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Pocket Island; A Story of Country Life in New England, a novel by Charles Clark Munn |
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Chapter 21. Blue Hill |
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_ CHAPTER XXI. BLUE HILL Three years from the day Manson led Liddy to the carriage, blinded by tears and heart broken at the separation in store, they once more visited that dearly loved spot. It was a place more sacred to them than a church, for it had been hallowed by the tears of love and sanctified by the noblest impulses of two honest and true hearts. It was far removed from all the vain pomp and display of humanity and the sordid and selfish influences of life. To Liddy and her lover it was a spot that appealed to all that was holiest and best in their natures, and lifted them above selfish thought. "Can you realize how I felt," Manson said on the way, "the day I rode in silence up here and then told you I had enlisted?" "No," she answered; "no more than you can imagine how I felt. I think I suffered the more, for I was in suspense and you were not. That makes me think of a question I have long wanted to ask you. You won't mind now, will you?" she continued with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes. "Why did you tell the bad news first and propose afterward? Why didn't you pop the question first?" "I thought you would be more apt to say 'yes' if I put it the way I did." "I think you knew it wouldn't be 'no,'" she said. "I knew that was coming weeks before." "You did," he replied, a little surprised. "How did you know?" "Do you think I was blind?" she answered archly. "A girl usually knows when that question is liable to come for months beforehand, and if it is to be 'no' the man in the case will have hard work to obtain a good opportunity." When they were seated beside the rock once more she said: "Now, sir, three years ago I told you we must feel and act like children one day up here, and you minded me very well; but it was hard work, I think. It was for me, I am sure." "It will be easier to-day," he responded, "for I've only one thing to worry about, and that is the proposition your father made." She looked at him a moment, and in her eyes he saw a little of the same humorous twinkle he had at one time noticed in her father's eyes, and then she said: "Suppose I should say I would not marry you until you had a home of your own to take me to; how would that seem?" "I would not blame you," he answered soberly; "only you would have to see clouds on my face a long time, I fear." "Oh, I haven't said so yet," she continued as she saw one gathering there then, "only I thought it might make you see father's proposition in a new light. Poor father," she went on musingly, "he wants to make us both happy, and he doesn't know how to bring it about." "Why can't he accept my plan, then?" said Manson. "I am ready and willing." "But I haven't said I was," responded Liddy. "I am not sure that I want people to think my husband is working for my father on the farm. Oh, I didn't mean it that way," as she saw a frown coming, "only I have some pride as well as you; that is all. Now, Charlie, please don't say another word about it to-day. Remember, we are children!" Then she told him about her lone visit to this spot a year before, and how it affected her. "Do you know," she explained, "I was terribly scared, and I imagined I heard ghostly footsteps all around here, and when I reached home I was as pale as a ghost myself." "It was a foolish thing to do," he said, "and a silly promise for me to exact." "I should have kept it just the same," was her answer, "as long as I lived." At noon he rebuilt the little lattice table, and after the dainty dinner was disposed of, they gathered flowers, picked wintergreen, wove wreaths for each other's hats and talked silly nothings for hours, and enjoyed it, too, as lovers will. Late in the afternoon, when tired of this, he arranged the carriage robe and cushions beside the rock and asked her to sit beside him. It was a preliminary to some serious utterance, she felt, for he at once remarked: "Liddy, I've something to tell you." She looked at him for a moment, while a smile crept into her face, and then said: "Now, Charlie, if you have any more startling or painful things to tell me, don't bring me up here first, or I shall always dread to come." "Was my confession of love, made here, painful?" he remarked. "Of course not," she answered, "nor startling, either, for, as I told you, I knew that was coming. But the other part of it nearly broke my heart. You must have thought me silly!" How earnestly, and in what manner he assured her she did not act silly on that occasion, but was the sweetest and dearest girl that ever lived, need not be specified. When that little episode was over and she had adjusted her hat, she said: "Now tell me your story, Charlie." "Well," he replied, "one night nearly two years ago I was on picket duty, and I made the acquaintance of a young fellow by the name of Frank Pullen, who belonged to a Maine regiment. We kept up an acquaintance for two months and in that time became very good friends. We were in much the same state of mind, for he, too, had a waiting sweetheart at home, and when we separated we each promised to write to the other, if we lived to do so. His father is a retired sea captain, and well-to-do, and lives in a little out-of-the-way place in Maine. A month ago I received a letter from Frank and an urgent invitation to visit him, and I've promised to do so." "That's nice," said Liddy regretfully, "to be told I am to be left alone all summer! The next time you ask me up here I shall say: 'Tell me the bad news first!'" "Liddy," he replied seriously, "it's not for a pleasure trip that I am going. He knows how I am situated and a good deal about my hopes and plans, and he has promised to help me." She was silent, for this opened a new field of conjecture and for a long time she mused upon it, and at last said: "I do not see how his assistance will help matters much, do you?" "No, to be candid," he replied, "I do not yet; still it may. I am almost sorry I promised to go, but my friend will feel hurt now if I don't. I may obtain a few suggestions that will help me to solve this problem." She made no reply, for the situation seemed as complex to her as to her suitor. She respected the pride that had made him refuse her father's generous offer, and at the same time she felt herself tortured by conflicting emotions. To desert her father she could not, and to deny her lover his right to herself as a wife was almost as impossible. A long wait seemed the only solution, unless he would accept her father's offer. Perhaps the same conclusions were reached by Manson, for he said at last: "Do not blame me for going away or looking about to find some way out of this dilemma. I shall never find one here in Southton. The world is wide, and I do not feel it half so hard to face as rebel bullets. There is room for me in it, and a chance to win a home for you and me, and I am going to fight for that chance. I am too proud to accept your father's farm as a gift, and you are too proud to have me work for him, even if he gave me all the farm produced. Then you can't leave him, and I won't ask you to do so. The only way is to wait and work, and work hard for the girl I love, and her father will be as welcome in that home as she." He paused, and a look of admiration for his spirited words came into her face. "Charlie," she said in a low voice, "please don't think I am proud or stubborn. I can't leave father, but I will wait for you as long as you wish or I will marry you when you wish, provided, of course, you give me time to get ready. Only do not feel that I will let pride separate us for long. Whatever you are satisfied to do shall be my law." Her loving assurance cheered him greatly, for he answered in a hopeful voice: "Wait patiently until I return, and then we will decide what is best to do." When it came time to leave their trysting-place he drew from an inside pocket a small pocketbook, worn and stained, and handed it to Liddy. She opened it and found a bunch of faded violets and a lock of golden hair. _ |
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