_Fourteen_
It was the week after the colonel's house warming.
Graciella was not happy. She was sitting, erect and graceful, as shealways sat, on the top step of the piazza. Ben Dudley occupied theother end of the step. His model stood neglected beside him, and hewas looking straight at Graciella, whose eyes, avoiding his, were bentupon a copy of "Jane Eyre," held open in her hand. There was anunwonted silence between them, which Ben was the first to break.
"Will you go for a walk with me?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, Ben," she replied, "but I have an engagement to go drivingwith Colonel French."
Ben's dark cheek grew darker, and he damned Colonel French softlybeneath his breath. He could not ask Graciella to drive, for their oldbuggy was not fit to be seen, and he had no money to hire a betterone. The only reason why he ever had wanted money was because of her.If she must have money, or the things that money alone would buy, hemust get money, or lose her. As long as he had no rival there washope. But could he expect to hold his own against a millionaire, whohad the garments and the manners of the great outside world?
"I suppose the colonel's here every night, as well as every day," hesaid, "and that you talk to him all the time."
"No, Ben, he isn't here every night, nor every day. His old darky,Peter, brings Phil over every day; but when the colonel comes he talksto grandmother and Aunt Laura, as well as to me."
Graciella had risen from the step, and was now enthroned in asplint-bottomed armchair, an attitude more in keeping with the air ofdignity which she felt constrained to assume as a cloak for an uneasyconscience.
Graciella was not happy. She had reached the parting of the ways, andrealised that she must choose between them. And yet she hesitated.Every consideration of prudence dictated that she choose ColonelFrench rather than Ben. The colonel was rich and could gratify all herambitions. There could be no reasonable doubt that he was fond of her;and she had heard it said, by those more experienced than she andtherefore better qualified to judge, that he was infatuated with her.Certainly he had shown her a great deal of attention. He had taken herdriving; he had lent her books and music; he had brought or sent theNew York paper every day for her to read.
He had been kind to her Aunt Laura, too, probably for her niece'ssake; for the colonel was kind by nature, and wished to make everyoneabout him happy. It was fortunate that her Aunt Laura was fond ofPhilip. If she should decide to marry the colonel, she would have herAunt Laura come and make her home with them: she could give Philip theattention with which his stepmother's social duties might interfere.It was hardly likely that her aunt entertained any hope of marriage;indeed, Miss Laura had long since professed herself resigned to oldmaidenhood.
But in spite of these rosy dreams, Graciella was not happy. To marrythe colonel she must give up Ben; and Ben, discarded, loomed up largerthan Ben, accepted. She liked Ben; she was accustomed to Ben. Ben wasyoung, and youth attracted youth. Other things being equal, she wouldhave preferred him to the colonel. But Ben was poor; he had nothingand his prospects for the future were not alluring. He would inheritlittle, and that little not until his uncle's death. He had noprofession. He was not even a good farmer, and trifled away, with hisuseless models and mechanical toys, the time he might have spent inmaking his uncle's plantation productive. Graciella did not know thatFetters had a mortgage on the plantation, or Ben's prospects wouldhave seemed even more hopeless.
She felt sorry not only for herself, but for Ben as well--sorry thathe should lose her--for she knew that he loved her sincerely. But herfirst duty was to herself. Conscious that she possessed talents,social and otherwise, it was not her view of creative wisdom that itshould implant in the mind tastes and in the heart longings destinednever to be realised. She must discourage Ben--gently and gradually,for of course he would suffer; and humanity, as well as friendship,counselled kindness. A gradual breaking off, too, would be lessharrowing to her own feelings.
"I suppose you admire Colonel French immensely," said Ben, withassumed impartiality.
"Oh, I like him reasonably well," she said with an equal lack ofcandour. "His conversation is improving. He has lived in themetropolis, and has seen so much of the world that he can scarcelyspeak without saying something interesting. It's a liberal educationto converse with people who have had opportunities. It helps toprepare my mind for life at the North."
"You set a great deal of store by the North, Graciella. Anybody wouldallow, to listen to you, that you didn't love your own country."
"I love the South, Ben, as I loved Aunt Lou, my old black mammy. I'velaid in her arms many a day, and I 'most cried my eyes out when shedied. But that didn't mean that I never wanted to see any one else.Nor am I going to live in the South a minute longer than I can help,because it's too slow. And New York isn't all--I want to travel andsee the world. The South is away behind."
She had said much the same thing weeks before; but then it had beenspontaneous. Now she was purposely trying to make Ben see howunreasonable was his hope.
Ben stood, as he obscurely felt, upon delicate ground. Graciella hadnot been the only person to overhear remarks about the probability ofthe colonel's seeking a wife in Clarendon, and jealousy had sharpenedBen's perceptions while it increased his fears. He had little to offerGraciella. He was not well educated; he had nothing to recommend himbut his youth and his love for her. He could not take her to Europe,or even to New York--at least not yet.
"And at home," Graciella went on seriously, "at home I should wantseveral houses--a town house, a country place, a seaside cottage. Whenwe were tired of one we could go to another, or live in hotels--in thewinter in Florida, at Atlantic City in the spring, at Newport in thesummer. They say Long Branch has gone out entirely."
Ben had a vague idea that Long Branch was by the seaside, and exposedto storms. "Gone out to sea?" he asked absently. He was sick for loveof her, and she was dreaming of watering places.
"No, Ben," said Graciella, compassionately. Poor Ben had so littleopportunity for schooling! He was not to blame for his want ofknowledge; but could she throw herself away upon an ignoramus? "It'sstill there, but has gone out of fashion."
"Oh, excuse me! I'm not posted on these fashionable things."
Ben relapsed into gloom. The model remained untouched. He could notgive Graciella a house; he would not have a house until his uncledied. Graciella had never seemed so beautiful as to-day, as she sat,dressed in the cool white gown which Miss Laura's slender fingers haddone up, and with her hair dressed after the daintiest and latestfashion chronicled in the _Ladies' Fireside Journal_. No wonder, hethought, that a jaded old man of the world like Colonel French shoulddelight in her fresh young beauty!
But he would not give her up without a struggle. She had loved him;she must love him still; and she would yet be his, if he could keepher true to him or free from any promise to another, until her deeperfeelings could resume their sway. It could not be possible, after allthat had passed between them, that she meant to throw him over, norwas he a man that she could afford to treat in such a fashion. Therewas more in him than Graciella imagined; he was conscious of latentpower of some kind, though he knew not what, and something wouldsurely happen, sometime, somehow, to improve his fortunes. And therewas always the hope, the possibility of finding the lost money.
He had brought his great-uncle Ralph's letter with him, as he hadpromised Graciella. When she read it, she would see the reasonablenessof his hope, and might be willing to wait, at least a little while.Any delay would be a point gained. He shuddered to think that he mightlose her, and then, the day after the irrevocable vows had been taken,the treasure might come to light, and all their life be spent in vainregrets. Graciella was skeptical about the lost money. Even Mrs.Treadwell, whose faith had been firm for years, had ceased toencourage his hope; while Miss Laura, who at one time had smiled atany mention of the matter, now looked grave if by any chance he letslip a word in reference to it. But he had in his pocket the outwardand visible sign of his
inward belief, and he would try its effect onGraciella. He would risk ridicule or anything else for her sake.
"Graciella," he said, "I have brought my uncle Malcolm's letter along,to convince you that uncle is not as crazy as he seems, and thatthere's some foundation for the hope that I may yet be able to giveyou all you want. I don't want to relinquish the hope, and I want youto share it with me."
He produced an envelope, once white, now yellow with time, on whichwas endorsed in ink once black but faded to a pale brown, and hardlylegible, the name of "Malcolm Dudley, Esq., Mink Run," and in thelower left-hand corner, "By hand of Viney."
The sheet which Ben drew from this wrapper was worn at the folds, andrequired careful handling. Graciella, moved by curiosity, had comedown from her throne to a seat beside Ben upon the porch. She hadnever had any faith in the mythical gold of old Ralph Dudley. Thepeople of an earlier generation--her Aunt Laura perhaps--may once havebelieved in it, but they had long since ceased to do more than smilepityingly and shake their heads at the mention of old Malcolm'sdelusion. But there was in it the element of romance. Strange thingshad happened, and why might they not happen again? And if they shouldhappen, why not to Ben, dear old, shiftless Ben! She moved a porchpillow close beside him, and, as they bent their heads over the paperher hair mingled with his, and soon her hand rested, unconsciously,upon his shoulder.
"It was a voice from the grave," said Ben, "for my great-uncle Ralphwas dead when the letter reached Uncle Malcolm. I'll read italoud--the writing is sometimes hard to make out, and I know it byheart:
_My Dear Malcolm:
I have in my hands fifty thousand dollars of government money, in gold, which I am leaving here at the house for a few days. Since you are not at home, and I cannot wait, I have confided in our girl Viney, whom I can trust. She will tell you, when she gives you this, where I have put the money--I do not write it, lest the letter should fall into the wrong hands; there are many to whom it would be a great temptation. I shall return in a few days, and relieve you of the responsibility. Should anything happen to me, write to the Secretary of State at Richmond for instructions what to do with the money. In great haste_,
_Your affectionate uncle,_ RALPH DUDLEY"
Graciella was momentarily impressed by the letter; of its realitythere could be no doubt--it was there in black and white, or ratherbrown and yellow.
"It sounds like a letter in a novel," she said, thoughtfully. "Theremust have been something."
"There must _be_ something, Graciella, for Uncle Ralph was killed thenext day, and never came back for the money. But Uncle Malcolm,because he don't know where to look, can't find it; and old AuntViney, because she can't talk, can't tell him where it is."
"Why has she never shown him?" asked Graciella.
"There is some mystery," he said, "which she seems unable to explainwithout speech. And then, she is queer--as queer, in her own way, asuncle is in his. Now, if you'd only marry me, Graciella, and go outthere to live, with your uncommonly fine mind, _you'd_ find it--youcouldn't help but find it. It would just come at your call, like mydog when I whistle to him."
Graciella was touched by the compliment, or by the serious feelingwhich underlay it. And that was very funny, about calling the moneyand having it come! She had often heard of people whistling for theirmoney, but had never heard that it came--that was Ben's idea. Therereally was a good deal in Ben, and perhaps, after all----
But at that moment there was a sound of wheels, and whateverGraciella's thought may have been, it was not completed. As ColonelFrench lifted the latch of the garden gate and came up the walk towardthem, any glamour of the past, any rosy hope of the future, vanishedin the solid brilliancy of the present moment. Old Ralph was dead, oldMalcolm nearly so; the money had never been found, would never come tolight. There on the doorstep was a young man shabbily attired, withoutmeans or prospects. There at the gate was a fine horse, in a handsometrap, and coming up the walk an agreeable, well-dressed gentleman ofwealth and position. No dead romance could, in the heart of a girl ofseventeen, hold its own against so vital and brilliant a reality.
"Thank you, Ben," she said, adjusting a stray lock of hair which hadescaped from her radiant crop, "I am not clever enough for that. It isa dream. Your great-uncle Ralph had ridden too long and too far in thesun, and imagined the treasure, which has driven your Uncle Malcolmcrazy, and his housekeeper dumb, and has benumbed you so that you sitaround waiting, waiting, when you ought to be working, working! No,Ben, I like you ever so much, but you will never take me to New Yorkwith your Uncle Ralph's money, nor will you ever earn enough to takeme with your own. You must excuse me now, for here comes my cavalier.Don't hurry away; Aunt Laura will be out in a minute. You can stay andwork on your model; I'll not be here to interrupt you. Good evening,Colonel French! Did you bring me a _Herald_? I want to look at theadvertisements."
"Yes, my dear young lady, there is Wednesday's--it is only two daysold. How are you, Mr. Dudley?"
"Tol'able, sir, thank you." Ben was a gentleman by instinct, thoughhis heart was heavy and the colonel a favoured rival.
"By the way," said the colonel, "I wish to have an interview with youruncle, about the old mill site. He seems to have been a stockholder inthe company, and we should like his signature, if he is in conditionto give it. If not, it may be necessary to appoint you his guardian,with power to act in his place."
"He's all right, sir, in the morning, if you come early enough,"replied Ben, courteously. "You can tell what is best to do afteryou've seen him."
"Thank you," replied the colonel, "I'll have my man drive me outto-morrow about ten, say; if you'll be at home? You ought to be there,you know."
"Very well, sir, I'll be there all day, and shall expect you."
Graciella threw back one compassionate glance, as they drove awaybehind the colonel's high-stepping brown horse, and did not quiteescape a pang at the sight of her young lover, still sitting on thesteps in a dejected attitude; and for a moment longer his reproachfuleyes haunted her. But Graciella prided herself on being, above allthings, practical, and, having come out for a good time, resolutelyput all unpleasant thoughts aside.
There was good horse-flesh in the neighbourhood of Clarendon, and thecolonel's was of the best. Some of the roads about the town weregood--not very well kept roads, but the soil was a sandy loam and wasself-draining, so that driving was pleasant in good weather. Thecolonel had several times invited Miss Laura to drive with him, andhad taken her once; but she was often obliged to stay with her mother.Graciella could always be had, and the colonel, who did not like todrive alone, found her a vivacious companion, whose naive commentsupon life were very amusing to a seasoned man of the world. She was aspretty, too, as a picture, and the colonel had always admiredbeauty--with a tempered admiration.
At Graciella's request they drove first down Main Street, past thepost-office, where she wished to mail a letter. They attracted muchattention as they drove through the street in the colonel's new trap.Graciella's billowy white gown added a needed touch of maturity to herslender youthfulness. A big straw hat shaded her brown hair, and shesat erect, and held her head high, with a vivid consciousness that shewas the central feature of a very attractive whole. The colonel sharedher thought, and looked at her with frank admiration.
"You are the cynosure of all eyes," he declared. "I suppose I'm anobject of envy to every young fellow in town."
Graciella blushed and bridled with pleasure. "I am not interested inthe young men of Clarendon," she replied loftily; "they are not worththe trouble."
"Not even--Ben?" asked the colonel slyly.
"Oh," she replied, with studied indifference, "Mr. Dudley is really acousin, and only a friend. He comes to see the family."
The colonel's attentions could have but one meaning, and it wasimportant to disabuse his mind concerning Ben. Nor was she the onlyone in the family who entertai
ned that thought. Of late hergrandmother had often addressed her in an unusual way, more as a womanthan as a child; and, only the night before, had retold the old storyof her own sister Mary, who, many years before, had married a man offifty. He had worshipped her, and had died, after a decent interval,leaving her a large fortune. From which the old lady had deduced that,on the whole, it was better to be an old man's darling than a youngman's slave. She had made no application of the story, but Graciellawas astute enough to draw her own conclusions.
Her Aunt Laura, too, had been unusually kind; she had done up thewhite gown twice a week, had trimmed her hat for her, and had wornold gloves that she might buy her niece a new pair. And her aunt hadlooked at her wistfully and remarked, with a sigh, that youth was aglorious season and beauty a great responsibility. Poor dear, good oldAunt Laura! When the expected happened, she would be very kind to AuntLaura, and repay her, so far as possible, for all her care andsacrifice.
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