by J. D Rawden
“I have not much leisure this morning. I beg a thousand regrets.”
Sir Edward's calm, complacent gravity was unendurable. He turned from him abruptly, and, muttering passionate exclamations, went toward the Semple House. Often he had seen Charlotte between nine and ten o'clock at the foot of the Semple House garden; for it was then possible for her to slip away while Mistress Gordon was busy about her house. And this morning he felt that the very intensity of his desire must surely bring her to their trysting-place behind the lilac hedge.
Whether he was right or wrong, he did not consider; for he was not one of those potent men who have themselves in their own power. Nor had it ever entered his mind that “love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice,” or that the only love worthy of the name refuses to blend with anything that is low or vindictive or clandestine. And, even if he had not loved Charlotte, he would now have been determined to marry her. Never before in all his life had he found an object so engrossing. Pride and revenge were added to love, as motives; but who will say that love was purer or stronger or sweeter for them?
In the meantime Joris was suffering as only such deep natures can suffer. There are domestic fatalities which the wisest and tenderest of parents seem impotent to contend with. Joris had certainly been alarmed by Harleigh's proposal, and his positive assertion that Charlotte loved him, had fallen upon the father's heart with the force of a blow, and the terror of a shock. And the sting of the sorrow was this,—that his child had deceived him. Certainly she had not spoken false words, but truth can be outraged by silence quite as cruelly as by speech.
After Harleigh's departure, he shut the door of his office, walked outside, and stood there some minutes, clasping and unclasping his large hands, like a man full of grief and perplexity. Ere long he remembered his friend Elder Van Heemskirk. This trouble concerned him also, for if Harleigh were informed of the marriage arranged between Charlotte and Sir Edward, he would no doubtless feel himself bound in honor to seek revenge on Sir Edward. Joris put himself in Harleigh's place; and he was certain, that, under the same circumstances, he would feel it disgraceful not interfere with the love-affairs of his wife to be.
He found Elder Van Heemskirk with his hat in his hand, giving his last orders before leaving the office for the day; but when Joris said, “There is trouble, and your advice I want,” he returned with him to the back of the office, where, through half-opened shutters, the sunshine and the warm-breeze stole into an atmosphere laden with the aromas of tea and coffee and West Indian produce.
In a few short, strong sentences, Joris put the case before Elder Van Heemskirk. The latter stroked his right knee thoughtfully, and listened. But his first words were not very comforting: “I must say, that it is mostly your own fault, Joris. You have given Harleigh but a half welcome, and you should have made things plain and to the point to Charlotte. Such skimble-skamble, why didn’t you say to her, out and out, 'I have promised you to Sir Edward, my lass. He'll make you the best of husbands; you'll marry him at the New Year, and you'll get gold and silver and all things suitable?”
“I hadn’t the time yet, Elder.”
There are men who can talk their troubles away: Joris was not one of them. He was silent when in sorrow or perplexity; silent, and ever looking around for something to do in the matter. As they walked homewards, the elder talked, and Joris pondered, not what was said, but the thoughts and purposes that were slowly forming in his own mind. He was later than usual for lunch, and the tea and the cakes had passed their prime condition; but, when Lysbet saw the trouble in his eyes, she thought them not worth mentioning. But Charlotte fretted about her father's delay, and it was at her Joris first looked. The veil had now been taken from his eyes; and he noticed her pretty dress, her restless glances at the clock, her ill-concealed impatience at the slow movement of the afternoon meal.
When it was over, Lysbet Morgan rose to put away her silver and china. “So warm as it is!” said Charlotte. “Into the garden I am going, mother.”
“Well, then, there are weeds to pull. The dish take with you.”
Joris rose then, and laying his hand on Charlotte's shoulder said, “There is something to talk about. Sit down, Lysbet; the door shut close, and listen to me.”
It was impossible to mistake the stern purpose on her husband's face, and Lysbet silently obeyed the order.
“Charlotte, this morning there comes to my office the young man, Harleigh. To thy father he said many ill words. To him thou shalt never speak again. Thy promise give to me.”
Charlotte sat silent, with dropped eyes, and cheeks as red as the pomegranate flower at her breast.
“No man, shall speak to me that way.”
Weeping bitterly, Charlotte rose and went to her mother, and laid her head upon Lysbet's shoulder.
“Look now, Joris. One must know the “why” and the “wherefore.” What mean you?”
“This I mean, Lysbet. No more meetings with Harleigh will I have. No love secrets will I bear. Danger is with them; yes, and sin too.”
“Joris, if he has spoken to you, then where is the secret?”
“Too late he spoke. When worked was his own selfish way, to tell me of his triumph he comes. It is a shameful wrong. Forgive it? No, I will not,—never!”
No one answered him; only Charlotte's low weeping broke the silence, and for a few moments Joris paced the room sorrowful and amazed. Then he looked at Lysbet, and she rose and gave her place to him. He put his arms around his darling, and kissed her fondly.
“Charlotte, listen to me thy father. It is for thy happy life here, it is for thy eternal life, I speak to thee. This man for whom thou art now weeping is not good for thee. He is not of thy breeding, he is an uneducated man; none of thy equal, he talks of fashion, of loose talk, of principles still more loose. If with the hawk a singing-bird might mate happily, then this scoundrel thou might safely marry. My Charlotte, do I love thee?”
“My father!”
“Do I love thee?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Dost thou, then, love me?”
She put her arms round his neck, and laid her cheek against his, and kissed him many times.
“Wilt thou go away and leave me, and leave thy mother, in our old age? My heart thou would break. My gray hairs to the grave would go in sorrow. Charlotte, my dear, dear child, what for me, and for thy mother, wilt thou do?”
“Thy wish—if I can.”
Then he told her of the provision made for her future. He reminded her of Sir Edward's long affection, and of her satisfaction with it until Harleigh had wooed her from her love and her duty. And, remembering the elder's reproach on his want of explicitness, he added, “Tomorrow, about thy own house, I will take the first step. Near my house it shall be; and when I walk in my garden, in thy garden I will see thee, and only a little fence shall be between us. And at the new year’s feast thou shalt be married. And money, plenty of money, I will give thee; and all that is proper thy mother and thee shall buy. But no more, no more at all, shalt thou see or speak to that bad man who has so beguiled thee.”
At this remark Charlotte sadly shook her head; and Lysbet's face so plainly expressed caution, that Joris somewhat modified his last order, “That is, little one, no more until the new year’s feast. Then thou wilt be married and then it is good, if it is safe, to forgive all wrongs, and to begin again with all the world in peace and good living. Wilt thou these things promise me? Me and thy mother?”
“My promise shall I give. But, Harleigh I must see once more. That is what I ask.”
“Harleigh! Must you thrust the dagger in your father’s heart?”
She did not answer; and Joris rose, and looked at the girl's mother inquiringly. Her face expressed assent; and he said reluctantly, “Well, then, I will as easy make it as I can. Once more, and for one hour, thou may see him. But I lay it on thee to tell him the truth, for this and for all other time.”
“Now may I go? He is nigh. His apointed time at the Semple H
ouse is at hand;” and Charlotte stood up, intent, listening, with her fair head lifted, and her wet eyes fixed on the distance.
“Well, be it so. Go.”
With the words she slipped from the room; and Joris called his servent to bring him some hot coals, and began to fill his pipe. As he did so, he watched Lysbet with some anxiety. She had offered him no sympathy, she evinced no disposition to continue the conversation; and, though she kept her face from him, he understood that all her movements expressed a rebellious temper. In and out of the room she passed, very busy about her own affairs, and apparently indifferent to his anxiety and sorrow.
At first Joris felt some natural anger at her attitude; but, as the Virginia tobbaco calmed and soothed him, he remembered that he had told her nothing of the details of his interview with Harleigh, and that she might be feeling and reasoning from a different standpoint from himself. Then the sweetness of his nature was at once in the ascendant, and he said, “Lysbet, come then, and talk with me about the child.”
She turned the keys in her press slowly, and stood by it with them in her hand. “What has been told thee, Joris, today? And who has spoken? Tongues venimous and envious, I am sure of that.”
“Thou art right. The young man to me spoke himself. He said, 'I love your daughter. I want to marry her.'“
“Well, then, he did no wrong. And as for Charlotte, it is in nature that a young girl should want a lover. It is in nature she should choose the one she likes best. That is what I say.”
“That is what I say, Lysbet. It is in nature, also, that we want too much food and wine, too much sleep, too much pleasure, too little work. It is in nature that our own way we want. It is in nature that the good we hate, and the sin we love. My Lysbet, to us God gives his own good grace, that the things that are in nature we might put below the reason and the will.”
“So hard that is, Joris.”
“No, it is not; so far thou hast done the right way. When Charlotte was a babe, it was in nature that with the fire she wanted to make play. But thou said, 'There is danger, my precious one; and in thy arms thou carried her out of the temptation. When older she grew, it was in nature she said, 'I like not the school, and my Heidelberg is hard, and I cannot learn it.' But thou answered, For thy good is the school, and go thou every day; Now then, it is in nature the child should want this handsome stranger; but with me thou wilt certainly say, He is not fit for thy happiness; he has not the true faith, he gambles, he fights duels, he is a waster, he lives badly, he will take thee far from thy own people and thy own home.'“
Lysbet drew close to him, and laid her arm across his broad shoulders; and he took his pipe from his lips and turned his face to her. “Kind and wise art thou, my husband; and whatever is thy wish, that is my wish too.”
“A good woman thou art. And what pleasure would it be to thee if Charlotte was a countess, and went to the court, and bowed down to the king and the queen? Thou would not see it; and, if thou spoke of it, thy neighbors they would hate thee, and mock thee behind thy back, and say, How proud is Elder Van Heemskirk of his noble son-in-law that comes never once to see him! And dost thou believe he is an earl? Not I.”
“That is where the mother's love is best, Joris. What my neighbors said would be little care to me, if my Charlotte was well and was happy. With her sorrow would I buy my own pleasure? No; I would not so selfish be.”
“Would I, Lysbet? Right am I, and I know I am right. And I think that Sir Edward will be a very great person. Already, as a man of affairs, he is much spoken of. He is handsome and of good morality. The elders in the kirk look to such young men as Sir Edward to fill their places when they are no more in them. On the judge's bench he will sit down yet.”
“A good young man he may be, but he is a very bad lover; that is the truth. If a little less wise he could only be! A young girl likes some foolish talk. It is what women understand. Little fond words, very strong they are! Thou thyself said them to me.”
“That is right. To Sir Edward I will talk a little. A man must seek a good wife with more heart than he seeks gold. Yes, yes; her price above rubies is.”
When Elder Van Heemskirk arrived at home, he found that his wife was out making calls with Mistress Gordon, so he had not the relief of a marital conversation. He took his solitary tea, and fell into a nap, from which he awoke in a querulous, uneasy temper. Sir Edward was walking about the terrace, and he joined him.
“You are stepping in a very majestic way, Sir Edward; what's in your thoughts, I wonder?”
“I have a speech to make tomorrow, sir. My thoughts were on the law, which has a certain majesty of its own.”
“You'd better be thinking of a speech you ought to make tonight, if you care at all about saving yourself with Charlotte Morgan; and I am certain it will be an extraordinary case that is worth more than gold.”
The elder was not in the habit of making unmeaning speeches, and Sir Edward was instantly alarmed. In his own way, he loved Charlotte with all his soul. “Yes,” continued the old man, “you have a rival, sir. Harleigh Daly asked Joris Morgan for his daughter hand.”
“What a dirty scoundrel he is!—to feather his nest with my straw.”
“Take your time, Sir Edward, and you won't lose your judgment. How was he to know that Charlotte Morgan was your sweetheart? You made little fuss over the lass, very little, I may say. Lawyer-like you may be, but none could call you lover-like. I'll have no fighting with him—you have only yourself to blame, you should of laid claim to your love instead of laying bout your law books. Take a word of advice now,—I'll give it without a fee,—you are fond enough to plead for others, go and plead an hour for yourself. Certain! When I was your age, I was noted for my persuading way. Your father, Sir Edward, never left a square on the picnic blanket for a rival. And I can tell you this: a woman isn’t to be counted yours, until you have her inside a wedding-ring.”
DUELING FOR LOVE.
Sir Edward was intensely angry, and his dark eyes glowed beneath their dropped lids with a passionate hate. But he left his father with an assumed coldness and calmness which made him mutter as he watched Sir Edward down the road. For the elder, judging his son by the impetuosity of his own youthful temper, expected him to go directly to Charlotte Morgan's house. But there were qualities in Sir Edward which his father forgot to take into consideration, and their influence was to suggest to the young man how inappropriate a visit to Charlotte would be at that time. Indeed, he did not much desire it. He was very angry with Charlotte. He was sure that she understood his entire devotion to her. He could not see any necessity to set it forth as particularly as a legal contract, in certain set phrases and with conventional ceremonies.
But his father's sarcastic advice annoyed him, and he wanted time to fully consider his ways. He was no yellow coward; he was a fine swordsman, and he felt that it would be a real joy to stand with a drawn rapier between himself and his rival. But what if revenge cost him too much? What if he slew Harleigh, and had to leave his love and his home, and his fine business prospects? To win Charlotte and to marry her, in the face of the man whom he felt that he detested, would not that be the best of all “satisfactions”?
He walked about the streets, discussing these points with himself, till the shops all closed, and on the stoops of the houses in Brooklyn there were merry parties of gossiping belles and beaux. As he returned to home. Half a dozen gentlemen were standing before the King's Arms Tavern, discussing some governmental statement in the “Weekly Mercury;” but though they asked him to stop, and enlighten them on some legal point, he excused himself for that night, and went toward Harleigh Daly's. He had suddenly resolved upon a visit. Why should he put off until the tomorrow what he might begin that night?
Still debating with himself, he came to a narrow road which ran to the street, along the southern side of Harleigh Daly's house. It was only a trodden path used by locals, and made by usage through the unenclosed ground. But coming swiftly up it, as if to detain him, was Harleig
h Daly. The two men looked at each other defiantly; and Sir Edward said with a cold, meaning emphasis,—
“At your service, sir.”
“Sir Edward, at your service,”—and touching his sword,—“to the very hilt, sir.”
“Sir, yours to the same extremity.”
Harleigh Daly yawned delicately and took a pinch of snuff.
“I fear you not; I very much fear you not. I would advise you to stay away from Charlotte Morgan.” Sir Edward leaned toward Harleigh.
“Sir Edward, you are a little late;” and Harleigh pushed aside his embroidered coat in order to exhibit to Sir Edward the bow of orange ribbon beneath it.
“I will stain it crimson in your blood,” said Sir Edward, passionately.
“Until that day, I have the felicity of wearing it;” and with an offensively deep salute, Harleigh terminated the interview.
“Love and a crown no rivalship can bear.
Love, love! Thou sternly dost thy power maintain,
And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign.”
The next morning Sir Edward's first emotion was not so much one of anger as of exultation. The civilization of the Van Heemskirk's was scarce a century old; and behind them were generations of fierce men, whose hands had been on their daggers for a word or a look. “I shall have him at my sword's point;” that was what he kept saying to himself as he headed toward Charlotte Morgan's house. The front-gate stood open; and he walked through it to the back-stoop, where Joris Morgan was smoking.
Charlotte sat upon the steps of the stoop. Her head was in her hand, her eyes red with weeping, her whole attitude one of desponding sorrow. But, at this hour, Sir Edward was indifferent to adverse circumstances. He was moving in that exultation of spirit which may be simulated by the first rapture of good wine, but which is only genuine when the soul takes entire possession of the man, and makes him for some rare, short interval lord of himself, and contemptuous of all fears and doubts and difficulties. He never noticed that Joris was less kind than usual; but touching Charlotte, to arouse her attention, said, “Come with me down the garden, my love.”
