cheeks that beganto burn in her kindling interest.

  "There are ghosts in every house where people have lived and died;that is, if you knew and cared for the people. My father is withme very often!"

  "Mr. Merwyn, I don't understand you!" she exclaimed, without tryingto disguise her astonishment. The conversation was so utterly unlikeanything that had occurred between them before that she wonderedwhither it was leading. "I fear you are growing morbid," she added.

  "I hope not. Nor will you think so when I explain. Of course nothinglike gross superstition is in my mind. I remember my father verywell, and have heard much about him since he died. Therefore hehas become to me a distinct presence which I can summon at will.The same is true of others with whom the apartments are associated.If I wish I can summon them."

  "I am at a loss to know which is the greater, your will or yourimagination."

  "My imagination is the greater."

  "It must be great, indeed," she said, smiling alluringly, "forI never knew of one who seemed more untrammelled in circumstancesthan you are, or more under the dominion of his own will."

  "Untrammelled!" he repeated, in a low, almost desperate tone.

  "Yes," she replied, warmly,--"free to carry out every generous andnoble impulse of manhood. I tell you frankly that you have led meto believe that you have such impulses."

  His face became ashen in its hue, and he trembled visibly. Heseemed about to speak some words as if they were wrung from him,then he became almost rigid in his self-control as he said, "Thereare limitations of which you cannot dream;" and he introduced atopic wholly remote from himself.

  A chill benumbed her very heart, and she scarcely sought to preventit from tingeing her words and manner. A few moments later thepostman left a letter. She saw Lane's handwriting and said, "Willyou pardon me a moment, that I may learn that my FRIEND is well?"

  Glancing at the opening words, her eyes flashed with excitementas she exclaimed: "The campaign has opened! They are on the marchthis stormy night."

  "May I ask if your letter is from Strahan?" Merwyn faltered.

  "It is not from Mr. Strahan," she replied, quietly.

  He arose and stood before her as erect and cold as herself. "Willyou kindly give Mr. Vosburgh that book?" he said.

  "Certainly."

  "Will you also please say that I shall probably go to my countryplace in a day or two, and therefore may not see him again verysoon."

  She was both disappointed and angry, for she had meant kindly byhim. The very consciousness that she had unbent so greatly, andhad made what appeared to her pride an unwonted advance, incensedher, and she replied, in cold irony: "I will give papa your message.It will seem most natural to him, now that spring has come, thatyou should vary your mercantile with agricultural pursuits."

  He appeared stung to the very soul by her words, and his handsclinched in his desperate effort to restrain himself. His white lipsmoved as he looked at her from eyes full of the agony of a woundedspirit. Suddenly his tense form became limp, and, with a slightdespairing gesture, he said, wearily: "It is of no use. Good-by."

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  MARIAN'S INTERPRETATION OF MERWYN.