CHAPTER XVIII.
THAT NIGHT.
From that miserable night, Marian saw no more of Thurston, except occasionally at church, when he came at irregular intervals, and maintained the same coolness and distance of manner toward her, and with matchless self-command, too, since often his heart yearned toward her with almost irresistible force.
Cold and calm as was his exterior, he was suffering not less than Marian; self-tossed with passion, the strong currents and counter-currents of his soul whirled as a moral maelstrom, in which both reason and conscience threatened to be engulfed.
And in these mental conflicts judgment and understanding were often obscured and bewildered, and the very boundaries of right and wrong lost.
His appreciation of Marian wavered with his moods.
When very angry he would mentally denounce her as a cold, prudent, calculating woman, who had entrapped him into a secret marriage, and having secured his hand, would now risk nothing for his love, and himself as a weak, fond fool, the tool of the beautiful, proud diplomat, whom it would be justifiable to circumvent, to defeat, and to humble in some way.
At such times he felt a desire, amounting to a strong temptation, to abduct her—to get her into his power, and make her feel that power. No law could protect her or punish him—for they were married.
But here was the extreme point at which reaction generally commenced, for Thurston could not contemplate himself in that character—playing such a part, for an instant.
And then when a furtive glance would show him Marian's angel face, fairer and paler and more pensive than ever before—a strong counter-current of love and admiration approaching to worship, would set in, and he would look upon her as a fair saint worthy of translation to heaven, and upon himself as a designing but foiled conspirator, scarcely one degree above the most atrocious villain. "Currents and counter-currents" of stormy passion, where is the pilot that shall guide the understanding safely through them? It is no wonder, that once in a while, a mind is wrecked.
Marian, sitting in her pew, saw nothing in his face or manner to indicate that inward storm. She only saw the sullen, freezing exterior. Even in his softened moods of penitence, Thurston dared not seek her society.
For Marian had begun to recover from the first abject prostration of her sorrow, and her fair, resolute brow and sad, firm lips mutely assured him that she never would consent to be his own until their marriage could be proclaimed.
And he durst not trust himself in her tempting presence, lest there should be a renewal of those humiliating scenes he had endured.
Thus passing a greater portion of the summer; during which Thurston gradually dropped off from the church, and from all other haunts where he was likely to encounter Marian, and as gradually began to frequent the Catholic chapel, and to visit Luckenough, and to throw himself as much as possible into the distracting company of the pretty elf Jacquelina. But this—while it threw Dr. Grimshaw almost into frenzy, did not help Thurston to forget the good and beautiful Marian. Indeed, by contrast, it seemed to make her more excellent and lovely.
And thus, while Jacquelina fancied she had a new admirer, Dr. Grimshaw feared that he had a new rival, and the holy fathers hoped they had a new convert—Thurston laughed at the vanity of the elf, the jealousy of the Ogre, and the gullibility of the priests—and sought only escape from the haunting memory of Marian, and found it not. And finally, bored and ennuied beyond endurance, he cast about for a plan by which to hasten his union with Marian. Perhaps it was only that neighborhood she was afraid of, he thought—perhaps in some other place she would be less scrupulous. Satan had no sooner whispered this thought to Thurston's ear than he conceived the design of spending the ensuing autumn in Paris—and of making Marian his companion while there. Fired with this new idea and this new hope, he sat down and wrote her a few lines—without address or signature—as follows:
"Dearest, forgive all the past. I was mad and blind. I have a plan to secure at once our happiness. Meet me in the Mossy dell this evening, and let me explain it at your feet."
Having written this note, Thurston scarcely knew how to get it at once into Marian's hands. To put it into the village post-office was to expose it to the prying eyes of Miss Nancy Skamp. To send it to Old Fields, by a messenger, was still more hazardous. To slip it into Marian's own hand, he would have to wait the whole week until Sunday—and then might not be able to do so unobserved.
Finally, after much thought, he determined, without admitting the elf into his full confidence, to entrust the delivery of the note to Jacquelina.
He therefore copied it into the smallest space, rolled it up tightly, and took it with him when he went to Luckenough.
He spent the whole afternoon at the mansion house, without having an opportunity to slip it into the hands of Jacquelina.
It is true that Mrs. Waugh was not present, that good woman being in the back parlor, sitting at one end of the sofa and making a pillow of her lap for the commodore's head, which she combed soporifically, while, stretched at full length, he took his afternoon nap. But Mary L'Oiseau was there, quietly knotting a toilet cover, and Professor Grimshaw was there, scowling behind a book that he was pretending to read, and losing no word or look or tone or gesture of Thurston or Jacquelina, who talked and laughed and flirted and jested, as if there was no one else in the world but themselves.
At last a little negro appeared at the door to summon Mrs. L'Oiseau to give out supper, and Mary arose and left the room.
The professor scowled at Jacquelina from the top of his book for a little while, and then, muttering an excuse, got up and went out and left them alone together.
That was a very common trick of the doctor's lately, and no one could imagine why he did it.
"It is a ruse, a trap, the grim idiot! to see what we will say to each other behind his back. Oh, I'd dose him! I just wish Thurston would kiss me! I do so!" thought Jacquelina. "Thurston," and the elf leaned toward her companion, and began to be as bewitching as she knew how.
But Thurston was not thinking of Jacquelina's mischief, though without intending it he played directly into her hands.
Rising he took his hat, and saying that his witching little cousin had beguiled him into breaking one engagement already, advanced to take leave of her.
"Jacquelina." he said, lowering his voice, and slipping the note for Marian into her hand, "may I ask you to deliver this to Miss Mayfield, when no one is by?"
A look of surprise and perplexity, followed by a nod of intelligence, was her answer.
And Thurston, with a grateful smile, raised her hand to his lips, took leave and departed.
"I wonder what it is all about? I could easily untwist and seal it, but I would not do so for a kingdom!" said Jacko to herself as she turned the tiny note about in her fingers.
"Hand me that note, madam!" said Dr. Grimshaw, in curt and husky tones, as, with stern brow, he stood before her.
"No, sir! it was not intended for you," she said, mockingly.
"By the demons, I know that! Hand it here!"
"Don't swear nor get angry! Both are unbecoming professor!" said the elf, with mocking gravity.
"Perdition! will you give it up?" stamped the doctor, in fury.
"'Perdition,' no;" mocked the fairy.
"Hand it here, I command you, madam!" cried the professor, trying to compose himself and recover his dignity.
"Command away—I like to hear you. Command a regiment, if you like!" said the elf.
"Give it up!" thundered the professor, losing his slight hold upon self-control.
"Couldn't do it, sir," said Jacko, gravely.
"It is an appointment, you impudent ——! Hand it here."
"Not as you know of!" laughed Jacko, tauntingly shaking it over her head.
He made a rush to catch it.
She sprang nimbly away, and clapped the paper into her mouth.
He overtook and caught her by the arm, and shaking her roughly, exclaimed, under his breath:
"Where is it? What have you done with it? You exasperating, unprincipled little wretch, where is it?"
"'Echo anfers fere?'" mumbled the imp, chewing up the paper, and keeping her lips tight.
"Give it me! give it me! or I'll be the death of you, you diabolical little ——!" he exclaimed, hoarsely, shaking her as if he would have shaken her breath out.
But Jacko had finished chewing up the paper, and she swallowed the pulp with an effort that nearly choked her, and then opening her mouth, and inflating her chest, gave voice in a succession of piercing shrieks, that brought the whole family rushing into the room, and obliged the professor to relax his hold, and stand like a detected culprit.
For there was the commodore roused up from his sleep, with his gray hair and beard standing out all ways, like the picture of the sun in an almanac. And there was Mrs. Waugh, with the great-tooth comb in her hand. And Mary L'Osieau, with the pantry keys. And the maid, Maria, with the wooden tray of flour on her head. And Festus, with a bag of meal in his hands. And all with their eyes and ears and mouths agape with amazement and inquiry.
"In the fiend's name, what's the matter? What the d——l's broke loose? Is the house on fire again?" vociferated the commodore, seeing that no one else spoke; "what's all this about, Nace Grimshaw?"
"Ask your pretty niece, sir!" said the professor, sternly, turning away.
"Oh, it's you, is it, you little termagant you? Oh, you're a honey-cooler. What have you been doing now, Imp?" cried the old man, turning fiercely to Jacquelina. "Answer me, you little vixen!—what does all this mean?"
"Better ask 'the gentlemanly professor' why he seized and nearly shook the head off my shoulders and the breath out of my bosom!" said Jacquelina, half-crying, half-laughing.
The commodore turned furiously toward Grim. Shaking a woman's head off her shoulders, and breath out of her body, in his house, did not suit his ideas of gallantry at all, rough as he was.
"By heaven! are you mad, sir? What have you been doing? I never laid the weight of my hand on Jacquelina in all my life, wild as she has driven me at times. Explain your brutality, sir."
"It was to force from her hand a paper which she has swallowed," said
Dr. Grimshaw, with stern coldness regarding the group.
"Swallowed! swallowed!" shrieked Mrs. Waugh, rushing toward Jacquelina, and seizing one of her arms, and gazing in her face, thinking only of poisons and of Jacko's frequent threats of suicide. "Swallowed! swallowed! Where did she get it? Who procured it for her? What was it? Oh, run for the doctor, somebody. What are you all standing like you were thunderstruck for? Dr. Grimshaw, start a boy on horseback immediately for a physician. Tell him to tell the doctor to bring a stomach pump with him. You had better go yourself. Oh, hasten; not a single moment is to be lost. Jacquelina, my dear, do you begin to feel sick? Do you feel a burning in your throat and stomach? Oh, my dear child! how came you to do such a rash act?"
Jacko broke into a loud laugh.
"Oh! crazy! crazy! it is something that affects her brain she has taken.
Oh! Dr. Grimshaw, how can you have the heart to stand there and not go?
Probably opium."
Jacko laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks—never, since her marriage, had Jacko laughed so much.
"Oh, Dr. Grimshaw! Don't you see she is getting worse and worse. How can you have the heart to stand there and not go for a physician?" said Mrs. Waugh, while Mary L'Oiseau looked on, mute with terror, and the commodore stood with his fat eyes protruding nearly to bursting.
"Go, oh, go, Dr. Grimshaw!" insisted Mrs. Waugh.
"I assure you it is not necessary, madam," said the professor, with stern scorn.
"There is no danger, aunty. I haven't taken any poison since I took a dose of Grim before the altar!" said Jacko, through her tears and laughter.
"What have you taken, then, unfortunate child?"
"I have swallowed an assignation," said the elf, as grave as a judge.
"A what?" exclaimed all, in a breath,
"An assignation," repeated Jacko, with owl-like calmness and solemnity.
"What in the name of common sense do you mean, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Waugh, while the commodore and Mary L'Oiseau looked the astonishment they did not speak. "Pray explain yourself, my love."
"He—says—I—swallowed—an—assignation—whole!" repeated Jacquelina, with distinct emphasis. Her auditors looked from one to another in perplexity.
"I see that I shall have to explain the disagreeable affair," said the professor, coming forward, and addressing himself to the commodore. "Mr. Thurston Willcoxen was here this afternoon on a visit to your niece, sir. In taking leave he slipped into her hand a small note, which, when I demanded, she refused to let me see."
"And very properly, too. What right had you to make such a 'demand?'" said Mrs. Waugh, indignantly.
"I was not addressing my remarks to you, madam," retorted the professor.
"That will not keep me from making a running commentary upon them, however," responded the lady.
"Hold your tongue, Henrietta. Go on, Nace. I swear you are enough to drive a peaceable man mad between you," said the commodore, bringing his stick down emphatically. "Well what next?"
"On my attempting to take it from her she put it in her mouth and swallowed it."
"Yes! and then he seized me and shook me, as if I had been a fine-bearing little plum tree in harvest time."
"And served you right, I begin to think, you little limb, you. What was it you had, you little hussy?"
"An assignation, he says, and he ought to know—being a professor."
"Don't mock us, Minx! Tell us instantly what were the contents of that note?"
"As if I would tell you even if I could. But I couldn't tell you even if I would. Haven't the least idea what sort of a note it was, from a note of music to a 'note of hand,' because I had to swallow it as I swallowed the Ogre at the church—without looking at it. And it is just as indigestible! I feel it like a bullet in my throat yet!" And that was all the satisfaction they could get out of Jacko.
"I should not wonder if you had been making a fool of yourself, Nace," said the commodore, who seemed inclined to blow up both parties.
"I hope, sir," said the professor, with great assumption of dignity, "that you now see the necessity of forbidding that impertinent young coxcomb the house."
"Shall do nothing of the sort, Grim. Thurston has no more idea of falling in love with little Jacko than he has with her mother or Henrietta, not a bit more." And then the commodore happening to turn his attention to the two gaping negroes, with a flourish of his stick sent them about their business, and left the room.
The next evening Thurston repaired to the mossy dell in the expectation of seeing Marian, who, of course, did not make her appearance.
The morning after, filled with disappointment and mortifying conjecture as to the cause of her non-appearance, Thurston presented himself before Jacquelina at Luckenough. He happened to find her alone. With all her playfulness of character, the poor fairy had too much self-respect to relate the scene to which she had been exposed the day before. So she contented herself with saying:
"I found no opportunity of delivering your note, Thurston, and so I thought it best to destroy it."
"I thank you. Under the circumstances that was best," replied the young man, much relieved. When he reached home, he sat down and wrote a long and eloquent epistle, imploring Marian's forgiveness for his rashness and folly, assuring her of his continued love and admiration; speaking of the impossibility of living longer without her society—informing her of his intention to go to Paris, and proposing that she should either precede or follow him thither, and join him in that city. It was her duty, he urged, to follow her husband.
The following Sunday, after church, Marian placed her answer in his hands. The letter was characteristic of her—clear, firm, frank and truthful. It concluded thus:
"Were I to do as you desire me—leave home clandestinely, precede or follow you to Paris and join you there, suspicion and calumny would pursue me—obloquy would rest upon my memory. All these things I could bear, were it necessary in a good cause; but here it is not necessary, and would be wrong. But I speak not of myself—I ought not, indeed, to do so—nor of Edith, whose head would be bowed in humiliation and sorrow—nor of little Miriam, whose passionate heart would be half broken by such a desertion. But I speak for the cause of morality and religion here in this neighborhood, where we find ourselves placed by heaven, and where we must exercise much influence for good or evil. Wait patiently for those happy years, that the flying days are speeding on toward us—those happy years, when you shall look back to this trying time, and thank God for trials and temptations passed safely through. Do not urge me again upon this subject. Be excellent, Thurston, be noble, be god-like, as you can be, if you will; it is in you. Be true to your highest ideal, and you will be all these. Oh! if you knew how your Marian's heart craves to bow itself before true god-like excellence!"