A Young Girl's Wooing

by Edward Payson Roe

  CHAPTER V

  ACHIEVEMENT

  Mrs. Muir of course heard often from her sister, and was satisfiedwith the general assurance that she was better and steadily improving.Madge, however, was rather indefinite in her information. As timepassed, the idea of giving her friends in the East a surprise tookpossession of her fancy. She instinctively felt that she needed everyincentive to pursue the course she had resolved upon, since she oftensuffered from fits of depression hard to combat. The hope of appearinglike a new being to her relatives was another innocent motive for herlong-prolonged effort. Circumstances had never developed epistolarytastes in the sisters, and they were content with brief missivescontaining general assurances that all was well. Mrs. Muir was one ofthose ladies who become engrossed with the actual and the present. HadMadge been in her old room she would have been looked after with dailysolicitude; being absent, she was loved none the less, but was simplycrowded from thought and memory by swarms of little cares. She wasdoing well, and her sister was satisfied. "'It's a wonderful climate,'Madge writes," she would say, "so even and dry. Madge doesn't takecold as she did here, and can go out nearly every day. Perhaps weought to become reconciled to the fact that she will have to livethere always, since here, with our sudden changes, she could scarcelylive at all."

  With the kindliest intentions Graydon had sought to initiate avigorous correspondence. He had learned with immense relief of Madge'simprovement through change of residence, and he felt that a series ofjolly letters might bring aid and hopefulness. Her responses were notvery encouraging, however, and business cares, with the noveltyof foreign life, gradually absorbed his thoughts and time untilcorrespondence languished and died.

  "It's the old story," he thought, with a shade of irritation. "Letterscost effort, and she is not equal to effort, or thinks she is not."

  If he could have seen Madge at that moment riding like the wind on aspirited horse he would have been more astonished than by any of thewonders of the old world.

  To Madge his letters were a source of mingled pain and pleasure, butthe former predominated. In every line they breathed an affectionwhich could never satisfy. Coldness or indifference could not haveso assured her that her love was hopeless; and when she sat down toreply, the language of her heart was so unlike that which she mustwrite as to make her feel almost guilty of deliberate deception.Correspondence made him too vividly present, and she was learning thatshe had the power, not of forgetting him, but of so occupying hermind with tasks for his sake as to attain serenity. The days weremade short by efforts of which he deemed her incapable, and wearinessbrought rest at night. But when she sat down with her pen, confrontinghim and not what she sought to do for him, her heart sank. He was toonear and dear, yet too remote, even for hope.

  This emotion is, however, the most hardy of plants, and although shehad often assured herself that she had never entertained it or had anyreason to do so, almost before she was aware she found it growing inher heart. Business still kept Graydon abroad, although a year hadpassed. There were no indications that he was pressing his suit withMiss Wildmere, and our heroine's mirror and the eyes of others beganto tell her that the confident belle would not now bestow a glance socold and indifferent as to mean, "You can be nothing to him or to anyone." Moreover, Miss Wildmere's coveted beauty might prove an ally.One so attractive would be sought, perhaps won, before Graydonreturned, and absence might have taught him that his regard had beenlittle more than admiration. Naturally Madge would not be inclinedto think well of one who had brought so cruel an experience into herlife; but, prejudice apart, the society girl had given evidence of atype of womanhood not very high. Even Graydon, in his allusions, hadsuggested a character repulsive to Madge. A woman "as hard to captureand hold as a 'Bedouin'" was not at all her ideal. The words presentedto her one who was either calculating or capricious, either heartlessor fickle.

  "Truly," she thought, "if there was ever a man who meritedwhole-hearted, lifelong constancy, it is Graydon Muir; and if he evenimagines Miss Wildmere incapable of this, why should he think furtherof her? Perhaps while beyond the spell of her beauty he has formed atruer estimate of her character, and has abandoned all thought of heras a mocking dream. Perhaps--"

  Of what possibilities will not a young girl dream at the dictationof her heart? And as she saw the sharp lines of her profile softeninginto loveliness, the color fluctuating in her cheeks even at herthoughts, her thin, feeble arms growing white and firm, and therounded grace of womanhood appearing in all her form, she began tohope that she could endure comparison with Miss Wildmere, even onher lower plane of material beauty. But Madge had too much mind tobe content with Miss Wildmere's standard. She coveted outwardattractiveness chiefly that the casket might secure attention to itsgems. The days of languid, desultory reading and study were over, andshe determined to know at least a few things well.

  It was to music, however, that she gave her chief attention, since shebelieved that for this art she had some positive talent A German inthe pursuit of health had drifted to the remote southern city. He waspast middle age, but had retained through numberless disappointmentsand discouragements the one enthusiasm of his life; and in Madge hefound a pupil after his own heart. While his voice had lost much ofits freshness and power, his taste was pure and refined. He kindledin the young girl's mind something of his own love and reverence formusic on its own account. To Madge, however, it would always remaina method of expression rather than a science or an art, and the oldprofessor at last learned to recognize her limitations. She would beexcellent in only those phases of music which were in accord with herown feeling and thought. She would not, perhaps could not, study itas he had done, for her woman's nature and the growing purpose of herlife were ever in the ascendant; but under his guidance her taste grewpurer and her knowledge and power increased rapidly. What she didshe learned to do well. Even Herr Brachmann was often charmed by thedelicate originality of her touch, which proved that her own thoughtand feeling were infused into the music before her.

  But her voice delighted him most. With her increasing vigor was gainedthe ability to use her vocal organs in sustained effort. He guardedher carefully against over-exertion, and her advance was assuredand safe. Note after note, true, sweet, and strong, was added to thecompass of her voice, and this exercise reacted with increased benefiton her general health. One can scarcely become a vocalist withouttoning up the vital organs, and in learning to sing Madge providedan antidote against consumptive tendencies. Her gift of song atlast began to attract attention. Strangers loitered near the WaylandCottage during warm, quiet evenings, and in society she was importunedby those who had heard her before. She usually complied, for she wastraining herself to sing before an audience of one who was familiarwith the best musical talent of the world. Not that she wished toinvite comparisons with this kind of talent, but merely to sing withsuch simple sweetness and truth that Graydon would forget the trainedprofessional in the unaffected charm of the natural girl.

  The manner of those who listened stimulated her hope. At the firstnotes of her song all conversation ceased. Even the unappreciativewere impressed by a certain pathos, an appealing minor tone, whichtouched the heart while pleasing the ear.

  During the long summer that followed her first winter at Santa Barbarathe little town sank into a semi-torpid state. Strangers disappeared.With many of the permanent residents to kill time was the main objectof languid effort. To Madge the season brought varied opportunity. Theold professor gave her much of his time. While others slept she readand studied. The heat, tempered by the vast Pacific, was nevergreat, and the air had a vitality that proved a constant aid to hercontrolling motive. In the morning she rode or took some form ofskilled exercise in which she knew Graydon to be proficient, and sherarely missed her ocean bath. Such health was she acquiring that itwas becoming a joy in itself. As with all earnest, constant natures,however, her supreme motive grew stronger with time.

  In August she received tidings from the East that caused muchsol
icitude and depression. Graydon had returned for a brief visit,and had joined Mr. and Mrs. Muir at a seaside inn. "A Miss Wildmereis staying here also," her sister wrote, "and, somewhat to Mr. Muir'sdisapproval, Graydon seems not only well acquainted with her, butunusually friendly. Mr. Muir says that if she is like her father sheis a 'speculator'; and from the attention she receives and the way shereceives it one would think he was right. Graydon, however, seems tobe her favorite, and if he could remain long enough it is not hard tosee what might happen. But she is a great belle and a coquette too,I should imagine, and she has a large enough following to turn anygirl's head. I don't wonder at it either, for she is the most lovelycreature I ever saw, and yet she doesn't make a pleasant impressionon me. The men are just wild about her. Mr. Muir looks askance atGraydon's devotion, and mutters 'speculator' when Miss Wildmere's nameis mentioned. Graydon returns to Europe next week. He inquires oftenafter you, and his questions make me feel that I don't know as muchabout you and what you are doing as I should. You write often, butsomehow you seem remote in more senses than one. I suppose, however,you are reading as usual, and just floating along down stream withtime. Well, no matter, dear. You write that you are better andstronger, and have no more of your old dreadful colds. You must spendnext summer with us, even if you have to go back to Santa Barbara inthe winter."

  Neither the shortness of his visit nor the fascinations of MissWildmere prevented Graydon from writing Madge a cordial note fullof regret that he should not see her. "You have indeed," he wrote,"vanished like a ghost, and become but a haunting memory. It is a yearand a half since I have seen you, and I did not succeed in beguilingyou into a correspondence. Like the good Indians, you have followedthe setting sun into some region as vague and distant as the 'happyhunting-ground.' Mary says that you will come East next summer. Theidea! Is there anything of you to come that is corporate and real? IfI had the time I would go to you and see. I find Miss Wildmere justabout where I left her, only more beautiful and fascinating, andbesieged by a host. Absence makes my chance slight indeed, but I donot despair. She so evidently enjoys a defensive warfare, wherein itis the besiegers who capitulate, that she may maintain it untilmy exile abroad is over. This is to my mind a more rationalinterpretation of her freedom than that she is waiting for me; andthus I reveal to you that modesty is my most prominent trait. She maybe married before I see her again; and should this prove to be thecase I will show you what a model of heroic equanimity I can be."

  Madge read this letter with a sigh of intense relief, and was not longin resolving that when he came again she would enter the lists withMiss Wildmere and do what her nature permitted before her chanceof happiness passed irrevocably. Graydon's letter kindled her hopegreatly. It seemed to her that she was to have a chance--that herpatient effort might receive the highest reward after all. She thankedGod for the hope. Her love was a sacred thing. It was the natural,uncalculating outgrowth of her womanhood, and was inciting her towardall womanly grace.

  Madge did not believe her motive, her purpose, to be unwomanly. Shouldthe opportunity offer, she did not intend to win Graydon by anglingfor him, by arts, blandishments, or one unmaidenly advance. She wouldtry to be so admirable that he would admire her, so true that he wouldtrust her, and so fascinating that he would woo her with a devotionthat would leave no chance for "equanimity" were it possible forhim to fail. If in her desperate weakness, in the chaos of herfirst self-knowledge, she could hide her secret, she smiled at thepossibility of revealing it now that she had been schooled and trainedinto strength and self-control.

  In her brief letter of reply to Graydon she wrote:

  "That I still exist and shall continue to live is proved by my onetrait which you regard as encouraging--curiosity. Please send me somebooks that will tell me about Europe, or, rather, will present Europeas nearly as possible in its real aspect. I may never travel, but amfoolish enough to imagine that I can see the world from the standpointof this sleepy old town."

  "Poor little wraith!" said Graydon, as he read the words. "Whata queer, shadowy world her fancy will create, even from the mostrealistic descriptions I can send her!" But he good-naturedly madeup a large bundle of books, in which fiction predominated, for hebelieved that she would read nothing else.

  The days gilded on, autumn merged into winter, and strangers cameagain. Madge was acquiring an experience of which at one time she hadnever dreamed. She found herself in Miss Wildmere's position. Everyday she was put more and more on the defensive. Gentlemen eagerlysought her society, and her situation was often truly embarrassing,for she had as little desire that the besiegers should capitulateas she had intention of surrendering herself. In this respect MissWildmere's tactics were easier to carry out. _She_ was not in theleast annoyed by any number of abject and committed slaves, and shewas approaching the period when she proposed to surrender with greatdiscretion, but to whom was not a settled point.

  Madge was beginning to make victims also, but she made them by beingsimply what she was, and those who suffered most had to admit tothemselves that she was almost as elusive as a spirit of the air.

  In the spring visitors to the health resort, returning to the East,brought to the Muirs rumors of Madge's beauty, fascination, andaccomplishments. They were a little puzzled, but concluded thatMadge had appeared well in a rendezvous of invalids, and were glad tobelieve that she was much better. Prudent Mrs. Muir wrote, however,"Do not think of returning till the last of May. Then we shall soongo to the mountains. This will be another change, and change in yourcase, you know, has proved so beneficial! We expect Graydon soon. Heis tired of residence abroad, and has so arranged the business that aconfidential clerk can take his place."

  Madge smiled and sighed. The test of her patient endeavor was about tocome.