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An Original Belle, a novel by Edward Payson Roe |
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Chapter 24. A Father's Forethought |
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_ CHAPTER XXIV. A FATHER'S FORETHOUGHT STRAHAN improved rapidly in health, and was soon able to divide his time between his city and his country home. The recruiting station near the latter place was successful in securing stalwart men, who were tempted by the unusually large bounties offered through Merwyn's gift. The young officer lost no opportunities of visiting Marian's drawing-room, and, while his welcome continued as cordial as ever, she, nevertheless, indicated by a frank and almost sisterly manner the true state of her feelings toward him. The impulse arising at the critical hour of his illness speedily died away. His renewed society confirmed friendship, but awakened nothing more, and quieter thoughts convinced her that the future must reveal what her relations should be to him and to others. As he recovered health her stronger sympathy went out to Mr. Lane, who had not asked for leave of absence. "I am rampantly well," he wrote, "and while my heart often travels northward, I can find no plausible pretext to follow. I may receive a wound before long which will give me a good excuse, since, for our regiment, there is prospect of much active service while the infantry remain in winter quarters. It is a sad truth that the army is discouraged and depleted to a degree never known before. Homesickness is epidemic. A man shot himself the other day because refused a furlough. Desertions have been fearfully numerous among enlisted men, and officers have urged every possible excuse for leaves of absence. A man with my appetite stands no chance whatever, and our regimental surgeon laughs when I assure him that I am suffering from acute heart-disease. Therefore, my only hope is a wound, and I welcome our prospective raid in exchange for dreary picket duty." Marian knew what picket duty and raiding meant in February weather, and wrote words of kindly warmth that sustained her friend through hard, prosaic service. She also saw that her father was burdened with heavy cares and responsibilities. Disloyal forces and counsels were increasing in the great centres at the North, and especially in New York City. Therefore he was intrusted with duties of the most delicate and difficult nature. It was her constant effort to lead him to forget his anxieties during such evenings as he spent at home, and when she had congenial callers she sometimes prevailed upon him to take part in the general conversation. It so happened, one evening, that Strahan and Merwyn were both present. Seeing that the latter felt a little de trop, Mr. Vosburgh invited him to light a cigar in the dining-room, and the two men were soon engaged in animated talk, the younger being able to speak intelligently of the feeling in England at the time. By thoughtful questions he also drew out his host in regard to affairs at home. The two guests departed together, and Marian, observing the pleased expression on her father's face, remarked, "You have evidently found a congenial spirit." "I found a young fellow who had ideas and who was not averse to receiving more." "You can relieve my conscience wholly, papa," said the young girl, laughing. "When Mr. Merwyn comes hereafter I shall turn him over to you. He will then receive ideas and good influence at their fountain-head. You and mamma are inclined to give him so much encouragement that I must be more on the defensive than ever." "That policy would suit me exactly," replied her father, with a significant little nod. "I don't wish to lose you, and I'm more afraid of Merwyn than of all the rest together." "More afraid of HIM!" exclaimed the girl, with widening eyes. "Of him." "Why?" "Because you don't understand him." "That's an excellent reason for keeping him at a distance." "Reason, reason. What has reason to do with affairs of this kind?" "Much, in my case, I assure you. Thank you for forewarning me so plainly." "I've no dark designs against your peace." Nevertheless, these half-jesting words foreshadowed the future, so far as Mr. Vosburgh and Mr. Merwyn were concerned. Others were usually present when the latter called, and he always seemed to enjoy a quiet talk with the elder man. Mrs. Vosburgh never failed in her cordiality, or lost hope that his visits might yet lead to a result in accordance with her wishes. Marian made much sport of their protege, as she called him, and, since she now treated him with the same courtesy that other mere calling acquaintances received, the habit of often spending part of the evening at the modest home grew upon him. Mr. Vosburgh soon discovered that the young man was a student of American affairs and history. This fact led to occasional visits by the young man to the host's library, which was rich in literature on these subjects. On one stormy evening, which gave immunity from other callers, Marian joined them, and was soon deeply interested herself. Suddenly becoming conscious of the fact, she bade them an abrupt good-night and went to her room with a little frown on her brow. "It's simply exasperating," she exclaimed, "to see a young fellow of his inches absorbed in American antiquities when the honor and liberty of America are at stake. Then, at times, he permits such an expression of sadness to come into his big black eyes! He is distant enough, but I can read his very thoughts, and he thinks me obduracy itself. He will soon return to his elegant home and proceed to be miserable in the most luxurious fashion. If he were riding with Mr. Lane, to-night, on a raid, he would soon distinguish between his cherished woe and a soldier's hardships." Nevertheless, she could do little more than maintain a mental protest at his course, in which he persevered unobtrusively, yet unfalteringly. There was no trace of sentiment in his manner toward her, nor the slightest conscious appeal for sympathy. His conversation was so intelligent, and at times even brilliant, that she could not help being interested, and she observed that he resolutely chose subjects of an impersonal character, shunning everything relating to himself. She could not maintain any feeling approaching contempt, and the best intrenchment she could find was an irritated perplexity. She could not deny that his face was growing strong in its manly beauty. Although far paler and thinner than when she had first seen it, a heavy mustache and large, dark, thoughtful eyes relieved it from the charge of effeminacy. Every act, and even his tones, indicated high breeding, and she keenly appreciated such things. His reserve was a stimulus to thought, and his isolated life was unique for one in his position, while the fact that he sought her home and society with so little to encourage him was strong and subtle homage. More than all, she thought she recognized a trait in him which rarely fails to win respect,--an unfaltering will. Whatever his plans or purposes were, the impression grew stronger in her mind that he would not change them. "But I have a pride and a will equal to his," she assured herself. "He can come thus far and no farther. Papa thinks I will yield eventually to his persistence and many fascinations. Were this possible, no one should know it until he had proved himself the peer of the bravest and best of my time." Winter had passed, and spring brought not hope and gladness, but deepening dread as the hour approached when the bloody struggle would be renewed. Mr. Lane had participated in more than one cavalry expedition, but had received no wounds. Strahan was almost ready to return, and had sent much good material to the thinned ranks of his regiment. His reward came promptly, for at that late day men were most needed, and he who furnished them secured a leverage beyond all political influence. The major in his regiment resigned from ill-health, and Strahan was promoted to the vacancy at once. He received his commission before he started for the front, and he brought it to Marian with almost boyish pride and exultation. He had called for Merwyn on his way, and insisted on having his company. He found the young fellow nothing loath. Merwyn scarcely entertained the shadow of a hope of anything more than that time would soften Marian's feelings toward him. The war could not last forever. Unexpected circumstances might arise, and a steadfast course must win a certain kind of respect. At any rate it was not in his nature to falter, especially when her tolerance was parting with much of its old positiveness. His presence undoubtedly had the sanction of her father and mother, and for the former he was gaining an esteem and liking independent of his fortunes with the daughter. Love is a hardy plant, and thrives on meagre sustenance. It was evident that the relations between Marian and Strahan were not such as he had supposed during the latter's illness. Her respect and friendship he would have, if it took a lifetime to acquire them. He would not be balked in the chief purpose of his life, or retreat from the pledge, although it was given in the agony of humiliation and defeat. As long as he had reason to believe that her hand and heart were free, it was not in human nature to abandon all hope. On this particular evening Mr. Vosburgh admitted the young men, and Marian, hearing Strahan's voice, called laughingly from the parlor: "You are just in time for the wedding. I should have been engaged to any one except you." "Engaged to any one except me? How cruel is my fate!" "Pardon me," began Merwyn quickly, and taking his hat again; "I shall repeat my call at a time more opportune." Marian, who had now appeared, said, in polite tones: "Mr. Merwyn, stay by all means. I could not think of separating two such friends. Our waitress has no relatives to whom she can go, therefore we are giving her a wedding from our house." "Then I am sure there is greater reason for my leave-taking at present. I am an utter stranger to the bride, and feel that my presence would seem an intrusion to her, at least. Nothing at this time should detract from her happiness. Good-evening." Marian felt the force of his words, and was also compelled to recognize his delicate regard for the feelings of one in humble station. She would have permitted him to depart, but Mr. Vosburgh interposed quickly: "Wait a moment, Mr. Merwyn; I picked up a rare book, down town, relating to the topic we were discussing the other evening. Suppose you go up to my library. I'll join you there, for the ceremony will soon be over. Indeed, we are now expecting the groom, his best man, and the minister. It so happens that the happy pair are Protestants, and so we can have an informal wedding." "Oh, stay, Merwyn," said Strahan. "It was I who brought you here, and I shouldn't feel that the evening was complete without you." The former looked doubtfully at Marian, who added, quickly: "You cannot refuse papa's invitation, Mr. Merwyn, since it removes the only scruple you can have. It is, perhaps, natural that the bride should wish to see only familiar faces at this time, and it was thoughtful of you to remember this, but, as papa says, the affair will soon be over." "And then," resumed Strahan, "I have a little pie to show you, Miss Marian, in which Merwyn had a big finger." "I thought that was an affair between ourselves," said Merwyn, throwing off his overcoat. "Oh, do not for the world reveal any of Mr. Merwyn's secrets!" cried the girl. "It is no secret at all to you, Miss Marian, nor did I ever intend that it should be one," Strahan explained. "Mr. Merwyn, you labor under a disadvantage in your relations with Mr. Strahan. He has friends, and friendship is not based on reticence." "Therefore I can have no friends, is the inference, I suppose." "That cannot be said while I live," began the young officer, warmly; but here a ring at the door produced instant dispersion. "I suppose I can be present," Strahan whispered to Marian. "Barney Ghegan is an older acquaintance of mine than of yours, and your pretty waitress has condescended to smile graciously on me more than once, although my frequent presence at your door must have taxed her patience." "You have crossed her palm with too much silver, I fear, to make frowns possible. Silver, indeed! when has any been seen? But money in any form is said to buy woman's smiles." "Thank Heaven it doesn't buy yours." "Hush! Your gravity must now be portentous." The aggressive Barney, now a burly policeman, had again brought pretty Sally Maguire to terms, and on this evening received the reward of his persistent wooing. After the ceremony and a substantial supper, which Mrs. Vosburgh graced with her silver, the couple took their brief wedding journey to their rooms, and Barney went on duty in the morning, looking as if all the world were to his mind. When Mr. Vosburgh went up to his library his step was at first unnoted, and he saw his guest sitting before the fire, lost in a gloomy revery. When observed, he asked, a little abruptly: "Is the matter to which Mr. Strahan referred a secret which you wish kept?" "Oh, no! Not as far as I am concerned. What I have done is a bagatelle. I merely furnished a little money for recruiting purposes." "It is not a little thing to send a good man to the front, Mr. Merwyn." "Nor is it a little thing not to go one's self," was the bitter reply. Then he added, hastily, "I am eager to see the book to which you refer." "Pardon me, Mr. Merwyn, your words plainly reveal your inclination. Would you not be happier if you followed it?" "I cannot, Mr. Vosburgh, nor can I explain further. Therefore, I must patiently submit to all adverse judgment." The words were spoken quietly and almost wearily. "I suppose that your reasons are good and satisfactory." "They are neither good nor satisfactory," burst out the young man with sudden and vindictive impetuosity. "They are the curse of my life. Pardon me. I am forgetting myself. I believe you are friendly at least. Please let all this be as if it were not." Then, as if the possible import of his utterance had flashed upon him, he drew himself up and said, coldly, "If, under the circumstances, you feel I am unworthy of trust--" "Mr. Merwyn," interrupted his host, "I am accustomed to deal with men and to be vigilantly on my guard. My words led to what has passed between us, and it ends here and now. I would not give you my hand did I not trust you. Come, here is the book;" and he led the way to a conversation relating to it. Merwyn did his best to show a natural interest in the subject, but it was evident that a tumult had been raised in his mind difficult to control. At last he said: "May I take the book home? I will return it after careful reading." Mr. Vosburgh accompanied him to the drawing-room, and Marian sportively introduced him to Major Strahan. For a few minutes he was the gayest and most brilliant member of the party, and then he took his leave, the young girl remarking, "Since you have a book under your arm we cannot hope to detain you, for I have observed that, with your true antiquarian, the longer people have been dead the more interesting they become." "That is perfectly natural," he replied, "for we can form all sorts of opinions about them, and they can never prove that we are wrong." "More's the pity, if we are wrong. Good-night." "Order an extra chop, Merwyn, and I'll breakfast with you," cried Strahan. "I've only two days more, you know." "Well, papa," said Marian, joining him later in the library, "did you and Mr. Merwyn settle the precise date when the Dutch took Holland?" "'More's the pity, if we ARE wrong!' I have been applying your words to the living rather than to the dead." "To Mr. Merwyn, you mean." "Yes." "Has he been unbosoming himself to you?" "Oh, no, indeed!" "Why then has he so awakened your sympathy?" "I fear he is facing more than any of your friends." "And, possibly, fear is the reason." "I do not think so." "It appears strange to me, papa, that you are more ready to trust than I am. If there is nothing which will not bear the light, why is he so reticent even to his friend?" "I do not know the reasons for his course, nor am I sure that they would seem good ones to me, but my knowledge of human nature is at fault if he is not trustworthy. I wish we did know what burdens his mind and trammels his action. Since we do not I will admit, to-night, that I am glad you feel toward him just as you do." "Papa, you entertain doubts at last." "No, I admit that something of importance is unknown and bids fair to remain so, but I cannot help feeling that it is something for which he is not to blame. Nevertheless, I would have you take no steps in the dark, were the whole city his." "O papa! you regard this matter much too seriously. What steps had I proposed taking? How much would it cost me to dispense with his society altogether?" "I do not know how much it might cost you in the end." "Well, you can easily put the question to the test." "That I do not propose to do. I shall not act as if what may be a great misfortune was a fault. Events will make everything clear some day, and if they clear him he will prove a friend whom I, at least, shall value highly. He is an unusual character, one that interests me greatly, whatever future developments may reveal. It would be easy for me to be careless or arbitrary, as I fear many fathers are in these matters. I take you into my confidence and reveal to you my thoughts. You say that your reason has much to do with this matter. I take you at your word. Suspend judgment in regard to Merwyn. Let him come and go as he has done. He will not presume on such courtesy, nor do you in any wise commit yourself, even to the friendly regard that you have for others. For your sake, Marian, for the chances which the future may bring, I should be glad if your heart and hand were free when I learn the whole truth about this young fellow. I am no match-maker in the vulgar acceptation of the word, but I, as well as you, have a deep interest at stake. I have informed myself in regard to Mr. Merwyn, senior. The son appears to have many of the former's traits. If he can never meet your standard or win your love that ends the matter. But, in spite of everything, he interests you deeply, as well as myself; and were he taking the same course as your friend who has just left, he would stand a better chance than that friend. You see how frank I am, and how true to my promise to help you." Marian came and leaned her arm on his shoulder as she looked thoughtfully into the glowing grate. At last she said: "I am grateful for your frankness, papa, and understand your motives. Many girls would not make the sad blunders they do had they such a counsellor as you, one who can be frank without being blunt and unskilful. In respect to these subjects, even with a daughter, there must be delicacy as well as precision of touch." "There should also be downright common-sense, Marian, a recognition of tacts and tendencies, of what is and what may be. On one side a false delicacy often seals the lips of those most interested, until it is too late to speak; on the other, rank, wealth, and like advantages are urged without any delicacy at all. These have their important place, but the qualities which would make your happiness sure are intrinsic to the man. You know it is in my line to disentangle many a snarl in human conduct. Look back on the past without prejudice, if you can. Merwyn virtually said that he would make your standard of right and wrong his,--that he would measure things as you estimate them, with that difference, of course, inherent in sex. Is he not trying to do so? Is he not acting, with one exception, as you would wish? Here comes in the one thing we don't understand. As you suggest, it may be a fatal flaw in the marble, but we don't know this. The weight of evidence, in my mind, is against it. His course toward Strahan--one whom he might easily regard as a rival--is significant. He gave him far more than money; he drained his own vitality in seeking to restore his friend to health. A coarse, selfish man always cuts a sorry figure in a sick-room, and shuns its trying duties even in spite of the strongest obligations. You remember Mrs. Strahan's tribute to Merwyn. Yet there was no parade of his vigils, nor did he seek to make capital out of them with you. Now I can view all these things dispassionately, as a man, and, as I said before, they give evidence of an unusual character. Apparently he has chosen a certain course, and he has the will-power to carry it out. Your heart, your life, are still your own. All I wish is that you should not bestow them so hastily as not to secure the best possible guaranties of happiness. This young man has crossed your path in a peculiar way. You have immense influence over him. So far as he appears free to act you influence his action. Wait and see what it all means before you come to any decision about him. Now," he concluded, smiling, "is my common-sense applied to these affairs unnatural or unreasonable?" "I certainly can wait with great equanimity," she replied, laughing, "and I admit the reasonableness of what you say as you put it. Nor can I any longer affect any disguises with you. Mr. Merwyn DOES interest me, and has retained a hold upon my thoughts which has annoyed me. He has angered and perplexed me. It has seemed as if he said, 'I will give you so much for your regard; I will not give, however, what you ask.' As you put it to-night, it is the same as if he said, 'I cannot.' Why can he not? The question opens unpleasant vistas to my mind. It will cost me little, however, to do as you wish, and my curiosity will be on the qui vive, if nothing more." _ |
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