CHAPTER XXVII.
"O Toil, O Loneliness, O Poverty, doing the right makes ye no easier."
The next morning the new nurses, long delayed, sent by the Weston AidSociety, arrived at Number One, and Mary Crane, Mrs. Barstow, and Annewere relieved from duty, and returned to their Northern home. During thejourney Anne decided that she must not remain in Weston. It was a harddecision, but it seemed to her inevitable. This man whom she loved knewthat her home was there. He had said that he would not follow her; butcould she depend upon his promise? Even in saying that he would try todo as well as he could, he had distinctly added that it might "not bevery well." She must leave no temptation in his path, or her own. Shemust put it out of his power to find her, out of hers to meet him. Shemust go away, leaving no trace behind.
She felt deeply thankful that at the present moment her movements werenot cramped by the wants of the children; for if they had been inpressing need, she must have staid--have staid and faced the fear andthe danger. Now she could go. But whither? It would be hard to go outinto the broad world again, this time more solitary than before. Aftermuch thought, she decided to go eastward to the half-house,Jeanne-Armande having given her permission to use it. It would be atleast a shelter over her head, and probably old Nora would be glad tocome and stay with her. With this little home as background, she hopedto be able to obtain pupils in the city, little girls to whom she couldbe day governess, giving lessons in music and French. But the pupils:how could she obtain them? Whose influence could she hope for? She couldnot go to Tante, lest Helen should hear of her presence. At first itseemed as if there were no one; she went over and over in vain hermeagre list of friends. Suddenly a remembrance of the little Germanmusic-master, who had taught classical music, and hated Belzini, came toher; he was no longer at the Moreau school, and she had his address. Hehad been especially kind. She summoned her courage and wrote to him.Herr Scheffel's reply came promptly and cordially. "I have your letterreceived, and I remember you entirely. I know not now all I can promise,as my season of lessons is not yet begun, but two little girls you canhave at once for scales, though much they will not pay. But with yourvoice, honored Fraeulein, a place in a church choir is the best, and forthat I will do my very best endeavor. But while you make a beginning,honored Fraeulein, take my wife and I for friends. Our loaf and our cup,and our hearts too, are all yours."
The little German had liked Anne: this pupil, and this one only, hadcheered the dull hours he had spent in the little third-story room,where he, the piano, and the screen had their cramped abode. Anne smiledas she gratefully read his warm-hearted letter, his offer of his cup andhis loaf; she could hear him saying it--his "gup" and his "loave," and"two liddle girls for sgales, though moche they will not bay." She hadwritten to old Nora also, and the answer (a niece acting as scribe)declared, with Hibernian effusiveness, and a curious assemblage ofnegatives, that she would be glad to return to the half-house onJeanne-Armande's old terms, namely, her living, but no wages. She didnot add that, owing to rheumatism, she was unable to obtain work whereshe was; she left Anne to find that out for herself. But even old Nora,bandaged in red flannel, her gait reduced to a limp, was a companionworth having when one is companionless. During the interval, Anne hadreceived several letters from Miss Lois. Little Andre was better, butthe doctors advised that he should remain where he was through thewinter. Miss Lois wrote that she was willing to remain, in the hope ofbenefit to the suffering boy, and how great a concession this was fromthe careful housekeeper and home-lover only Anne could know. (But shedid not know how close the child had grown to Miss Lois's heart.) Thisnew plan would prevent their coming to Weston at present. Thankful nowfor what would have been, under other circumstances, a greatdisappointment, Anne resigned her position in the Weston school, andwent away, at the last suddenly, and evading all inquiries. Mrs. Greenwas absent, the woman in temporary charge of the lodgings was notcurious, and the lonely young teacher was able to carry out her design.She left Weston alone in the cold dawn of a dark morning, her faceturned eastward.
It was a courageous journey; only Herr Scheffel to rely upon, and thegreat stony-hearted city to encounter in the hard struggle for dailybread. Yet she felt that she must not linger in Weston; and she felt,too, that she must not add herself to Miss Lois's cares, but rather makea strong effort to secure a new position as soon as possible, in orderto send money to Andre. She thought that she would be safely hidden atthe half-house. Heathcote knew that Jeanne-Armande was in Europe, andtherefore he would not think of her in connection with Lancaster, butwould suppose that she was still in Weston, or, if not there, then athome on her Northern island. In addition, one is never so well hidden asin the crowds of a large city. But when she saw the spires, as the trainswept over the salt marshes, her heart began to beat: the blur of roofsseemed so vast, and herself so small and alone! But she made the transitsafely, and drove up to the door of the half-house in the red wagon,with Li as driver, at sunset. A figure was sitting on the steps outside,with a large bundle at its feet; it was Nora. Anne opened the door withJeanne-Armande's key, and they entered together.
"Oh, wirra, wirra! Miss Douglas dear, and did ye know she'd taken outall the furrrniture? Sure the ould shell is impty." It was true, anddrearily unexpected.
Jeanne-Armande, finding time to make a flying visit to her countryresidence the day before she sailed, had been seized with the suddensuspicion that certain articles were missing, notably a green woodenpail and a window-curtain. The young priest, who had met her there byappointment, and opened the door for her with his key (what mazes ofroundabout ways homeward, in order to divert suspicion, Jeanne-Armanderequired of him that day!), was of the opinion that she was mistaken.But no; Jeanne-Armande was never mistaken. She knew just where she hadleft that pail, and as for the pattern of the flowers upon that curtain,she knew every petal. Haunted by a vision of the abstraction of all herhousehold furniture, piece by piece, during her long absence--tables,chairs, pans, and candle-sticks following each other through backwindows, moved by invisible hands--she was seized with an inspiration onthe spot: she would sell off all her furniture by public sale that veryhour, and leave only an empty house behind her. She knew that she wasconsidered a mystery in the neighborhood; probably, then, people wouldcome to a Mystery's sale, and pay good prices for a Mystery's furniture.Of one thing she was certain--no buyer in that region knew how to buyfor prices as low as she herself had paid. Her method of buying wasgenius. In five minutes a boy and a bell were secured, in half an hourthe whole neighborhood had heard the announcement, and, as mademoisellehad anticipated, flocked to the sale. She attended to all negotiationsin person, still in her role of a Mystery, and sailed for Europe thenext day in triumph, having in her pocket nearly twice the sum she hadoriginally expended. She did not once think of Anne in connection withthis. Although she had given her authority to use the half-house, andhad intrusted to her care her own key, it seemed almost impossible thatthe young girl would wish to use it. For was she not admirablyestablished at Weston, with all the advantages of mademoiselle's ownname and position behind her?
And thus it was that only bare walls met Anne's eyes as, followed byNora, she went from room to room, asking herself silently what sheshould do in this new emergency that confronted her. One door they foundlocked; it was the door of the store-room: there must, then, besomething within. Li was summoned to break the lock, and nothing loath,he broke it so well that it was useless from that hour. Yes, here wassomething--the unsold articles, carefully placed in order. A chair, akitchen table, an iron tea-kettle with a hole in it, and two strawbeds--the covers hanging on nails, and the straw tied in bundlesbeneath; there was also a collection of wooden boxes, which mademoisellehad endeavored, but without success, to dispose of as "old, superior,and well-seasoned kindling-wood." It was a meagre supply of furniturewith which to begin housekeeping, a collection conspicuous for what itlacked. But Anne, summoning courage, directed Li to carry down stairsall the articles, such as they were, while she
cheered old Nora with thepromise to buy whatever was necessary, and asked her to unpack the fewsupplies she had herself purchased on her way through the city. Thekitchen stove was gone; but there was a fire-place, and Li made a brightfire with some of the superior kindling-wood, mended the kettle, filledit, and hung it over the crackling flame. The boy enjoyed it allgreatly. He stuffed the cases with straw, and dragged them down stairs,he brought down the chair and table, and piled up boxes for a secondseat, he pinned up Anne's shawl for a curtain, and then volunteered togo to the store for whatever was necessary, insisting, however, upon thestrict allowance of two spoons, two plates, and two cups only. It wasall like _Robinson Crusoe_ and _The Swiss Family Robinson_, and morethan two would infringe upon the severe paucity required by thoseadmirable narratives. When he returned with his burden, he affablyoffered to remain and take supper with them; in truth, it was difficultto leave such a fascinating scene as two straw beds on the floor, and akettle swinging over a hearth fire, like a gypsy camp--at least as Liimagined it, for that essence of vagrant romanticism is absent fromAmerican life, the so-called gypsies always turning out impostors, withneither donkeys, tents, nor camp fires, and instead of the ancient andmysterious language described by Borrow, using generally the well-knownand unpoetical dialect that belongs to modern and Americanized Erin. Atlast, however, Li departed; Anne fastened the door. Old Nora was soonasleep on the straw, but not her young mistress, in whose mind figures,added together and set opposite each other, were inscribing themselveslike letters of fire on a black wall. She had not expected any suchoutlay as would now be required, and the money she had brought with herwould not admit it. At last, troubled and despairing, she rose from herhard couch, went to the window, and looked out. Overhead the stars wereserenely shining; her mind went back to the little window of her room inthe old Agency. These were the same stars; God was the same God; wouldHe not show her a way? Quieted, she returned to her straw, and soon fellasleep.
In the morning they had a gypsy breakfast. The sun shone brightly, andeven in the empty rooms the young day looked hopeful. The mistress ofthe house went in to the city on the morning train, and in spite of alllacks, in spite of all her trouble and care, it was a beautiful girl whoentered the train at Lancaster station, and caused for a moment thechronically tired business men to forget their damp-smelling morningpapers as they looked at her. For Anne was constantly growing morebeautiful; nothing had had power as yet to arrest the strong course ofnature. Sorrow had but added a more ripened charm, since now the oldchild-like openness was gone, and in its place was a knowledge of thedepth and the richness and the pain of life, and a reticence. The openpage had been written upon, and turned down. Riding on toward the city,she was, however, as unconscious of any observation she attracted as ifshe had been a girl of marble. Hers was not one of those natures whichcan follow at a time but one idea; yet something of the intensity whichsuch natures have--the nature of all enthusiasts and partisans--washers, owing to the strength of the few feelings which absorbed her. Forthe thousand-and-one changing interests, fancies, and impulses whichactuate most young girls there was in her heart no room. It was not thatshe thought and imagined less, but that she loved more.
Herr Scheffel received her in his small parlor. It was over the shop ofa musical instrument maker, a German also. Anne looked into his smallshow-window while she was waiting for the street door to be opened,noted the great brass tubes disposed diagonally, the accordions in arampart, the pavement of little music-boxes with views of Switzerland ontheir lids, and the violins in apotheosis above. Behind the inner glassshe saw the instrument maker himself dusting a tambourine. She imaginedhim playing on it all alone on rainy evenings for company, with theother instruments looking on in a friendly way. Here Herr Scheffel'scheery wife opened the door, and upon learning the name, welcomed hervisitor heartily, and ushered her up the narrow stairway.
"How you haf zhanged!" said Herr Scheffel, lifting his hands inastonishment as he met her at the entrance. "But not for the vorse,Fraeulein. On the gontrary!" He bowed gallantly, and brought forward hisbest arm-chair, then bowed again, sat down opposite, folded his hands,and was ready for business or pleasure, as she saw fit to select. Annehad come to him hoping, but not expecting. Fortune favored her, however;or rather, as usual, some one had taken hold of Fortune, and forced herto extend her favor, the some one in this instance being the littlemusic-master himself, who had not only bestowed two of his own scholarsas a beginning, but had also obtained for her a trial place in a churchchoir. He now went with her without delay to the residence of the littlepupils, and arranged for the first lesson; then he took her to visit thecontralto of the choir, whose good-will he had already besought for theyoung stranger. The contralto was a thin, disappointed little woman,with rather a bad temper; but as she liked Anne's voice, and hated theorganist and tenor, she mentally organized an alliance offensive anddefensive on the spot, contralto, soprano, and basso against the othertwo, with possibilities as to the rector thrown in. For, as the rectorregularly attended the rehearsals (under the mild delusion that he wasdirecting the choir), the contralto hoped that the new soprano's face,as well as voice, would draw him out of his guarded neutrality, andgive to their side the balance of power. So, being in a friendly mood,she went over the anthems with Anne, and when the little rehearsal wasended, Herr Scheffel took her thin hand, and bowed over it profoundly.Miss Pratt was a native of Maine, and despised romance, yet she was notaltogether displeased with that bow. Sunday morning came; the new voiceconquered. Anne was engaged to fill the vacant place in the choir.Furniture was now purchased for the empty little home, but verysparingly. It looked as though it would be cold there in the winter.But--winter was not yet come.
Slowly she gained other pupils; but still only little girls "for thesgales," as Herr Scheffel said. The older scholars for whom she hadhoped did not as yet seek her. But the little household lived.
In the mean while Pere Michaux on the island and Miss Lois at thesprings had both been taken by surprise by Anne's sudden departure fromWeston. They knew nothing of it until she was safely in the half-house.But poor Miss Lois, ever since the affair of Tita and Rast, hadcynically held that there was no accounting for anybody or anything inthis world, and she therefore remained silent. Pere Michaux divined thatthere was something behind; but as Anne offered no explanation, he askedno question. In truth, the old priest had a faith in her not unlike thatwhich had taken possession of Heathcote. What was it that gave these twomen of the world this faith? It was not her innocence alone, for manyare innocent. It was her sincerity, combined with the peculiar intensityof feeling which lay beneath the surface--an intensity of which she washerself unconscious, but which their eyes could plainly perceive, and,for its great rarity, admire, as the one perfect pearl is admired amongthe thousands of its compeers by those who have knowledge and experienceenough to appreciate its flawlessness. But the majority have not thisknowledge; they admire mere size, or a pear-like shape, or perhaps someeccentricity of color. Thus the perfect one is guarded, and the world isnot reduced to despair.
During these days in the city Anne had thought often of Helen. Herengagements were all in another quarter, distant from Miss Teller'sresidence; she would not have accepted pupils in that neighborhood. Butit was not probable that any would be offered to her in so fashionable alocality. She did not allow herself even to approach that part of thecity, or to enter the streets leading to it, yet many times she foundherself longing to see the house in spite of her determination, andthinking that if she wore a thick veil, so that no one would recognizeher, there would be no danger, and she might catch a glimpse of MissTeller, or even of Helen. But she never yielded to these longings.October passed into November, and November into December, and she didnot once transgress her rules.
Early in December she obtained a new pupil, her first in vocal music.She gave two lessons without any unusual occurrence, and then--Of allthe powers that make or mar us, the most autocratic is Chance. Let notthe name of Fate be mentio
ned in its presence; let Luck hide its head.For Luck is but the man himself, and Fate deals only with greatquestions; but Chance attacks all irrelevantly and at random. Though manavoids, arranges, labors, and plans, one stroke from its wand destroysall. Anne had avoided, arranged, labored, and planned, yet on her way togive the third lesson to this new pupil she came suddenly upon--Helen.
"SAW HER SLOWLY ASCEND THE HOUSE STEPS."]
On the opposite side a carriage had stopped; the footman opened thedoor, and a servant came from the house to assist its occupant. Anne'seyes by chance were resting upon the group. She saw a lady lifted to thepavement; then saw her slowly ascend the house steps, while a maidfollowed with shawls and wraps. It was Helen. Anne's eyes recognized herinstantly. She was unchanged--proud, graceful, and exquisitely attiredas ever, in spite of her slow step and need of assistance. Involuntarilythe girl opposite had paused; then, recovering herself, she drew downher veil and walked on, her heart beating rapidly, her breath coming inthrobs. But no one had noticed her. Helen was already within thehouse, and the servant was closing the door; then the footman camedown the steps, sprang up to his place, and the carriage rolled away.
She went on to her pupil's residence, and, quietly as she could, asked,upon the first opportunity, her question.
"A lady who was assisted up the steps? Oh yes, I know whom you mean; itis Mrs. Ward Heathcote," replied the girl-pupil. "Isn't she too lovely!Did you see her face?"
"Yes. Does she live in that house?"
"I am delighted to say that she _does_. She used to live with her aunt,Miss Teller, but it seems that she inherited this old house over herefrom her grandfather, who died not long ago, and she has taken a fancyto live in it. Of course _I_ think all her fancies are seraphic, andprincipally this one, since it has brought her near _us_. I look at herhalf the time; just gaze and gaze!" Cora was sixteen, and very pretty;she talked in the dialect of her age and set. Launched now on a favoritetopic, she rushed on, while the teacher, with downcast eyes, listened,and rolled and unrolled the sheet of music in her hands. Mrs.Heathcote's beauty; Mrs. Heathcote's wealth; Mrs. Heathcote's wonderfulcostumes; Mrs. Heathcote's romantic marriage, after a fall from hercarriage; Mrs. Heathcote's husband, "_chivalrously_ in the army, with apair of _eyes_, Miss Douglas, which, I do assure you, are--well,_murderously_ beautiful is not a word to express it! Not that he_cares_. The most _indifferent_ person! Still, if you could _see_ them,you would _know_ what I mean." Cora told all that she knew, and morethan she knew. The two households had no acquaintance, Anne learned; theschool-girl had obtained her information from other sources. Therewould, then, be no danger of discovery in that way. The silent listenercould not help listening while Cora said that Captain Heathcote had notreturned home since his first departure; that he had been seriously illsomewhere in the West, but having recovered, had immediately returned tohis regiment without coming home on furlough, as others always did,after an illness, or even the pretense of one, which conduct Coraconsidered so "perfectly grand" that she wondered "the papers" did not"blazon it aloft." At last even the school-girl's volubility andadjectives were exhausted, and the monologue came to an end. Then theteacher gave her lesson, and the words she had heard sounded in her earslike the roar of the sea in a storm--it seemed as though she must bespeaking loudly in order to drown it. But her pupil noticed nothing,save that Miss Douglas was more quiet than usual, and perhaps more pale.When she went away, she turned eastward, in order not to pass the housea second time--the house that held Helen. But she need not have takenthe precaution; hers was not a figure upon which the eyes of Mrs.Heathcote would be likely to dwell. In the city, unfashionable attire islike the ring of Gyges, it renders the wearer, if not invisible, atleast unseen.
That night she could not sleep; she could do nothing but think of Helen,Helen, her once dearly loved friend--Helen, his wife. She knew that shemust give up this new danger, and she knew also that she loved thedanger--these chances of a glimpse of Helen, Helen's home, and--yes, itmight be, at some future time, Helen's husband. But she conqueredherself again. In the morning she wrote a note to Cora's mother, sayingthat she found herself unable to continue the lessons; as Cora had themanuscript music-books which Dr. Douglas had himself prepared for hisdaughter when she was a little girl on the island, she added that shewould come for them on Monday, and at the same time take leave of herpupil, from whom she parted with regret.
Saturday and Sunday now intervened. At the choir rehearsal on Saturday aforeboding came over her; occult malign influences seemed hovering inthe air. The tenor and organist, the opposition party, were ominouslyaffable. In this church there was, as in many another, an anomalous"music committee," composed apparently of vestrymen, but in reality ofvestrymen's wives. These wives, spurred on secretly by the tenor andorganist, had decided that Miss Douglas was not the kind of soprano theywished to have. She came into the city by train on the Sabbath day; shewas dressed so plainly and unfashionably that it betokened a want ofproper respect for the congregation; in addition, and in spite of thisplain attire, there was something about her which made "the gentlementurn and look at her." This last was the fatal accusation. Poor Annecould not have disproved these charges, even if she had known what theywere; but she did not. Her foreboding of trouble had not been at faulthowever, for on Monday morning came a formal note of dismissal, wordedwith careful politeness; her services would not be required after thefollowing Sunday. It was a hard blow. But the vestrymen's wivespreferred the other candidate (friend of the organist and tenor), wholived with her mother in the city, and patronized no Sunday trains;whose garments were nicely adjusted to the requirements of the position,following the fashions carefully indeed, but at a distance, and withchastened salaried humility as well; who sang correctly, but with noneof that fervor which the vestrymen's wives considered so "out of placein a church"; and whose face certainly had none of those outlines andhues which so reprehensibly attracted "the attention of the gentlemen."And thus Anne was dismissed.
It was a bitterly cold morning. The scantily furnished rooms of thehalf-house looked dreary and blank; old Nora, groaning with rheumatism,sat drawn up beside the kitchen stove. Anne, who had one French lessonto give, and the farewell visit to make at the residence of Mrs.Iverson, Cora's mother, went in to the city. She gave the lesson, andthen walked down to the Scheffels' lodging to bear the dark tidings ofher dismissal. The musical instrument maker's window was frosted nearlyto the top; but he had made a round hole inside with a hot penny, and hewas looking through it when Anne rang the street bell. It was startlingto see a human eye so near, isolated by the frost-work--an eye andnothing more; but she was glad he could amuse himself even after thatsolitary fashion. Herr Scheffel had not returned from his round oflessons. Anne waited some time in the small warm crowded room, wheregrowing plants, canary-birds, little plaster busts of the greatmusicians, the piano, and the stove crowded each other cheerfully, buthe did not come. Mrs. Scheffel urged her to remain all night. "It ees zobeetter cold." But Anne took leave, promising to come again on themorrow. It was after four o'clock, and darkness was not far distant; thepiercing wind swept through the streets, blowing the flinty dust beforeit; the ground was frozen hard as steel. She made her farewell visit atMrs. Iverson's, took her music-books, and said good-by, facing theeffusive regrets of Cora as well as she could, and trying not to thinkhow the money thus relinquished would be doubly needed now. Then shewent forth into the darkening street, the door of the warm, brightlylighted home closing behind her like a knell. She had chosen twilightpurposely for this last visit, in order that she might neither see norbe seen. She shivered now as the wind struck her, clasped the heavybooks with one arm, and turned westward on her way to the railwaystation. It seemed to her that the city held that night no girl sodesolate as herself.
As she was passing the street lamp at the first corner, some one stoppedsuddenly. "Good heavens! Miss Douglas--Anne--is that you?" said a voice.She looked up. It was Gregory Dexter.
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