A Rose of a Hundred Leaves: A Love Story

by Amelia E. Barr

  CHAPTER VI.

  "LOVE SHALL BE LORD OF SANDY-SIDE."

  During thirty years of the first half of this century Mrs. St. Alban'sfinishing school for young gentlewomen was a famous institution of itskind. For she had been born to the manner of courts and of people ofhigh degree; and when evil fortune met her, she very wisely turned herinherited social advantages into a means of honest livelihood.Aspatria was much impressed by her noble bearing and fine manners, andby the elaborate state in which the twelve pupils, of whom she wasone, lived.

  Each had her own suite of apartments; each was expected to keep amaid, and to dress with the utmost care and propriety. There werefine horses in the stables for their equestrian exercise, therewere grooms to attend them during it, and there were regularreception-days, which afforded tyros in social accomplishmentspractical opportunities for cultivating the graceful and graciousurbanity which evidences really fine breeding.

  Many of Aspatria's companions were of high rank,--Lady Julias and LadyAugustas, who were destined to wear ducal coronets and to stand aroundthe throne of their young queen. But they were always charminglypleasant and polite, and Aspatria soon acquired their outward form ofcalm deliberation and their mode of low, soft speech. For the rest,she decided, with singular prudence, to cultivate only those talentswhich nature had obviously granted her.

  A few efforts proved that she had no taste for art. Indeed, theattempt to portray the majesty of the mountains or the immensity ofthe ocean seemed to her childishly petty and futile. She had dweltamong the high places and been familiar with the great sea, and tomake images of them appeared a kind of sacrilege. But she liked thestudy of languages, and she had a rich contralto voice capable ofexpressing all the emotions of the heart. At the piano she hesitated;its music, under her unskilled fingers, sounded mechanical; shedoubted her ability to put a soul into that instrument. But the harpwas different; its strings held sympathetic tones she felt competentto master. To these studies she added a course of English literatureand dancing. She was already a fine rider, and her informationobtained from the vicar's library and the Encyclopaedia covered anenormous variety of subjects, though it was desultory, and in manyrespects imperfect.

  Her new life was delightful to her. She had an innate love for study,for quiet, and for elegant surroundings. These tastes were fullygratified. The large house stood in a fair garden, surrounded by veryhigh walls, with entrance-gates of handsomely wrought iron. Perfectquiet reigned within this flowery enclosure. She could study withoutthe constant interruptions which had annoyed her at home; and she waswisely aided in her studies by masters whose low voices and glidingsteps seemed only to accentuate the peace of the wide schoolroom, withits perfect appointments and its placid group of beautiful students.

  On Saturdays Brune generally spent several hours with her; and if theweather were fine, they rode or walked in the Park. Brune was aconstant wonder to Aspatria. Certainly his handsome uniform had donemuch for him, but there was a greater change than could be effectedby mere clothes. Without losing that freshness and singleness of mindhe owed to his country training, he had become a man of fashion, alittle of a dandy, a very innocent sort of a lady-killer. His arrivalcaused always a faint flutter in Mrs. St. Alban's dove-cot, and thenoble damosels found many little womanly devices to excuse theirpassing through the parlour while Brune was present. They liked to seehim bend his beautiful head to them; and Lady Mary Boleyn, who wasAspatria's friend and companion, was mildly envied the privileges thisrelation gave her.

  During the vacations Aspatria was always the guest of one or other ofher mates, though generally she spent them at the splendid seat of theBoleyns in Hampshire, and the unconscious education thus received wasof the greatest value to her. It gave the ease of nature to acquiredaccomplishments, and, above all, that air which we call distinction,which is rarely natural, and is attained only by frequent associationwith those who dwell on the highest social peaks.

  Much might be said of this phase of Aspatria's life which may be leftto the reader's imagination. For three years it saw only such changesas advancing intelligence and growing friendships made. The realchange was in Aspatria personally. No one could have traced withoutconstant doubt the slim, virginal, unfinished-looking girl that leftSeat-Ambar, in the womanly perfection of Aspatria aged twenty-fouryears. She had grown several inches taller; her angles had alldisappeared; every joint was softly rounded. Her hands and arms wereexquisite; her throat and the poise of her head like those of a Greekgoddess. Her hair was darker and more abundant, and her eyes retainedall their old charm, with some rarer and nobler addition.

  To be sure, she had not the perfect regularity of feature thatdistinguished some of her associates, that exact beauty which Titian'sVenus possesses, and which makes no man's heart beat a throb thefaster. Her face had rather the mobile irregularity of Leonardo's MonaLisa, the charming face that men love passionately, the face that mencan die for.

  At the close of the third year she refused all invitations for thesummer holidays, and went back to Seat-Ambar. There had not been muchcommunication between Will and herself. He was occupied with his landand his sheep, his wife and his two babies. People then took eachother's affection as a matter of course, without the daily assuranceof it. About twice a year Will had sent her a few strong words oflove, and a bare description of any change about the home, or elseAlice had covered a sheet with pretty nothings, written in the small,pointed, flowing characters then fashionable.

  But the love of Aspatria for her home depended on no such trivial,accidental tokens. It was in her blood; her personality was knotted toSeat-Ambar by centuries of inherited affection; she could test it bythe fact that it would have killed her to see it pass into astranger's hands. When once she had turned her face northward, itseemed impossible to travel quickly enough. Hundreds of miles away shefelt the cool wind blowing through the garden, and the scent of thedamask rose was on it. She heard the gurgling of the becks and thewayside streams, and the whistling of the boys in the barn, and thetinkling of the sheep-bells on the highest fells. The raspberries wereripe in their sunny corner; she tasted them afar off. The dark oakrooms, their perfume of ancient things, their air of homelikecomfort,--it was all so vivid, so present to her memory, that herheart beat and thrilled, as the breast of a nursing mother thrills andbeats for her longing babe.

  She had told no one she was coming; for, the determination made, sheknew that she would reach home before the Dalton postman got theletter to Seat-Ambar. The gig she had hired she left at the lowergarden gate; and then she walked quickly through the rose-alley up tothe front door. It stood open, and she heard a baby crying. Howstrange the wailing notes sounded! She went forward, and opened theparlour door; Alice was washing the child, and she turned with anannoyed look to see the intruder.

  Of course the expression changed, but not quickly enough to preventAspatria seeing that her visit was inopportune. Alice said afterwardthat she did not recognize her sister-in-law, and, as Will met herprecisely as he would have met an entire stranger, Alice's excuse wasdoubtless a valid one. There were abundant exclamations and rejoicingswhen her identity was established, but Will could do nothing all theevening but wonder over the changes that had taken place in hissister.

  However, when the first joy of reunion is over, it is a prudent thingnot to try too far the welcome that is given to the home-comer who hasonce left home. Will and Alice had grown to the idea that Aspatriawould never return to claim the room in Seat-Ambar which was herslegally so long as she lived. It had been refurnished and was used asa guest-room. Aspatria looked with dismay on the changes made. Hervery sampler had been sent away,--the bit of canvas made sacred by hermother's fingers holding her own over it. She could remember theinstances connected with the formation of almost every letter of itssimple prayer,--

  Jesus, permit thy gracious name to stand As the first effort of my infant hand; And, as my fingers on the sampler move, Engage my tender heart to seek thy love. With thy dear children may I have a
part, And write thy Name, thyself, upon my heart.

  And it was gone! She went into the lumber-room, and picked it out fromunder a pile of old prints and shabbily framed certificates for prizecattle.

  With a sad heart Aspatria regarded the other changes. Her littletent-bed, with its white dimity curtains, had been given to baby'snurse. The vase her father had bought her at Kendal fair was broken.Her small mirror and dressing-table had been removed for a fine Psychein a gilded frame. Nothing, nothing was untouched, but the bigdower-chest into which she had flung her wretched wedding-clothes. Shestood silently before it, reflecting, with excusable ill-nature, thatneither Will nor Alice knew the secret of its spring. Her mother hadtaught it to her, and that bit of knowledge she determined to keep toherself.

  After some hesitation she tried the spring: it answered her pressureat once; the lid flew back, and there lay the unhappy white satindress, the wreath, and veil, and slippers, just as she had tumbledthem in. The bitter hour came sharply back to her; she thought andgazed, and thought and gazed, until she felt herself to be weeping.Then she softly closed the lid, and, as she did so, a smile partedher lips,--a smile that denied all that her tears said; a smile ofhope, of good presage, of coming happiness.

  She stayed only a week at Seat-Ambar, though she had originallyintended to remain until the harvest was over. The time was spent inpublic festivity; every one in Allerdale was invited to give her afitting welcome. But the very formality of all this entertainmentpained her. It was, after all, only a cruel evidence that Will andAlice did not care to take her into their real home-life. She wouldrather have sat alone with them, and talked of their hopes and plans,and been permitted to make friends of the babies.

  So far away, so far away as she had drifted in three years from theabsent living! Would the dead be kinder? She went to Aspatria Churchand sat down in her mother's seat, and let the strange spiritualatmosphere which hovers in old churches fill her heart with itssupernatural influence. All around her were the graves of herfore-elders, strong elemental men, simple God-loving women. Did theyknow her? Did they care for her? Her soul looked with piteous entreatyinto the void behind it, but there was no answer; only that dreadfulsilence of the dead, which presses upon the drum of the ear likethunder.

  She went into the quiet yard around the church. The ancient, ancientsun shone on the young grass. Over her mother's grave the sweet thymehad grown luxuriantly. She rubbed her hands in it, and spread themtoward heaven with a prayer. Then peace came into her heart, and shefelt as if eyes, unseen heavenly eyes, rained happy influence uponher. Thus it is that death imparts to life its most intense interest;for, kneeling in his very presence, Aspatria forgot the mortality ofher parents, and did reverence to that within them which was eternal.

  She returned to London, and was a little disappointed there also. Mrs.St. Alban had promised herself an absolute release from any outsideelement. She felt Aspatria a trifle in the way, and, though far toopolite to show her annoyance, Aspatria by some similar instinctdivined it. That is the way always. When we plan for ourselves, allour plans fail. Happy are they who learn early to let fate alone, andnever interfere with the Powers who hold the thread of their destiny!

  It was not until she had reached this mood, a kind of contentindifference, that her good genius could work for her. She then sentBrune as her messenger, and Brune took his sister to meet her onRichmond Hill. On their way thither they talked about Seat-Ambar, andWill and Alice, until Aspatria suddenly noticed that Brune was notlistening to her. His eyes were fixed upon a lovely woman approachingthem. It was Sarah Sandys. Brune stood bareheaded to receive hersalutation.

  "I never should have known you, Lieutenant Anneys," she said,extending her hand, and beaming like sunshine on the handsome officer,"had not your colonel Jardine been in Richmond to-day. He is veryproud of you, sir, and said so many fine things of you that I amambitious to show him that we are old acquaintances. May I know,through you, Mrs. Anneys also?"

  "This is my sister, Mrs. Sandys,--my sister--" Brune hesitated amoment, and then said firmly, "Miss Anneys."

  Then Sarah insisted on taking them to her house to lunch; and thereshe soon had them under her influence. She waited on them withravishing smiles and all sorts of pretty offices. She took them in herhandsome carriage to drive, she insisted on their remaining to dinner.And before the drive was over, she had induced Aspatria to extend hervisit until the opening of Mrs. St. Alban's school.

  "We three are from the north country," she said, with an air ofrelationship; "and how absurd for Miss Anneys to be alone at Mrs. St.Alban's, where she is not wanted, and for me to be alone here, when Idesire her society so much!"

  Aspatria was much pleased to receive such a delightful invitation, anda messenger was sent at once for her maid. Mrs. St. Alban was quiteready to resign Aspatria, and the maid was as glad as her mistress toleave the lonely mansion. In an hour or two she had removed Aspatria'swardrobe, and was arranging the pleasant rooms Mrs. Sandys had placedat her guest's disposal.

  Sarah was evidently bent on conquest. Her toilet was a marvellouscombination of some shining blue and white texture, mingled with pinkroses and gold ornaments. Her soft fair hair was loosened and curled,and she had a childlike manner of being carelessly happy. Brune sat ather right hand; she talked to him in smiles and glances, and gave herwords to Aspatria. She was determined to please both sister andbrother, and she succeeded. Aspatria thought she had never in all herlife seen a woman so lovable, so amusing, so individual.

  Brune was naturally shy and silent among women. Sarah made himeloquent, because she had the tact to discover the subject on whichhe could talk,--his regiment, and its sayings and doings. So Brune wasdelighted with himself; he had never before suspected how clever hewas. Stimulated by Sarah's and Aspatria's laughter and curiosity, hefound it easy to retail funny little bits of palace and mess gossip,and to describe the queer men and the vain men and the fine fellowsthat were his familiars.

  "And pray how do you amuse yourself, Lieutenant? Do you drink wine,and gamble, and go to the races, and bet your purse empty?"

  "I was never brought up in such ways," Brune answered, "and, I cantell you, I wouldn't make believe to like them. There are a good manydalesmen in my company, and none of us enjoy anything more than a fairthrow or an in-lock."

  "A throw or an in-lock! What do you mean, Lieutenant? You must explainyourself to Miss Anneys and myself."

  "Aspatria knows well enough. Did you ever see north-country ladswrestling, madam? No? Then you have as fine a thing in keeping foryour eyes as human creatures can show you. I'll warrant that! Why-a!wrestling brings all men to their level. When Colonel Jardine isugly-tempered, and top-heavy with his authority, a few sound throwsover Timothy Sutcliffe's head does bring him to level very well. I hada little in-play with him yesterday; for in the wrestling-ring we beall equals, though out of it he is my colonel."

  "Now for the in-play. Tell me about it, for I see Miss Anneys is notat all interested."

  "Colonel Jardine is a fine wrestler; a fair match he would be even forbrother Will. Yesterday he said he could throw me; and I took thechallenge willingly. So we shook hands, and went squarely for thethrow. I was in good luck, and soon got my head under his right arm,and his head close down to my left side. Then it was only to get myright arm up to his shoulder, and lift him as high as my head, and,when so, lean backward and throw him over my head: we call it theFlying Horse."

  "Oh, I can see it very well. No wonder Rosalind fell in love withOrlando when he threw the wrestler Charles."

  "Were they north-country or Cornish men?"

  She was far too kindly and polite to smile; indeed, she gave Aspatriaa pretty, imperative glance, and answered, in the most natural manner,"I think they were Italians."

  "Oh!" said Brune, with some contempt. "Chaff on their ways! TheDevonshire wrestlers are brutal; the Cornish are too slow; but theCumberland men wrestle like gentlemen. They meet square and level inthe ring, and the one who could carry ill-will for a
fair throw wouldvery soon find himself out of all rings and all good fellowship."

  "You said 'even brother Will.' Is your brother a better wrestler thanyou?"

  "My song! he is that! Will has his match, though. We had a ploughmanonce,--Aspatria remembers him,--Robert Steadman, an upright, muscularyoung fellow, civil and respectful as could be in everything about hiswork and place; but on wet days when we were all, masters andservants, in the barn together, it was a sight to see Robert wrestlingwith Will for the mastery, and Will never so ready to say, 'Welldone!' nor the rest of us so happy, as when we saw Will's two brawnylegs going handsomely over Robert's head."

  "If I were a man, I should try to be a fine wrestler."

  "It is a great comfort," said Brune. "If you have a quarrel of anykind, it is a deal more satisfactory to meet your man, and throw him afew times over your head, than to go to law with him. It puts a stopto unpleasantness very quickly and very good-naturedly."

  Then Sarah rose and opened the piano, and from its keys dashed out alilting, hurrying melody, like the galloping of horses and shaking ofbridles; and in a few moments she began to sing, and Brune went toher side, and, because she looked so steadily into his eyes, he couldremember nothing at all of the song but its dashing refrain,--

  "For he whom I wed Must be north country bred, And must carry me back to the North Countrie."

  Then Aspatria played some wonderful music on her harp, and Sarah andBrune sat still and listened to their own hearts, and sent out shyglances, and caught each other in the act, and Brune was made nervous,and Sarah gay, by the circumstance.

  By and by they began to talk of schools, and of how much Aspatria hadlearned; and so Brune regretted his own ignorance, and wished he hadbeen more attentive to his schoolmaster.

  Sarah laughed at the wish. "A knowledge of Shakspeare and the musicalglasses and the Della Cruscans," she said, "is for foolish,sentimental women. You can wrestle, and you can fight, and I supposeyou can make money, and perhaps even make love. Is there anything elsea soldier needs?"

  "Colonel Jardine is very clever," continued Brune, regretfully; "and Ihad a good schoolmaster--"

  "Nonsense, Lieutenant!" said Sarah. "None of them are good. They allspoil your eyes, and seek to lay a curse on you; that is the confusionof languages."

  "Still, I might have learned Latin."

  "It was the speech of pagans and infidels."

  "Or logic."

  "Logic hath nothing to say in a good cause."

  "Or philosophy."

  "Philosophy is curiosity. Socrates was very properly put to death forit."

  They were all laughing together, when Sarah condemned Socrates, andthe evening passed like a happy dream away.

  It was succeeded by weeks of the same delight. Aspatria soon learnedto love Sarah. She had never before had a woman friend on whom shecould rely and to whom she could open her heart. Sarah induced her tospeak of Ulfar, to tell her all her suffering and her plans and hopes,and she gave her in return a true affection and a most sinceresympathy. Nothing of the past that referred to Ulfar was left untold;and as the two women sat together during the long summer days, theygrew very near to each other, and there was but one mind and onedesire between them.

  So that when the time came for Aspatria to go back to Mrs. St.Alban's, Sarah would not hear of their separation. "You have hadenough of book-learning," she said. "Remain with me. We will go toParis, to Rome, to Vienna. We will study through travel and society.It is by rubbing yourself against all kinds of men and women that youacquire the finest polish of life; and then when Ulfar comes back youwill be able to meet him upon all civilized grounds. And as for theSouth Americans, we will buy all the books about them we can find.Are they red or white or black, I wonder? Are they pagans orChristians? I seem to remember that when I was at school I learnedthat the Peruvians worshipped the sun."

  "I think, Sarah, that they are all descendants of Spaniards; so theymust be Roman Catholics. And I have read that their women arebeautiful and witty."

  "My dear Aspatria, nothing goes with Spaniards but gravity and greenolives."

  Aspatria was easily persuaded to accept Sarah's offer; she was indeedvery happy in the prospect before her. But Brune was miserable. He hadspent a rapturous summer, and it was to end without harvest, or thepromise thereof. He could not endure the prospect, and one night hemade a movement so decided that Sarah was compelled to set him back alittle.

  "Were you ever in love, Mrs. Sandys?" poor Brune asked, with his heartfilling his mouth.

  She looked thoughtfully at him a moment, and then slowly answered: "Ionce felt myself in danger, and I fled to France. I consider it thefinest action of my life."

  Aspatria felt sorry for her brother, and she said warmly: "I think noone falls in love now. Love is out of date."

  Sarah enjoyed her temper. "You are right, dear," she answered."Culture makes love a conscious operation. When women are all feeling,they fall in love; when they have intellect and will, they attachthemselves only after a critical examination of the object."

  Later, when they were alone, Aspatria took her friend to task for hercruelty: "You know Brune loves you, Sarah; and you do love him. Whymake him miserable? Has he presumed too far?"

  "No, indeed! He is as adoring and humble as one could wish a futurelord and master to be."

  "Well, then?"

  "I will give our love time to grow. When we come back, if Brune hasbeen true to me in every way, he may fall to blessing himself withboth hands;" and then she began to sing,--

  "Betide, betide, whatever betide, Love shall be Lord of Sandy-Side!"

  "Love is a burden two hearts carry very easily together, but, oh,Sarah! I know how hard it is to bear it alone. Therefore I say, bekind to Brune while you can."

  "My dear, your idea is a very pretty one. I read the other day a Hinduversion of it that smelled charmingly of the soil,--

  'A clapping is not made with one hand alone: Your love, my beloved, must answer my own.'"

  But in spite of such reflections, Sarah's will and intellect werepredominant, and she left poor Brune with only such hope as he couldglean from the lingering pressure of her hand and the tears in hereyes. Aspatria's pleading had done no good. Perhaps it had done harm;for the very nature of love is that it should be spontaneous.