II
Marjorie stood at the gate post until he was quite lost from view around the turn of the road. He did not look back, yet she thought that he might have. She slowly turned and as slowly began to walk towards the house, there to resume the duties which had suffered a pleasant interruption.
Meanwhile, she tried to analyze this young man. He was rather deep, of few words on any given subject, but wholly non-communicative as regards himself. He perhaps was possessed of more intuition than his manner would reveal, although he gave every appearance of arriving at his conclusions by the sheer force of logic. His words and deeds never betrayed his whole mind, of that she was certain, yet he could assert himself rather forcibly when put to the test, as in the painful incident at the Coffee House. He would never suffer from soul-paralysis, thought she, for want of decision or resolution, for both were written full upon him.
That she was strangely attracted to him she knew very well, but why and how she was unable to discover. This was but their third meeting, yet she felt as if she had known him all her life, so frank, so unreserved, so open, so secure did she feel in his presence. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to have waved her hand in salute to him that morning as he passed; she did it with the same unconcern as if she had known him all her life. She felt it within her, that was all, and could give no other possible interpretation to her action.
There was something prepossessing about him. Perhaps it was his faculty for doing the unexpected. Most women desire to meet a man who is possessed of a distinctive individuality, who lends continual interest to them by his departure from the trite and commonplace. What Stephen might say or do was an entirely unknown quantity until it had actually taken place, and this attracted her on the instant, whether she was conscious of it or not. His manner, too, was affable, and gave him an air at once pleasing and good-natured. He never flattered, yet said most agreeable things, putting one perfectly at ease and inspiring sympathy and courage. He bore himself well; erect, manly, dignified, without ostentation or display. His seriousness, his evenness, his gravity, his constancy and his decision stamped him with a certain authority, a man of marked personality and character.
So she mused as she entered the door, her thoughts in a lofty hegira to the far off land of make believe—her better self striving to marshal them to the cold realities of duty that lay before her. She had been cleaning the little addition at the rear of the dwelling proper, used as a kitchen, and her work took her into the yard. Dolly's whinny had caused her to turn her head, and the next moment cares and responsibilities and all else were forgotten. Now she wondered what she had been about! Seizing a cloth she began to dust industriously. The crash of one of the dishes on the kitchen floor brought her to her senses. Her mother heard the noise from the adjoining room.
"What ails thee, child? Hast thou lost thy reason?"
"I believe so, mommy. I must have been thinking of other things." And she stooped to gather the fragments.
"Was it Captain Meagher? I saw you two at the gate."
A guilty smile stole over the corners of her mouth.
"He was passing while I was in the yard, and he stopped only to wish me the greetings of the day. I was right glad that he did, for I had an opportunity of extending to him the invitation from Peggy."
"He will go, I suppose?" she queried, knowing well what the answer might be. She did not spare the time to stop for conversation, but continued with her duties.
"He is quite pleased. And, mommy, he will call for me."
"Be careful, now, to break no more dishes."
"Lud! I have not lost my head yet. That was purely an accident which will not happen again."
"That poor unfortunate Spangler made a better defense."
"He deserved what he got. So did Lieutenant Lyons and the other officers of the Ranger who deserted to the enemy. But my sympathies go out to the old man who kept the gates under the city. These court-martials are becoming too common and I don't like them."
"That is the horrible side of war, my dear. And until our people learn the value of patriotism, the need of abolishing all foreign ties and strongly adhering to the land that has offered them a home and a living, the necessity of these dreadful measures will never cease."
"A little power is a dangerous weapon to thrust into a man's hand, unless he be great enough to wield it."
"Now you are going to say that General Arnold is to blame for these tragedies."
"No, I am not. But I do think that a great deal more of clemency could be exercised. Many of those poor tradesmen who were convicted and sentenced to be hanged could have been pardoned with equal security."
"That is the law, my dear, and the law is God's will. Leave all to Him."
Mrs. Allison was one of those good souls who saw no harm in the vilest of creatures; faults were hidden by her veil of sympathy. When distressing reverses or abject despair visited any one, Mrs. Allison's affability and indescribable tenderness smoothed over the troubled situation and brought forth a gleam of gladness. Quiet, kindly, magnanimous, tolerant, she could touch hearts to the depths in a manner both winning and lasting. Whether the fault entailed a punishment undeserved or inevitable, her feeling of pity was excited. She always sympathized without accusing or probing the source of the evil. She stretched forth a helping hand merely to aid. No nature, however hard, could be impervious to the sympathy and the sweetness of her affectionate disposition.
Motherly was the quality written full upon Mrs. Allison's face. Her thoughts, her schemes, her purposes, her ambitions of life, were all colored by this maternal attribute. In her daily homage and obeisance to God, Whom she worshiped with the most childlike faith and simplicity; in the execution of the manifold duties of her home, Marjorie was to her ever a treasure of great price. She was sustained in her aims and purposes by an enduring power of will,—a power clothed with the soft, warm, living flesh of a kindly heart.
Her marriage with Matthew Allison had been happy, a happiness intensified and concretely embodied in Marjorie, the only child vouchsafed to them by the Creator. How often, at the time when the deepening shadows moved their way across the dimming landscape, announcing to the work worn world the close of another day, would she sit for a brief while in silence and take complacence in the object of her hopes and aspirations! It was Marjorie for whom she lived and toiled and purposed. And it was Marjorie who embodied the sum-total of her fancies and ambitions and aspirations, and translated them into definite forms and realities.