CHAPTER XIII
THE SWEETNESS OF LOVE
"Still, I'm glad you inquired," Mrs. Forbes said to her husband. "And that there's nothing derogatory to the young man. He's likely now to settle down, and he will have a fine chance with Mr. Carrick, who certainly is taking fortune at the flood tide. And one can guess what will happen."
"A woman generally guesses that. I hoped it would be Langdale. He is a fine fellow, and will make his mark," was the reply.
"Daffodil isn't in love with military life. Most girls are;" laughing. "Why, I never had two thoughts about the matter. I must give them a little tea again."
"Ask Jack Remsen and Peggy Ray, and make them happy, but leave out the lieutenant. Something surely happened between them."
Andsdell came to the Carricks according to agreement. How cosy the place looked, with the great blaze of the logs in the fireplace, that shed a radiance around. He was formally presented to Mrs. Carrick and the Bradins. Daffodil and her mother sat in the far corner, with two candles burning on the light stand. The girl was knitting some fine thread stockings, with a new pattern of clocks, that Jane had sent her from Philadelphia. Felix had a cold, and had gone to bed immediately after supper, and they were all relieved at that.
Jeffrey Andsdell had stated his case. He was tired of desultory wandering, and seven-and-twenty was high time to take up some life work. He was the fourth son of a titled family, with no especial longing for the army or the church, therefore he, like other young men without prospects, had emigrated. The heir to the title and estates, the elder brother, was married and had two sons, the next one was married also, but so far had only girls, and the entail was in the male line. The brother next older than Jeffrey had been a sort of imbecile, and died. But there was no chance of his succeeding, so he must make his own way. He had spent two years at Richmond and Williamsburg, then at Philadelphia. At Williamsburg he had taken quite a fancy to the stage, and achieved some success, but the company had disbanded. It was a rather precarious profession at best, though he had tried a little of it in London.
The straightforward story tallied with Captain Forbes' information. True, there was one episode he had not dwelt upon, it would never come up in this new life. How he had been crazy enough to take such a step he could not now imagine. But it was over, and done with, and henceforward life should be an honorable success.
Daffodil listened between counting her stitches. She stole shy glances now and then, he sat so the firelight threw up his face in strong relief. The brown hair had a little tumbled look, the remnant of some boyish curls. The features were good, rather of the aquiline order, the eyes well opened, of a sort of nondescript hazel, the brown beard worn in the pointed style, with a very narrow moustache, for the upper lip was short and the smiling aspect not quite hidden.
When he rose to go the ladies rose also. He shook hands, and held Daffodil's a moment with a pressure that brought a faint color to her soft cheek.
"He is very much of a gentleman," commented Mrs. Bradin. "And, taking up a steady occupation is greatly to his credit. Though it seems as if a soldier's life would have been more to his taste."
"I am glad he did not fight against us," said Barbe.
"Some have, and have repented," added her husband, with a touch of humor in his tone. "And we are large-minded enough to forgive them."
Daffodil did not see him until she went over to the Fort. Langdale dropped in to see her, but there was no cordial invitation to remain. He knew later on that Andsdell was there, and in his heart he felt it was not Archie who would be his strongest rival. If there was something that could be unearthed against the Englishman!
The Remsens, mother and son, were very agreeable people, quite singers, but there was no piano for accompaniment, though there were flutes and violins at the Fort. Andsdell, after some pressing, sang also, and his voice showed training. Then he repeated a scene from "The Tempest" that enchanted his hearers. Daffodil was curiously proud of him.
"You did not haunt the woods much," he began on the way home. "I looked for you."
"Did you?" Her heart beat with delicious pleasure. "But I did not promise to come."
"No. But I looked all the same, day after day. What were you so busy about?"
"Oh, I don't know. I thought – that perhaps it wasn't quite – right;" hesitatingly.
"It will be right now." He pressed the arm closer that had been slipped in his. Then they were silent, but both understood. There was something so sweet and true about her, so delicate, yet wise, that needed no blurting out of any fact, for both to take it into their lives.
"And who was there to-night?" asked her mother, with a little fear. For Mrs. Forbes would hardly know how matters stood between her and Lieutenant Langdale.
"The Remsens only. And they sing beautifully together. Oh, it was really charming. Mrs. Remsen asked me to visit her. It's odd, mother, but do you know my friends have mostly fallen out! So many of the girls have married, and I seem older than the others. Does a year or two change one so? I sometimes wonder if I was the eager little girl who went to Philadelphia, and to whom everything was a delight."
"You are no longer a little girl."
"And at the nutting the other day, I went to please Felix, you know. But the boys seemed so rough. And though I climbed a tree when they all insisted, I – I was ashamed;" and her face was scarlet.
Yes, the Little Girl was gone forever.
Her mother kissed her, and she felt now that her child would need no one to tell her what love was like. For it took root in one's heart, and sprang up to its hallowed blooming.
It was too soon for confidences. Dilly did not know that she had any that could be put into words. Only the world looked beautiful and bright, as if it was spring, instead of winter.
"You've changed again," Felix said observantly. "You're very sweet, Dilly. Maybe as girls grow older they grow sweeter. I shan't mind your being an old maid if you stay like this. Dilly, didn't you ever have a beau? It seems to me no one has come – "
"Oh, you silly child!" She laughed and blushed.
There were sleighing parties and dances. It is odd that in some communities a girl is so soon dropped out. The dancing parties, rather rough frolics they were, took in the girls from twelve to sixteen, and each one strove boldly for a beau. She was not going to be left behind in the running. But Daffodil Carrick was already left behind, they thought, though she was asked to the big houses, and the dinners, and teas at the Fort.
Andsdell dropped in now and then ostensibly to consult Mr. Carrick. Then he was invited to tea on Sunday night, and to dinner at the holidays, when he summoned courage to ask Bernard Carrick for his daughter.
For he had begun a new life truly. The past was buried, and never would be exhumed. And why should a man's whole life be blighted by a moment of folly!
They grew brave enough to look at one another in the glowing firelight, even if the family were about. One evening she stepped out in the moonlight with him. There was a soft snow on the ground, and some of the branches were yet jewelled with it. Half the lovers in the town would have caught a handful of it and rubbed crimson roses on her cheeks. He said, "Daffodil," and drew her closely in his arms, kissed the lips that throbbed with bashful joy and tremulous sweetness.
"Dear, I love you. And you – you are mine."
There was a long delicious breath. The story of love is easily told when both understand the divine language.
She came in glowing, with eyes like stars, and went straight to her mother, who was sitting alone. Both of the men had gone to some borough business. She kissed her joyous secret into the waiting heart.
"You love him. You know now what love is? That is the way I loved your father."
"It is wonderful, isn't it? You grow into it, hardly knowing, and then it is told without words, though the words come afterward. Oh, did you think – "
"Foolish child, we all saw. He carried the story in his eyes. Your father knew. He has been very honest and upright. Oh, my dear, I am so glad for you. Marriage is the crown of womanhood."
Her mother drew her down in her lap. Daffodil's arms were around her neck, and they were heart to heart, a happy mother and a happy child.
"You will not mind if I go to bed? I – I want to be alone."
"No, dear. Happy dreams, whether you wake or sleep."
She lay in a delicious tremor. There was a radiant light all about her, though the room was dark. This was what it was to be loved and to love, and she could not tell which was best.
Then at home he was her acknowledged lover. He came on Wednesday night and Sunday to tea. But Norry soon found it out, and was glad for her. Grandad teased her a little.
"And you needn't think I'm going to leave you any fortune," he said, almost grumblingly. "The blamed whiskey tax is eating it up every year, and the little left will go to Felix. You have all that land over there that you don't need more than a dog needs two tails. Well, I think there are times when a dog would be glad to wag both, if he had 'em. That will be enough for you and your children. But I'll dance at the wedding."
Barbe Carrick looked over the chest of treasures that she had been adding to year after year. There was her wedding gown, and it had been her mother's before her. The lace was exquisite, and no one could do such needlework nowadays. What if it had grown creamy by age, that only enhanced it.
Here were the other things she had accumulated, sometimes with a pang lest they should not be needed. Laid away in rose leaves and lavender blooms. Oh, how daintily sweet they were, but not sweeter than the girl who was to have them. And here were some jewels that had been great-grandmother Duvernay's. She would have no mean outfit to hand down again to posterity.
Barbe was doubly glad that she would live here. She could not bear the thought of her going away, and a soldier's wife was never quite sure where he might be called, or into what danger. There would be a nice home not very far away, there would be sweet, dainty grandchildren. It was worth waiting for.
Jeffrey Andsdell was minded not to wait very long. Love was growing by what it fed upon, but he wanted the feast daily. They could stay at home until their new house was built.
"We ought to go over across the river," she said, "and be pioneers in the wilderness. And, oh, there is one thing that perhaps you won't like. Whoever married me was to take the name of Duvernay, go back to the French line."
"Why, yes, I like that immensely." That would sever the last link. He would be free of all the old life.
"It isn't as pretty as yours."
"Oh, do you think so? Now, I am of the other opinion;" laughing into her lovely eyes.
She grew sweeter day by day, even her mother could see that. Yes, love was the atmosphere in which a woman throve.
Barbe settled the wedding time. "When the Daffodils are in bloom," she said, and the lover agreed.
Archie Langdale wrote her a brotherly letter, but said, "If you could put it off until my vacation. I'm coming back to take another year, there have been so many new discoveries, and I want to get to the very top. Dilly – that was the child's name, I used to have a little dream about you. You know I was a dull sort of fellow, always stuffing my head with books, and you were sweet and never flouted me. I loved you very much. I thought you would marry Ned, and then you would be my sister, you could understand things that other girls didn't. I am quite sure he loved you, too. But your happiness is the first thing to be considered, and I hope you will be very happy."
The engagement was suspected before it was really admitted. There were various comments, of course. Daffodil Carrick had been waiting for something fine, and she could afford to marry a poor man with her possible fortune, and her father's prosperity. And some day a girl would be in luck to get young Sandy Carrick.
Lieutenant Langdale took it pretty hard. He had somehow hoped against hope, for he believed the Carricks would refuse a man who had come a stranger in the place. If he could call him out and shoot him down in a duel! He shut himself up in his room, and drank madly for two days before he came to his senses.
March came in like the lion and then dropped down with radiant suns that set all nature aglow. There were freshets, but they did little damage. Trees budded and birds came and built in the branches. Bees flew out in the sunshine, squirrels chattered, and the whole world was gay and glad.
One day the lovers went up the winding path to the old hill-top, where Jeffrey insisted he had first lost his heart to her. They sat on the same tree trunk, and he said verses to her, but instead of Clorinda it was Daffodil. And they talked sweet nonsense, such as never goes out of date between lovers. And when they came down they looked at the daffodil bed. The buds had swollen, some were showing yellow.
"Why, it can be next week!" cried the lover joyously.
"Yes," said the mother, with limpid eyes, remembering when the child was born.
There was not much to make ready. The cake had been laid away to season, so that it would cut nicely. There was a pretty new church now, and the marriage would be solemnized there, with a wedding feast at home, and then a round of parties for several evenings at different houses. The Trents had just finished their house, which was considered quite a mansion, and the carpets had come from France. They would give the first entertainment.
She had written to her guardian, who sent her a kindly letter, wishing her all happiness. The winter had been a rather hard one for him, for an old enemy that had been held in abeyance for several years, rheumatism, had returned, and though it was routed now, it had left him rather enfeebled, otherwise he would have taken the journey to see his ward, the little girl grown up, whose visit he had enjoyed so much, and whom he hoped to welcome in his home some time again.
And with it came a beautiful watch and chain. Presents were not much in vogue in those days, and their rarity made them all the more precious.
They dressed the house with daffodils, but the bride-to-be was all in white, the veil the great-grandmother had worn in Paris, fastened with a diamond circlet just as she had had it.
"Oh!" Daffodil exclaimed, "if great-grandfather could see me!"
Jeffrey Andsdell took her in his arms and kissed her. This was, indeed, a true marriage, and could there ever be a sweeter bride?
She was smiling and happy, for every one was pleased, so why should she not be! She even forgot the young man pacing about the Fort wishing – ah, what could he wish except that he was in Andsdell's place? For surely he was not mean enough to grudge her any happiness.
She walked up the church aisle on her lover's arm and next came her parents. Once Andsdell's lips compressed themselves, and a strange pallor and shudder came over him.
Her father gave her away. The clergyman pronounced them man and wife. Then friends thronged around. They were privileged to kiss the bride in those days.
"My wife," was what Jeffrey Andsdell said in a breathless, quivering tone.
They could not rush out in modern fashion. She cast her smiles on every side, she was so happy and light-hearted.
They reached the porch just as a coach drove up at furious speed. A woman sprang out, a tall, imperious-looking person, dressed in grand style. Her cheeks were painted, her black eyes snapped defiance. One and another fell back and stared as she cried in an imperious tone, looking fiercely at the bride, "Am I too late? Have you married him? But you cannot be his wife. I am his lawful, legal wife, and the mother of his son, who is the future heir of Hurst Abbey. I have come from England to claim him. His father, the Earl of Wrexham, sends for him, to have him restored to his ancestral home."
She had uttered this almost in a breath. Daffodil, with the utmost incredulity, turned to her husband and smiled, but the lines almost froze in her face. For his was deadly white and his eyes were fixed on the woman with absolute terror.
"It is God's own truth," she continued. "I have your father's letter, and you will hardly disown his signature. Your son is at Hurst Abbey – "
"Woman!" he thundered, "it is a base trumped-up lie! There are four lives between me and the succession, and there may be more."
"There were, but last autumn they were all swept suddenly out of existence. The Earl was crazed with grief. I went to him and took his grandson, a beautiful child, that would appeal to any heart. And at his desire I have come to America for you."
Jeffrey Andsdell placed his wife in her father's arms. "Take her home," he said hoarsely, "I will follow and disprove this wild, baseless tale."
Then he pressed her to his heart. "Whatever happens, you are the only woman I have ever loved, remember that;" and taking the woman's arm, entered her coach with her.
The small group dispersed without a word. What could be said! There was consternation on all faces. Bernard Carrick took his daughter home. Once her mother kissed the pallid cheek, and essayed some word of comfort.
"Oh, don't!" she cried piteously. "Let me be still. I must wait and bear it until – "
She did not cry or faint, but seemed turning to stone. And when they reached the house she went straight through the room where the feast was spread, to her own, and threw herself on the bed.
"Oh, acushla darlin'," cried Norah, "sure we had the warning when the pear tree bloomed. I said it was trouble without reason, and though I broke them all off it couldn't save you."
"Oh, my darlin', God help us all."
CHAPTER XIV
SORROW'S CROWN OF SORROW
"Whatever happens!" The words rang through Daffodil's brain like a knell. There was something to happen. She had been so happy, so serenely, so trustingly happy. For her youthful inexperience had not taught her doubt. The cup of love had been held to her lips and she had drank the divine draught fearlessly, with no thought of bitter dregs at the bottom.
Grandmere came and unpinned the veil; it was too fine and precious an article to be tumbled about.
"Let the rest be," she said. "He is coming and I want to be as I was then."
Then they left her lying there on the bed, the gold of her young life turning slowly to dross. Some curious prescience told her how it would be.
She heard the low voices in the other room. There was crying too. That was her mother. Felix asked questions and was hushed. Was it hours or half a lifetime! All in her brain was chaos, the chaos of belief striving with disbelief that was somehow illumined but not with hope.
He came at last. She heard his step striding through the room and no one seemed to speak to him. He came straight to her, knelt at the bed's side, and took her cold hands in his that were at fever heat.
"My poor darling!" he said brokenly. "I should not have learned to love you so well, I should not have asked for your love. But in this new country and beginning a new life it seemed as if I might bury the old past. And you were the centre, the star of the new. Perhaps if I had told you the story – "
"Tell it now," she made answer, but it did not sound like her voice. She made no effort to release her hands though his seemed to scorch them.
"You can hardly understand that old life in London. There is nothing like it here. I was with a lot of gay companions, and all we thought of was amusement. I had a gift for acting and was persuaded to take part in a play. It was a success. I was flattered and fêted. Women made much of me. I was only a boy after all. And the leading lady, some seven years my senior, fascinated me by her attention and her flatteries. It did turn my head. I was her devoted admirer, yet it was not the sort of love that a man knows later on. How it came about, why she should have done such a thing I cannot divine even now, for at that time I was only a poor, younger son, loaded with debts, though most of my compeers were in the same case. But she married me with really nothing to gain. She kept to the stage. I was tired of it and gave it up, which led to our first dissension. She fancied she saw in me some of the qualities that might make a name. And then – she was angry about the child. We bickered continually. She was very fond of admiration and men went down to her. After a little I ceased to be jealous. I suppose it was because I ceased to care and could only think of the wretched blunder I had made and how I could undo it. We had kept the marriage a secret except from her aunt and a few friends. She would have it so. The child was put out to nurse and the company was going to try their fortunes elsewhere. I would not go with her. In a certain way I had been useful to her and we had a little scene. I went to my father and asked him for money enough to take me to America, where I could cut loose from old associates and begin a new life. He did more. He paid my debts, but told me that henceforward I must look out for myself as this was the last he should do for me."
"And now he asks you to return?" There was a certainty in her voice and she was as unemotional as if they were talking of some one else.
"It is true that now I am his only living son. Late last autumn Lord Veron, his wife and two sons, with my next brother, Archibald, were out for an afternoon's pleasure in a sailboat when there came up an awful blow and a sudden dash of rain. They were about in the middle of the lake. The wind twisted them around, the mast snapped, they found afterward that it was not seaworthy. There was no help at hand. They battled for awhile, then the boat turned over. Lady Veron never rose, the others swam for some time, but Archibald was the only one who came in to shore and he was so spent that he died two days later. I wonder the awful blow did not kill poor father. He was ill for a long while. My wife went to him then and took the child and had sufficient proof to establish the fact of the marriage, and her aunt had always been a foster mother to the boy. There must be some curious fascination about her, though I do not wonder father felt drawn to his only remaining son. Archibald's two children are girls and so are not in the entail. Hurst Abbey would go to some distant cousins. And she offered to come to America and find me. She has succeeded," he ended bitterly.
There was a long pause. He raised his head, but her face was turned away. Did she really care for him? She was taking it all so calmly.
"You will go," she said presently.
"Oh, how can I leave you? For now I know what real love is like. And this is a new country. I have begun a new life, Daffodil – "
"But I cannot be your wife, you see that. Would you give up your father's love, the position awaiting you for a tie that could never be sanctified? You must return."
"There is my son, you know. I shall not matter so much to them. It shall be as you say, my darling. And we need not stay here. It is a big and prospering country and I know now that I can make my way – "
It was not the tone of ardent desire. How she could tell she did not know, but the words dropped on her heart like a knell. Apart from the sacrifice he seemed ready to make for her there was the cruel fact that would mar her whole life, and an intangible knowledge that he would regret it.
"You must go." Her voice was firm.
Did she love so deeply? He expected passionate upbraiding and then despairing love, clinging tenderness. One moment he was wild to have the frank, innocent sweetness of their courtship; he was minded to take her in his arms and press bewildering kisses on the sweet mouth, the fair brow, the delicately tinted cheek, as if he could not give her up. Then Hurst Abbey rose before him, his father bowed with the weight of sorrow ready to welcome him, the fine position he could fill, and after all would the wife be such a drawback? There were many marriages without overwhelming love. If his father accepted her – and from his letter he seemed to unreservedly.
He rose from his kneeling posture and leaned over her. She looked in her quaint wedding dress and marble paleness as if it was death rather than life.
"You can never forgive me." His voice was broken with emotion, though he did not realize all the havoc he had made. "But I shall dream of you and go on loving – "
"No! no!" raising her hand. "We must both forget. You have other duties and I must rouse myself and overlive the vision of a life that would have been complete, perhaps too exquisite for daily wear. It may all be a dream, a youthful fancy. Others have had it vanish after marriage. Now, go."
He bent over to kiss her. She put up her hand.
Was it really more anger than love?
"I wish you all success for your poor father's sake." She was going to add – "And try to love your wife," but her whole soul protested.
He went slowly out of the room. She did not turn or make the slightest motion. She heard the low sound of voices in the other room, his among them, and then all was silence. He had gone away out of her life.
Her mother entered quietly, came near, and took her in her arms.
"Oh, my darling, how could the good All Father, who cares for his children, let such a cruel thing happen? If that woman had come a month ago! And he fancied being here, marrying, never to go back, made him in a sense free. But he should not have hidden the fact. I can never forgive him. Yet one feels sorry as well that he should have misspent so much of his life."
"Help me take off my gown, mother. No one must ever wear it again. And we will try not to talk it over, but put it out of our minds. I am very tired. You won't mind if I lie here and see no one except you who are so dear to me."
It was too soon for any comfort, that the mother felt as she moved about with lightest tread. Then she kissed her and left her to her sorrow.
Mr. Carrick had been very much incensed and blamed the suitor severely. Andsdell had taken it with such real concern and regret and apparent heart-break that the father felt some lenity might be allowed in thought, at least.
Grandad was very bitter and thought condign punishment should overtake him.
"And instead," said warm-hearted Norah indignantly, "he turns into a great lord and has everything to his hand. I could wish his wife was ten times worse and I hope she'll lead him such a life that he'll never see a happy day nor hour, the mean, despicable wretch."
In the night tears came to Daffodil's relief, yet she felt the exposure had come none too soon. With her sorrow there was a sense of deception to counteract it. He had not been honest in spite of apparent frankness, and it hurt her to think he had accepted her verdict so readily. Hard as it would have been to combat his protestations in her moment of longing and despair, any woman would rather have remembered them afterward.
Daffodil kept her bed for several days. She felt weak and distraught. Yet she had her own consciousness of rectitude. She had not been so easily won, and she had been firm and upright at the last. There was no weak kiss of longing to remember. The one he had given her in the church could be recalled without shame. For a few moments she had been in a trance of happiness as his wife. And putting him away she must also bury out of sight all that had gone before.
She took her olden place in the household, she went to church after a week or two and began to see friends again, who all seemed to stand in a little awe of her. The weather was lovely. She was out in the garden with her mother. She rode about with her father. But she felt as if years had passed over her and she was no longer the lightsome girl.
It made her smile too, to think how everything else was changing. The old log houses were disappearing. Alleyways were transformed into streets and quite noteworthy residences were going up. General O'Hara and Mayor Craig enlarged their glass house and improved the quality of glass. She remembered when her father had tacked some fine cloth over the window-casing and oiled it to give it a sort of transparency so that they could have a little light until it was cold enough to shut the wooden shutters all the time, for glass was so dear it could not be put in all the windows. Not that it was cheap now, the processes were cumbersome and slow, but most of the material was at hand.
Mrs. Forbes was a warm and trusty friend through this time of sorrow. She would not let Daffodil blame herself.
"We all liked Mr. Andsdell very much, I am sure. I can count up half a dozen girls who were eager enough to meet him and who were sending him invitations. He really was superior to most of our young men in the way of education and manners. And, my dear, I rather picked him out for you, and when I saw he was attracted I made the captain write to a friend of his at Williamsburg and learn if there was anything serious against him, and everything came back in his favor. Of course none of us suspected a marriage. He talked frankly about his family when there was need, but not in any boastful way. And this is not as disgraceful as some young men who have really had to leave their country for their country's good. But, my dear, if it had not been for this horrid marriage you would have gone off in style and been my lady."
"But maybe none of it would have happened then;" with a rather wan smile.
"True enough! But you're not going to settle down in sober ways and wear hodden gray. And it's not as if you had been jilted by some gay gallant who had married another girl before your eyes as Christy Speers' lover did. And she found a much better man without any long waiting, for Everlom has never succeeded in anything and now he has taken to drink. Don't you suppose Christy is glad she missed her chance with him!"