Macaria

by Augusta J. Evans

  CHAPTER X

  IRENE'S COUSIN

  "You are better to-day, mother tells me."

  "Yes, thank you, my foot is much better. You have not been up to see me fortwo days."

  Irene sat in an easy chair by the open window, and the minister took a seatnear her.

  "I have not forgotten you in the interim, however."

  As he spoke he laid a bouquet of choice flowers in her lap. She bent overthem with eager delight, and held out one hand, saying--

  "Oh, thank you. How very kind you are! These remind me of the greenhouse athome. They are the most beautiful I have seen in New York."

  "Irene, you look sober to-day. Come, cheer up. I don't want to carry thatgrave expression away with me. I want to remember your face as I first sawit, unshadowed."

  "What do you mean? Are you going to leave home?"

  "Yes; to-morrow I bid farewell to New York for a long time, I am going tothe West to take charge of a church."

  "Oh, Mr. Young! surely you are not in earnest? You cannot intend toseparate yourself from your family."

  She dropped her flowers, and leaned forward.

  "Yes, I have had it in contemplation for more than a year, and, recently, Ihave decided to remove at once."

  He saw the great sorrow written in her countenance, the quick flutter ofher lip, the large drops that dimmed the violet eyes and gathered on thelong golden lashes, and far sweeter than the Eolian harps was the brokenvoice--

  "What shall I do without you? Who will encourage and advise me when yougo?"

  She leaned her forehead on her hands, and a tear slid down and rested onher chin. The sun was setting, and the crimson light flooding the room,bathed her with glory, spreading a halo around her. He held his breath andgazed upon the drooping figure and bewitching face; and, in after years,when his dark hair had grown silvery grey, he remembered the lovely sun-litvision that so entranced him, leaving an indelible image on heart andbrain. He gently removed the hands, and holding them in his, said, in themeasured, low tone so indicative of suppressed emotion--

  "Irene, my friend, you attach too much importance to the aid which I mightrender you. You know your duty, and I feel assured will not require to bereminded of it. Henceforth our paths diverge widely. I go to a distantsection of our land, there to do my Father's work; and, ere long, havingcompleted the prescribed course, you will return to your Southern home andtake the position assigned you in society. Thus, in all human probability,we shall meet no more, for----"

  "Oh, sir! don't say that; you will come back to visit your family, and thenI shall see you."

  "That is scarcely probable; but we will not discuss it now. There is,however, a channel of communication for separated friends, and of this wemust avail ourselves. I shall write to you from Western wilds, and lettersfrom you will most pleasantly ripple the monotonous life I expect to lead."

  "Can't you stay longer and talk to me?" said Irene, as he rose.

  "No; I promised to address the ---- Street Sabbath-school childrento-night, and must look over my notes before I go."

  There was no unsteadiness in his tone, no trace of emotion, as he stood upbefore her. Irene was deeply moved, and when she essayed to thank him,found it impossible to pronounce her words. Tears were gliding down hercheeks; he put back the hair, and taking the face softly in his palms,looked long and earnestly at its fascinating beauty. The great, glisteningblue eyes gazed into his, and the silky lashes and rich scarlet lipstrembled. He felt the hot blood surging like a lava-tide in his veins, andhis heart rising in fierce rebellion at the stern interdict which he sawfit to lay upon it; but no token of all this came to the cool, calmsurface.

  "Good-bye, Irene. May God bless you, my dear little friend!"

  He drew the face close to his own as though he would have kissed her, butforbore, and merely raising her hands to his lips turned and left the room.Verily, greater is "he that ruleth his own spirit than he that taketh acity." He left before breakfast the ensuing morning, bearing his secretwith him, having given no intimation, by word or look, of the strugglewhich his resolution cost him. Once his mother had fancied that he feltmore than a friendly interest in their guest, but the absolute repose ofhis countenance and grave serenity of his manner during the last week ofhis stay dispersed all her suspicions. From a luxurious home, fond friends,and the girlish face he loved better than his life, the minister went forthto his distant post, offering in sacrifice to God, upon the altar of duty,his throbbing heart and hopes of earthly happiness.

  A cloud of sadness settled on the household after his departure, andscarcely less than Louisa's was Irene's silent grief. The confinement grewdoubly irksome when his voice and step had passed from the threshold, andshe looked forward impatiently to her release. The sprain proved moreserious than she at first imagined, and the summer vacation set in beforeshe was able to walk with ease. Mr. Huntingdon had been apprised of herlong absence from school, and one day, when she was cautiously trying herstrength, he arrived, without having given premonition of his visit. As hetook her in his arms and marked the alteration in her thin face, thelistlessness of her manner, the sorrowful gravity of her countenance, hisfears were fully aroused, and, holding her to his heart, he exclaimed--

  "My daughter! my beauty! I must take you out of New York."

  "Yes, father, take me home; do take me home." She clasped her arms roundhis neck and nestled her face close to his.

  "Not yet, queen. We will go to the Catskill, to Lake George, to Niagara. Afew weeks' travel will invigorate you. I have written to Hugh to meet us atMontreal; he is with a gay party, and you shall have a royal time. A prettypiece of business truly, that you can't amuse yourself in any other waythan by breaking half the bones in your body."

  Thus the summer programme was determined without any reference to thewishes of the one most concerned, and, knowing her father's disposition,she silently acquiesced. After much persuasion, Mr. Huntingdon prevailed onLouisa's parents to allow her to accompany them. The mother consented veryreluctantly, and on the appointed day the party set off for Saratoga. Thechange was eminently beneficial, and before they reached Canada Ireneseemed perfectly restored. But her father was not satisfied. Her unwontedtaciturnity annoyed and puzzled him; he knew that beneath the calm surfacesome strong undercurrent rolled swiftly, and he racked his brain todiscover what had rendered her so reserved. Louisa's joyous, elasticspirits probably heightened the effect of her companion's gravity, and thecontrast daily presented could not fail to arrest Mr. Huntingdon'sattention. On arriving at Montreal the girls were left for a few moments inthe parlour of the hotel, while Mr. Huntingdon went to register theirnames. Irene and Louisa stood by the window looking out into the street,when a happy, ringing voice exclaimed--

  "Here you are, at last, Irie! I caught a glimpse of your curls as youpassed the dining-room door."

  She turned to meet her cousin and held out her hand.

  "Does your majesty suppose I shall be satisfied with the tip of yourfingers? Pshaw, Irie! I will have my kiss."

  He threw his arm round her shoulder, drew down the shielding hands, andkissed her twice.

  "Oh, Hugh, behave yourself! Miss Louisa Young, my cousin, Hugh Seymour."

  He bowed, and shook hands with the stranger, then seized his cousin'sfingers and fixed his fine eyes affectionately upon her.

  "It seems an age since I saw you, Irie. Come, sit down and let me look atyou; how stately you have grown, to be sure! More like a queen than ever;absolutely two inches taller since you entered boarding-school. Irie, I amso glad to see you again!" He snatched up a handful of curls and drew themacross his lips, careless of what Louisa might think.

  "Thank you, Hugh. I am quite as glad to see you."

  "Oh, humbug! I know better. You would rather see Paragon any day, ten toone. I will kill that dog yet, and shoot Erebus, too; see if I don't! thenmaybe you can think of somebody else. When you are glad you show it in youreyes, and now they are as still as violets under icicles. I think youmight l
ove me a little, at least as much as a dog."

  "Hush! I do love you, but I don't choose to tell it to everybody inMontreal."

  Mr. Huntingdon's entrance diverted the conversation, and Irene was glad toescape to her own room.

  "Your cousin seems to be very fond of you," observed Louisa, as sheupbraided her hair.

  "He is very impulsive and demonstrative, that is all."

  "How handsome he is!"

  "Do you think so, really? Take care, Louisa! I will tell him, and, by wayof crushing his vanity, add '_de gustibus, etc., etc., etc._'"

  "How old is he?"

  "In his twentieth year."

  From that time the cousins were thrown constantly together; wherever theywent Hugh took charge of Irene, while Mr. Huntingdon gave his attention toLouisa. But the eagle eye was upon his daughter's movements; he watched hercountenance, weighed her words, tried to probe her heart. Week after weekhe found nothing tangible. Hugh was gay, careless; Irene, equable, butreserved. Finally they turned their faces homeward, and in October foundthemselves once more in New York. Mr. Huntingdon prepared to return Southand Hugh to sail for Europe, while Irene remained at the hotel until themorning of her cousin's departure.

  A private parlour adjoined the room she occupied, and here he came to sayfarewell. She knew that he had already had a long conversation with herfather, and as he threw himself on the sofa and seized one of her hands,she instinctively shrank from him.

  "Irene, here is my miniature. I wanted you to ask for it, but I see thatyou won't do it. I know very well that you will not value it one-thousandthpart as much as I do your likeness here on my watch-chain; but perhaps itwill remind you of me sometimes. How I shall want to see you before I comehome! You know you belong to me. Uncle gave you to me, and when I come backfrom Europe we will be married. We are both very young, I know; but it hasbeen settled so long. Irie, my beauty, I wish you would love me more; youare so cold. Won't you try?"

  He leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her face hastily away andanswered resolutely--

  "No, I can't love you other than as my cousin; I would not, if I could. Ido not think it would be right, and I won't promise to try. Father has noright to give me to you, or to anybody else. I tell you now I belong tomyself, and only I can give myself away. Hugh, I don't consider thissettled at all. You might as well know the truth at once; I have some voicein the matter."

  Mr. Huntingdon had evidently prepared him for something of this kind on herpart, and, though his face flushed angrily, he took no notice of theremonstrance.

  "I shall write to you frequently, and I hope that you will be punctual inreplying. Irie, give me your left hand just a minute; wear this ring till Icome back, to remind you that you have a cousin across the ocean."

  He tried to force the flashing jewel on her slender finger, but sheresisted, and rose, struggling to withdraw her hand.

  "No, no, Hugh! I can't; I won't. I know very well what that ring means, andI cannot accept it. Release my hand; I tell you I won't wear it."

  "Come, Hugh; you have not a moment to spare; the carriage is waiting." Mr.Huntingdon threw open the door, having heard every word that had passed.Hugh dropped the ring in his vest-pocket and rose.

  "Well, Irie, I suppose I must bid you farewell. Two or three years willchange you, my dearest little cousin. Good-bye; think of me now and then,and learn to love me by the time I come home."

  She suffered him to take both her hands and kiss her tenderly, for herfather stood there, and she could not refuse; but the touch of his lipsburned her long after he was gone. She put on her bonnet, and, when herfather returned from the steamer, they entered the carriage which was toconvey her to the dreary, dreaded school. As they rolled along Broadway,Mr. Huntingdon coolly took her hand and placed Hugh's ring upon it, sayingauthoritatively--

  "Hugh told me you refused to accept his parting gift, and seemed much hurtabout it. There is no reason why you should not wear it, and in future I donot wish to see you without it. Remember this, my daughter."

  "Father, it is wrong for me to wear it, unless I expected to----"

  "I understand the whole matter perfectly. Now, Irene, let me hear no moreabout it. I wish you would learn that it is a child's duty to obey herparent. No more words, if you please, on the subject."

  She felt that this was not the hour for resistance, and wisely forbore; buthe saw rebellion written in the calm, fixed eye, and read it in the curvedlines of the full upper lip. She had entreated him to take her home, andonly the night before renewed her pleadings. But his refusal was positive,and now she went back to the hated school without a visible token ofregret. She saw her trunks consigned to the porter, listened to a briefconversation between Dr. ---- and her father, and after a hasty embrace andhalf-dozen words, watched the tall, soldierly form re-enter the carriage.Then she went slowly up the broad stairway to her cell-like room, and withdry eyes unpacked her clothes, locked up the ring in her jewellery-box, andprepared to resume her studies.