CHAPTER XXIX.
AFTER.
Toward noon of the next day, the Judge drove up to his own gate, alone, and not a little troubled. His wife and daughter were evidently expecting him. They seemed disappointed.
"Wouldn't he come?" asked his wife.
"He was not there to come."
"Not there!" from both.
"No; he went off in the stage last night to Jefferson."
"Went off! Why, father!"
"Well, it seems that he had arranged to leave on Tuesday, and sent his trunk out to Hiccox's, but didn't go; and all day Wednesday he wandered about, his mother said, seeming reluctant to start. At evening she said he appeared much depressed, and said he would not go until the next evening."
"Thank God!" said the ladies.
"George," continued the Judge, "who had been down to the Post-office, heard that you were lost, and hurried home, and told him all he had heard. His mother said when he heard it he asked a good many questions, and said, 'I know now why I stayed,' and that in five minutes he was off to the woods."
"Father, there was a special Providence in it all."
"And did Providence send him off last night?"
"Perhaps so."
"Did his mother tell how he came to think Julia had crossed the old road?"
"He didn't tell his mother much about it. She said he was more cheerful and lighter hearted than he had been for a year, but did not seem inclined to talk much; ate a very little breakfast, and went to bed, saying that he hoped she would not let anybody disturb him. He did not come down again until five, and then told her he should leave that evening. She tried to dissuade him, but he said he must go—that he was not wanted here any more—that he felt it was better for him to go at once. She said that she spoke to him of us, of Julia, saying that she thought he ought to remain and let us see him, if we wished. He answered that he had better go then, and that they would understand it. He said they might perhaps call and say some things to her; if they did, she should say to them that he could understand what their feelings might be, and appreciated them; that it was not necessary to say anything to him; that he wished all the past to be forgotten, and that nothing might be said or done to recall it; he had left Newbury forever as a home.
"I told her that I wanted to provide for his studies, and to start him in business—of course in as delicate a way as possible. She rather started up at that, and said she hoped I would never in any way make any offer of help to him. I asked who went with him to meet the stage, and his mother replied that he went alone—walked down just at dark, and wouldn't permit either of the boys to go with him."
"Why Edward! how strange this is!"
"It isn't strange to me at all," remarked Julia, in a low, depressed voice.
"Father, I've a little story to tell you. I should have told it last night, and then you would have better understood some things that have occurred. It was nothing that happened between us yesterday morning. I have told you every word and thing of that."
Then she recited to the astonished Judge the incidents of her adventure in the woods with Bart and the wolverine.
"And I," said the Judge, "have also a little incident to relate," and he told of the occurrence on the river with which this tale began.
"Oh, father!" exclaimed Julia, "could you leave him, away there, weary and alone?"
"I did not mean to do that; I stopped, and lingered and looked back, and waited and thought he would ask or call to me," said the humiliated Judge: "and now he has repaid me by saving your life."
"Father! father, dear!" going and laying her arm around his neck, and her cheek against his, "You are my own dear papa, and could never purposely harm a living thing. It was all to be, I suppose. Mamma, do you remember the night of Snow's ball, when you playfully complained of his inattention to you? and he said he would atone for all offences,—
'In that blissful never,
When the Sundays come together,
And the sun and glorious weather,
Wrapped the earth in spring forever?'
and he has."
"I remember, but I could not recall the words."
"I can repeat the very words of the beautiful prayer that he made in the woods," said the young girl.
"And which I seemed to hear," said her mother.
"And that 'blissful never' came, mother, and all its good was for me—for us."
"Not wholly, I trust. This young man's mind and nature are their own law. His mother said he was lighter-hearted and more like himself than for a long time. He has suffered much. He mourned more for his brother than most could. He had lost his own self-respect somehow, and now he has regained it, and will come to take right views of things, and a blissful ever may come for him."
"And he wanted all the past forgotten," said the girl.
"Of all that happened between you before he has only remembered what you said to him," said her mother. "And you possibly remember what he said to you."
"I remember his generosity and bravery, mother," replied Julia.
The Judge remained thoughtful. Turning to his wife, "Would you have me follow him to Jefferson?"
"No. He went away in part to avoid us; he will be sensitive, and I would not go to him at present. Write to him; write what you really feel, a warm and manly letter like your own true self. I am not certain, though, how he will receive it."
A silence followed which was broken by Julia.
"Father, do you know this Mr. Wade with whom Barton has gone to study?"
"Yes; I have met him several times and like him very much. He was our senator, and made that awful speech against slavery last winter. He is a frank, manly, straightforward man."
"How old is he?"
"Thirty-five, perhaps; why?"
"Nothing. Is he married?"
"He is an old bachelor; but I heard some one joking him about a young lady, to whom it is said he is engaged. Why do you inquire about him?"
"Oh! I wanted to know something of the man with whom he is. I met Mr.
Ranney a year ago, you know."
That night the fair girl remained long in a serious and thoughtful attitude.
* * * * *
In the afternoon of the next day, the ladies drove to Mrs. Ridgeley's. The elders embraced cordially. One was thinking of the boy who had died, and of him who had gone so sadly away; the other of her agony at a supposed loss, and her great joy at the recovery. Julia took one of Mrs. Ridgeley's thin, toil-hardened hands in her two, rosy and dimpled, and kissed it, and shed tears over it. Then they sat down, and Mrs. Markham, in her woman's direct natural way, poured out the gratitude they both felt; Julia, with simple frankness, told the happenings of the night, and both were surprised to learn that Bart had told her so little.
Mrs. Ridgeley described his going out, and coming back next morning, and going again at evening. It was his way, his mother said. She was proud of Barton, and wondered that this sweet girl should not love him, and actually pitied her that she did not. She would not betray his weakness; but when she came to speak of his final going, the forlorn figure of the depressed boy walking out into the darkness, alone, came before her, and she wept. Then Julia knelt by her, and again taking her hand, said "Let me love you, while he is gone; I want to care for all that are dear to him;" and the poor mother thought that it was in part as a recompense for not loving Barton. There was another thing that Julia came to say, and opening her satchel, she pointed to something red and coarse, and putting her hand on it, she said, "This was Bart's. He took it off himself, and put it on me; and went cold and exposed. I did not think to restore it, and I want very much to keep it—may I?" The poor mother raised her eyes to the warm face of the girl, yet saw nothing. "Yes." And the pleased child replaced it and closed her satchel.
Then Mrs. Markham said their friends and neighbors were coming in on the Tuesday evening following, to congratulate them, and would Mrs. Ridgeley let them send for her? The gathering would be informal and neighborly. But Mrs. Ridgeley begged to be excused. Julia wanted to see the boys, and they came in from the garden—Ed shy, quiet and reserved; George, dashing, sparkling and bashful. Julia went up and shook them by their brown hands, and acted as if she would kiss George if he did look very much like Bart. She talked with them in her frank girl's way, and took them captive, and then mother and daughter drove away.
* * * * *
The gathering at the Judge's was spontaneous almost, and cordial. The whole family were popular individually, and the young girls especially gathered about Julia, who was a real heroine and had been rescued by a brave, handsome young man;—the affair was so romantic!
They wondered why Bart should go away; and wouldn't he be there that night? They seemed to assume that everything would be a matter of course, only he behaved very badly in going off when he must know he was most wanted. Of course he would come back, and Julia would forgive him; and something they hinted of this. Kate and Ann, and sweet Pearly Burnett, who had just come home from school, and was entitled to rank next after Julia, with Nell and Kate, were very gushing on the subject.
Others took Bart to account. His sudden and mysterious flight was very much against him, and his reputation was at a sudden ebb. Why did he go? Then Greer's name was mentioned, and Brown, and New Orleans; and it was talked over that night at Markham's with ominous mystery, and one wouldn't wonder if Bart had not gone to Jefferson, at all—that was a dodge; and another said that at Painesville he stopped and went west to Cleveland; or to Fairport, and took a steamer; and Greer went off about the same time.
Julia caught these whispers and pondered them, and the Judge looked grave over them.
In the morning Julia asked him what it all meant. She remembered that he had spoken of Bart in connection with Greer, when he came home from the Cole trial, which made her uneasy; she now wanted to know what it meant.
The Judge replied that there was a rumor that Bart was an associate of Greer, and engaged with him. "In what?" He didn't know; he was a supposed agent of Brown's, and a company. "What were they doing?" Nobody knew; but it was grossly unlawful and immoral. "Did anybody believe this of Bart?" He didn't know; things looked suspicious. "Do you suspect Bart of anything wrong?" He did not; but people talked and men must be prudent. "Be prudent, when his name is assailed, and he absent, and no brother to defend him?" "Why did he go?" asked the Judge, "and where did he go?"
"Father!"
"I don't suspect anything wrong of him, and yet the temptation to this thing might be great."
Julia asked no more.
The next morning she said that she had long promised Sarah King to pay her a visit, and she thought she would go for two or three days. Sarah had just been to Pittsburg, and had seen Miss Walters, and she wanted so much to hear from her. This announcement quite settled it. She had recently taken the possession of herself, in a certain sweet determined way, and was inclined to act on her own judgment, or caprice. She would go down in the stage; she could go alone—and she went.
The morning after, the elegant and leisurely Mr. Greer, at the Prentiss House, Ravenna, received a dainty little note, saying that Miss Markham was at Mr. King's, and would be glad to see him at his early leisure. He pulled his whiskers down, and his collar up, and called. He found Miss Markham in the parlor, who received him graciously.
What commands had she for him?
"Mr. Greer, I want to ask you a question, if you will permit me."
Anything he would answer cheerfully.
"You know Barton Ridgeley?"
"Yes, without being much acquainted with him. I like him."
"Have you now, or have you ever had any business connection with him?"
"I have not, and I never had."
"Will you say this in writing?"
"Cheerfully, if you wish it."
"I do."
Greer sat down to the desk in the library adjoining.
"Address my father, please."
He wrote and handed her the following:
"Hon. E. MARKHAM:
"Dear Sir,—I am asked if I have now, or have ever had any business relations of any kind with Barton Ridgeley. I have not, and never had, directly or indirectly, on my own, or on account of others.
"Very respectfully,
"THOS. J. GREER.
"RAVENNA, April 1838."
"May I know why you wish this?" a little gravely; "you've heard something said about something and somebody, by other somebodys or nobodys, perhaps."
"I have. Mr. Ridgeley is away. You have heard of our obligations to him, and I have taken it upon myself to ask you."
"You are a noble girl, Miss Markham. A man might go through fire for you;" enthusiastically.
"Thank you."
"And now I hope your little heart is at rest."
"It was quite at rest before. I am much obliged, Mr. Greer; and it may not be in my power to make other returns."
"Good morning, Miss Markham."
"Good morning, Mr. Greer."
In the afternoon, as the Judge was in his office, a little springy step came clipping in. "Good afternoon! Papa Judge," and two wonderful arms went about his neck, and two lips to his own.
"Why Julia! you back! How is Sarah?"
"Splendid!"
"Your friend Miss Walters?"
"Oh, she is well. See here, Papa Judge," holding out the Greer note.
The Judge looked at and read it over in amazement.
"Where under the heavens did you get this?"
"Mr. Greer wrote it for me."
"Mr. Greer wrote it for you? I am amazed! no man could have dared to ask him for it! What put this into your head?"
"You almost suspected Bart"—with decidedly damp eyes—"and others did quite, and while in Ravenna I wrote a note to Mr. Greer, who called, and I asked the direct question, and he answered. I asked him to write it and he did, and paid me a handsome compliment besides. Papa Judge, when you want a thing done send me."
"Well, my noble girl, you deserve a compliment. A girl that can do that can, of course, have a man go through night and storm and flood for her," said the Judge with enthusiasm.
"Mr. Greer said a man should go through fire," said Julia, as if a little hurt.
"And so he may," said the Judge, improving.
"That is for you," said Julia, more gravely, and gave him the note.