CHAPTER XVIII
"STEADY ON!"
On the day following the departure of James Stuart for England, whilethe two literary workmen were hard at it in the old manse study, theJuly weather having mercifully turned decidedly cooler for a space, thevillage telegraph messenger, a tall youth with a shambling gait,appeared with a message for Mr. Jefferson. Georgiana brought it to him,and waited to know whether there was a reply.
She saw the message--evidently a long one--twice read, and noticed apeculiar lighting of the grave face which had bent over it. Mr.Jefferson wrote an answer, briefer than the message received, andhimself took it to the waiting boy. When he returned he sat down andbegan to put in order the papers on which he had been working.
"I have another trade, as you have guessed," he said to Georgiana. "Itseems necessary for me to go away and work at it for a few days, perhapsa fortnight. It is fortunate for me that you are here, for I should nothave felt that I ought to leave your father, and yet I should hardlyhave been able to refuse the call of that message."
"Then I am very glad," she returned, "that I am here. Can you leave mework to do?"
"I am afraid not, beyond that already laid out for to-day. Won't yourest while I am gone? This is vacation time for most people, you know."
She shook her head. "With only father to look after I shall have littleenough to do."
"You won't--forgive me!--go up into that blistering attic and make rugs?I hope not!" She felt that he was looking keenly at her.
"Why should you hope not? I am one of the people who must be busy to becontented. How soon do you go, Mr. Jefferson?"
"On the noon train." He looked at his watch. "I have an hour to makeready. No, don't go. I will come back when I am ready, and we will putthings in shape to leave, so that we shall know exactly where to takethem up again."
In half an hour he was back, and together the two put the results oftheir joint work into such shape that at a moment's notice they mightresume it. This done, they went to Mr. Warne, and the intending travelerexplained briefly the situation--without, as Georgiana fully realized,explaining it at all. Then, shortly, he went away, with something in hismanner which subtly told her that he was very glad to go, and that hewas thinking of little besides the errand which took him from them,careful though he was in every courteous detail of leave-taking.
When he had gone Georgiana and her father looked at each other.
"Daughter," said Mr. Warne, looking intently at the vivid face, with theeyes which saw so many things, "do you know what you remind me of?"
"No, Father Davy. Of a cross child?"
"Of a young colt, penned into a very small enclosure, with only one lameand blind old horse to keep it company. And within sight, off on thehillside, is a great, green pasture, with other colts and lambs sportinggayly about, and the summer sunshine over all--except in the corral,over which a dark cloud hangs. And I am sorry--sorry!"
"Father Davy!" Georgiana choked back a lump in her throat. "But it ishot July, and the cloud makes it cooler and nicer in the corral. Andbesides--the lame, blind horse is such a dear--has drawn such heavyloads and would be so lonely now without company. And--and the colt hasmany long years to sport on hillsides."
Mr. Warne smiled, more sadly than was his wont. "But not while it is acolt." Then, after a pause, "My dear, we shall miss Mr. Jefferson."
"Shall we?"
"I shall miss him more than I should have realized till I saw him godown the path. And James Stuart, too. That is why I know that you willmiss them."
"We shall live through it," prophesied his daughter cheerfully, andbetook herself to the kitchen, which she found looking, in spite of itswell-ordered neatness, more like a jail than ever before.
The following days went by on feet of lead. Never had Georgiana had tomake such an effort to maintain ordinary, everyday cheerfulness andpatience. She found herself longing, with one continuous dull ache frommorning till night, for something to happen, something which wouldabsorb her every faculty. She rose early and went for long walks, andwent again in the late afternoons, with the one purpose of tiring hervigorous young body so that it would keep her restless mind in order.She worked at her rug-making many hours, spent many more in readingaloud to her father, and still there were hours left to fill. She forcedherself to go to see all her acquaintances, to visit those few who wereill; there was nobody in want in the whole place, it seemed, in thissummer prosperity of garden.
"There's nothing to do for any one," she said to her father one day. "Ifeel guilty times without number because I'm not of more use to thepeople about me."
Her father studied her. "Dear," he said slowly, "what you need just nowis something the good Father knows you need, and I believe He will notdeny it to you. In the meantime, remember that simply being cheerful andpatient under enforced waiting is sometimes the greatest service thatcan be rendered."
"If you haven't taught me that, it isn't because you haven't illustratedit every day of your life," she cried--and fled.
In her own room she beat her strong young hands together. "Oh, dear God!"she said aloud, "if I could only, only have the thing I want, I wouldtake anything, _anything_ that might go with it and not complain!"
And then, suddenly, one early August night, Mr. Jefferson returned. Hecame up the path, bag in hand, and saw a solitary figure standing on thesmall front porch, where a latticework sheltered opposing seats. It wasa white figure in the early dusk and it rose as he approached.
"The fortnight is not quite up," said Georgiana quietly. "But I put yourroom in order to-day, hoping you would come. My father never missedanybody so much."
"That sounds very pleasant." He set down his bag and shook hands. "Itmakes it the harder to say that I must be off again in the morning.And--I shall not be coming back. If it had not been that I could notleave without seeing you and Mr. Warne I should have sent on to ask youto pack and send my trunk."
"Really? How very unexpected! But I would gladly have sent on thetrunk," said Georgiana. Something cold clutched at her heart.
"Would you? That sounds rather inhospitable! Do you care to hear myplans?"
"If you care to tell them, Mr. Jefferson."
"I wonder," said he, "if you would be willing to go around to the otherporch and sit there. I have a fancy for being where I can get the scentfrom your garden. I shall miss that spicy fragrance. Is your fatherstill up?"
"He has just gone to bed. He would be very happy if you would go in andspeak to him," said Georgiana.
Mr. Jefferson ran upstairs with his bag, and made a brief call upon Mr.Warne. Then he came down, to find Georgiana standing with her arms abouta white pillar, her face looking off toward the garden. The lamplightfrom the central hall, whose rear door opened upon the porch, gleamedrosily out upon her.
Mr. Jefferson came out and stood beside her. "I came back," he said,"just to offer you my friendship in any time of need. I couldn't go awaywithout doing that; I couldn't be content merely to write it back toyou. I have lived here in your home with your father and yourself untilit has come to seem almost as if I belonged here. But my work calls me;I must go back to it. The book must wait, to be finished in sparemoments as other books have been finished. I thought I could give myselfthis year away from my profession to accomplish this task and perhaps tolay in fresh stores of energy. But I find I can't be easy in mind to dothis longer. So I am going back."
After an instant Georgiana answered, without turning her eyes away fromthe garden: "You are a very fortunate person."
"To have work that calls so loudly? I am sure of that. And it is workwhich absorbs me to the full. But I shall always have time to give toyou or to your father, if in any way I can ever be of service to you. Ihave no family to call upon me for any attention whatever; I have nonear relative except the married sister who lives abroad, as I have toldyou. By the way, Allison has bidden me more than once to thank you forher for taking such good care of me. You know her by her picture, if youhave noticed it--the one on my
bureau."
Georgiana nodded. She did not trust her lips, which were suddenlytrembling, to tell him that though he had often spoken of this sister hehad never mentioned the fact that the photograph on his bureau was hers.But--what did it matter now? It was far better that she had not known,that she had had this restraint upon her imagination to keep her fromever letting herself go. It was far better---- But he was speaking; shemust listen.
"While I have been in this house I have felt," he was saying, "as if Ihad a real home. It is hard to give that up. Association with yourfather has become much to me. I can't tell you what he has given me outof his stores of wisdom and experience. And you--have been very good tome; I shall not forget it."
"I have done nothing," murmured Georgiana with dry lips, "except feedyou and dust your room. You might have had such service anywhere."
"Might I? I doubt it. And there is something else. If I may I shouldlike to tell you how I have admired you for your steady facing of eachday's routine. There is no heroism in the world, Miss Georgiana, equalto that, to my thinking."
She shook her head. "I'm not heroic; please don't tell me I am."
"But you are, and I must tell you so. Why not? I have seen more than youmay have realized. My whole life's training has been in the line ofobservation of other human beings. And you must know that no one couldbe with you and not understand that the fires of longing to live andlive strongly and vitally burn in you with more than ordinaryfierceness. Yet you subdue them every day for the sake of the one whoneeds you. That is real heroism, and the sight of it has touched me verymuch."
Suddenly she found herself struggling to keep back the choking in herthroat. How well he had understood her--and what unsuspected depths oftenderness there were in his rich and quiet voice. She could not speakfor a little, and he stood beside her in a comprehending silence.
"I can't go away," he said presently, "without telling you that yourhappiness has come to seem very important to me. I have--necessarily--afairly wide knowledge of men, their characters, their motives, theirideals--or their lack of them. Miss Georgiana, when you come tochoose--will you let me say it?--don't be misled by superficialattributes, even the most attractive. Don't let the desire to have yourhorizon apparently expanded, to go far and see much and live intensely,overbalance your appreciation of fine and lasting qualities in one whocould give you little excitement but much that is real and worth having.It may be very daring in me to say this to you, but I find myselfimpelled to it. I want you to live, and live gloriously, and findemployment for every one of your splendid energies, and there is onlyone being in the world who can help you do that--the man whom you canrespect as well as love, and love as well as respect. Will you promiseme to choose him and nobody else?"
She turned suddenly and fiercely upon him. "How can you think I----" Shestopped short, her eyes blazing in the darkness.
"I can foresee," said he, very gently, "an hour for you when you will betempted out of your senses to do the thing which promises change, anychange. You are starving for it; you are desperate with longing forit----"
"Mr. Jefferson----"
"Miles Channing came into town when I did: his car raced my train forthe last two miles. He has gone to the hotel. Doubtless you will see himwithin the hour. Miss Georgiana, I can't let you marry him withouttelling you that if you do you will be an unhappy woman for the rest ofyour life."
She was speechless for a moment with surprise. She forgot her encounterwith the speaker in her astonishment at his news. Channing had comeback, then, even as he had vowed, long before the rest of the party. Theknowledge that he was close at hand again, bringing back with him such awild will to accomplish that of which he had been thwarted that he hadnot been able to brook delay upon the other side of the water, wasknowledge of the sort which stopped the breath.
"Will you forgive me?" said Mr. Jefferson's low voice in her ear.
"But--but I--don't understand," she stammered--and now at last sheshowed him her unhappy eyes.
"What I have to do with it? How can I fail to have something to do withit? When I let you sail in the same party with this young man withoutwarning you, it was because I had no possible notion that he was to bealong. When I learned that he had gone and that he had followed youback, I knew that he was in earnest--at least in his pursuit of you. Ihad thought there was no actual danger for you on account of yourfriend--your real friend--the young man whom you had known and trustedso long and with such reason. But now, with him away and you alone hereand lonely and full of the hunger for life--yes, I know I am speakingplainly, but I feel that I must put you on your guard. And I want you tofeel that though I shall be gone to-morrow night I am here to-night, andif you have any need for me--for an elder brother----"
"Oh, how can you think----"
"I do think--and I know--and I fear for you. Not because I do notbelieve in you, but because I know the manner of man who will approachyou. You have never known his sort. Let me be a brother to you--just forto-night, if only in your thought. It may help to steady you."
There was silence between them for a little. Then steps upon the frontporch, quick, ringing steps, as of one who comes with eagerness.Georgiana felt her hand taken for an instant and pressed warmly betweentwo firm hands. Then her companion left her....
Three hours afterward Georgiana flung herself, breathing fast, upon herknees beside her open window and lifted her face toward the sky. Shewould have fled to her garden for this vigil she must keep, but theextraordinary truth was that she did not dare be alone there. Her handsgripped the sill, her eyes stared without seeing at the vaulted depthsabove her. After a long time--hours--she rose and went to her door,opened it without making a sound, and, listening till she had made surethat the house was as silent as all houses should be at two in themorning, she stole slowly along the upper hall. Presently she stoodoutside the closed door of the guest who was sleeping under the roof forthe last time. With a fast-beating heart she noiselessly laid her handupon the panel of that door.
"You did steady me," she whispered. "I couldn't have done it if youhadn't warned me--fortified me. Oh, what shall I do without you?"
Inside suddenly a footstep sounded, the footstep of a shod foot.Instantly the girl was off down the hall like a frightened deer. In herown room she stood with her hand upon her breast. "Up--at this hour!"her startled consciousness was repeating. "Why? There was no light inhis room. Couldn't he sleep either? Why? Is _that_ what it means to himto be a brother?"
In the morning Mr. Jefferson took his leave. His parting with Mr. Warnewas like that between father and son. When he came to Georgiana helooked straight down into her eyes.
"Remember," he said, "that what I have told you of my wish to be of anypossible use to you and your father holds good, even though I should beat the other side of the world. I shall write now and then to ask aboutyou both. I can't tell you how I hope for your happiness--Georgiana."
When he had gone she went to her room and dropped upon her knees besideher bed, her arms outflung upon the old blue and white counterpane.
"O God," she whispered passionately, "how could You show it to me if Icouldn't have it? How _could_ You?"
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