CHAPTER XVI.
LOVE'S PROTESTATIONS.
During the rest of the dreary winter the memory of that enchanted walkthrough mire and darkness and driving snow, kept two hearts--Rose'sand Allan's--fully awake. A pity, too; for sleep covers a multitude ofsufferings, and when the most impressible part of our being is wrappedin unconsciousness, we can make shift to go through the world withonly an endurable number of the usual aches and ailments. If theseyoung hearts had ever really slumbered since their owners met for thefirst time, less than a year before, it had been rather an uneasyrepose; and now that they were fully awake, it was to find not theglory of the dawn, but a dark bleak day, whose beginning couldscarcely be distinguished from the night out of which it emerged,whose end was so far--so drearily far away. Things went on as beforein their old monotonous manner. Winter relented into spring, and theintimacy that had warmed almost into acknowledged love that wild Marchevening had apparently died of its own intensity. Rose and Allan metoccasionally, but with mutual avoidance; she from innate loyalty toher father--he from a pride that was too strong to plead. So theendless conflict went on, but not alone in the minds of the lovers.
The doughty Commodore was daily suffering in his own person the justpunishment, which is but too apt to overtake the man, who in a pointof difference with a woman ends by having his own way. This sternparent liked to think of himself as generous, compassionate, andtender-hearted; and he had been grievously cheated out of thisagreeable sensation. His daughter's absolute and sweet-natured loyaltyto his will sharpened his sense of deprivation. Was it possible thathe was unnatural and tyrannical? The answer to this question was whatRose's pale cheeks seemed to require of him, and he chafed under themute, unconscious, persistent repetition of the query. He recommendedher to take long walks, but she came back from them paler and morelifeless than before. He began to see that it was possible to gainone's own point and lose something infinitely more precious. It hurthim to see her suffer, and he despised himself as the suspected causeof her sufferings. He asked himself how he could have endured it if,in his courting days, he had been shut out from the woman he loved.She was infinitely his superior, he thought with a swelling heart, andthen his arm fell on the back of the chair beside him, and his handclenched, as he grimly wondered what bolts or bars would suffice tohave kept them apart. If she was alive now would she have taken thiscruelly peremptory course with their daughter? He revolved thequestion with a sore heart. It admitted of but one answer. In all hersweet and gentle life his wife had never been either peremptory orcruel.
Unknown to Rose her father's stout heart showed signs of thawing withthe weather. He began to inform himself warily, and by indirect means,with regard to the character, circumstances, and prospects of AllanDunlop, in much the same way as we make a study of the drug, hithertosupposed to be a poison, but now believed capable of saving the lifeof a loved one. In his present mood of despondency and anxiety itseemed that every fresh fact that he learned served to raise Allan andlower himself in his own estimation. It is difficult to atone for awrong so delicate that one shrinks from expressing it in words, andyet the need of making at least one attempt at reparation was pressingsorely upon him.
So it was with almost a girlish bound of the heart that the Commodoreread aloud, one morning, in all the polysyllabic glory of newspaperEnglish, an account of the heroic way in which a young child was savedfrom drowning by the prompt and daring action of Allan Dunlop. It wasan opportunity for praising his enemy, and the worthy gentleman wasalmost as relieved and happy as the rescued child. "Upon my word,Rose," he said, turning to the silent girl at the other end of thebreakfast table, "that young Dunlop is a much finer fellow than Isupposed him to be."
"Yes, Papa," she assented meagrely. She had no idea of undoing thework of weeks--the work of steeling herself against the sweetness ofrecollection--by too warm an interest in the subject.
"The idea of a child paddling about alone in a boat during thathorrible storm," continued the Commodore, more impatient, if the truthwere known, with his daughter's lukewarmness than with the waifsrecklessness. "Not one man in a thousand," he continued abruptly,"would have ventured out on Lake Ontario in that raging tempest."
"People of plebeian origin usually have a well-developed muscularsystem," remarked Rose.
"But they are not fond of risking their life in the interest of theirmuscles," returned the gentleman, annoyed at the girl's obstinacy, nordreaming how sweet from his lips sounded his praise of her lover.
"It depends upon what their life is worth. Common folks, who sufferunder the well-merited contempt of their social superiors, must growat last to despise what better educated people know to be despicable."
"No doubt, it is as you say," replied her father. He was thoroughlyirritated, and all his benevolent notions took flight, as they are aptto do when the object of our philanthropy proves perverse. "I wasabout to suggest that you invite him to your party to-morrow night;but in the present state of feeling perhaps it would be better not."
"I haven't the least idea that he would come," returned the girl. "Heisn't the sort of person to allow himself to be taken up and droppedat random."
"Well, settle it to suit yourself," he concluded. She reflectedbitterly that this privilege came when it was too late. Nevertheless,she was grateful for it, and scolded herself soundly for giving herfather undutiful replies. She also remarked in the solitude of her ownroom that she did not care a particle whether Allan came or not, andthen with a fluttering heart she wrote him a note of invitation. WhenTredway was requested to deliver it that ancient servitor manifestedso much interest in his errand that the blue eyes of his youngmistress lingered on him a moment in surprise.
"I am under very great obligations to Mr. Dunlop," he said. "I may saythat I owe my life to him?"
"You, too!" laughed the girl. "Why it was only the other day that herescued a strange child from the wild waves."
"He rescued me from the wild woods," said the man, with theimpressiveness of one who wishes to celebrate the most remarkableescape on record. Tredway had a profound objection to the woods. Inthe previous summer he had, with great reluctance, served ascommissary general to a party of young men, who went in pursuit of aweek's sport to Burlington Bay. Edward and Allan were of the number,and when Tredway was lost on a little expedition of his own, to thenearest shanty in quest of provisions, it was Allan who went in searchof him, and after some difficulty brought him back to camp. The eventhad been a source of some amusement to the rest; but to the mind ofits hero it had lost nothing of its tragic aspect. "The woods arevery confusing to a person of my life and habits," he observeddeprecatingly.
"Oh, yes, indeed," returned Rose, "and so very different from England."
The gratitude with which Tredway listened to this remark was notunmixed with regret that the tone in which it was uttered was sportiverather than serious. He was consoled, however, by the reflection thatnational differences could not be expected to oppress the heart ofunthinking youth as it did that of sad maturity.
The unreasoning joy that flamed in Allan Dunlop's face, as he glancedover the dainty note, faded into ashen paleness as he remembered whatits response must be. "Sit down, Tredway," he said mechanically, "Iwill have an answer ready in a moment." Grateful to be relieved of thepains of indecision by the necessity for prompt action he took up apen and wrote rapidly:
"DEAR MISS MACLEOD:
It is very hard for me to refuse your kind invitation to be with youto-morrow night, but it is impossible to accept it. If I were invitedto Paradise, 'for one night only,' with the knowledge that I mustforego my share of its delights thenceforth, I should wish to returnthe same answer. Have I no right to hint that your presence is myParadise? Forgive me for it, and for my rudeness and perverseness,which all arises out of my consuming and indestructible love for you.The only thing I can say that can condone this offence is that I nevercease trying to destroy your image in my heart. So far the results areextremely discouraging; but I cannot resign
the hope that Time, thegreat healer, may also prove, like other notable physicians, the greatdestroyer. Ah! what am I saying? I can never say enough to you, andyet already I have said too much. God bless the sweet ruler of my lifeand heart forever, and grant that every ill that threatens her mayfall instead upon the head of her unworthy lover.
Will you not write me a word of forgiveness for resisting thetemptation to go to you?
Ever your worshipper,
ALLAN DUNLOP."
He ended with a strange feeling of the incongruity of this declarationof passion with his surroundings, the stuffy unhomelike chambers onKing Street, and the rather severe presence of a man, whose existenceemphasized all the hated social distinction that never weighed soheavily on him as at present. This rigorous representative of hisclass took the message delivered to him, and stood for a momenthesitatingly in the doorway.
"Your people are quite well, I hope, Tredway," said Allan.
"Yes, sir, thank you. Quite well, with the exception of Miss Rose. Sheis looking badly."
"I am very sorry. I made no inquiries about her, because, since heraccident last summer, she has never been otherwise than well. I wish,"and his tones were sad and sincere as his meaning, "that I could dosomething for her."
"Thank you, sir. It is taking a great liberty to say so, but yourvisits are so infrequent that I believe Miss Rose is under theimpression that you did not greatly care."
"Oh, I _care_ enough, quite enough," he added mentally. "The fact isthere is danger of my caring too much, and nobody knows better thanyou, Tredway, that that would be the greatest piece of folly I couldperpetrate. Miss Rose is vastly my social superior."
The old man bowed his head as though this were too obvious a truth toneed comment. Then he said encouragingly:
"Ah, there is nothing but the remains of their former greatness leftto the Macleods. They are growing more and more _bourgeois_ sincecoming to this degenerate country.
"Yes, I imagine that their family dignity, in such times as these, maybe a little out of repair; but I can hardly venture to build vainhopes on the ruins. You are a good fellow, Tredway; good-bye!"
A few days later the coveted answer to his missive came.
"DEAR MR. DUNLOP:
Since I am to see you no more it seems unnecessary if not unkind of meto write and prolong the pain of parting. But if you were dying, andshould tell me with nearly your latest breath what you wrote in yourletter, I should want you to know that the confession was dear andsacred to me--something I should remember all the rest of my life.
I am not willing to believe that your future will be wholly bereft ofconsolation. One who is capable of imperiling his life to save that ofan unknown child ought to know that he can never find any bettercompany than his own. But you need never be lonely; I hear your nameand career frequently spoken of with warm appreciation by yourfriends, among whom I hope you will always number
Yours very sincerely,
ROSE MACLEOD."
"Ah!" ejaculated Allan, as he read and re-read this brief epistle,"she does not despise my love, but she recognizes its hopelessness."With the usual bluntness of masculine perception he failed to see thatit was impossible for her to ignore what he himself was accustomed todwell upon at such dreary length. If he was profoundly convinced thatthere was no hope, she could scarcely condescend to suggest that theremight be a glimmer. So the young man continued to be wrapped in thedarkness which was largely born of his own imagination.
"What rank," he wrote, in immediate response, "shall I assign youamong my friends? One's friend may be simply an acquaintance of longstanding, who cherishes no special animosity toward one, or it may bethe stranger of a year ago, who now is knit into the very fibre ofone's being. Just so closely woven with my inmost self have you grown,dear, and to put the thought of you away from me is like putting myown eyes from me. Do you think I can be trusted as a friend? I foreseethat I shall be the most faithless one ever known, for I have neverbeen your friend, and I don't know how to begin to be one, whereas Ihave had nearly a year's experience in loving you. But I am jestingwith a sore heart. It is strange that I can jest at all; and yet Iknow that I am richer and happier in owning the smallest corner ofyour heart, than if I possessed the whole of any other woman's."
He wrote a great deal more of the same sort, by turns light, fanciful,woful or desperate. But all this Rose ignored. "I am very glad," shewrote demurely, "that you are rich and happy on such insufficientgrounds. I could scarcely deny a corner of my heart to any of myfriends, but the rest of them are well enough acquainted with me toknow that the possession is not a source of unmixed joy. This illusionof yours must be destroyed, and, as you will see, my share of thiscorrespondence is going to tend gently but inexorably towards thatend. I still cherish hopes of retaining your friendship. It is so muchmore difficult for a man to be a woman's friend than it is for him tobe by turns her worshipper and oppressor--and you are made to conquerdifficult things, and be made stronger by them. You have admirablequalities--self-forgetfulness, lofty purpose, a will that neverfalters, a heart that never faints. I discovered all these before Ireceived your letters. Otherwise, do you think I would have discoveredthem at all?"
Thus preached this adorable little high-priest of heroic self-denial,and when she had made an end she burst into tears, and wished thatAllan were there to wipe them away.