All this time Chilian Leverett was having a hard fight with himself. He was really ashamed of having been conquered by what he called a boy's romantic passion. He could excuse himself for the early lapse; he was a boy then. His honor and what he called good sense were mightily at war with this desire that well-nigh overmastered him. True, men older than he had married young wives. But this child had been entrusted to him in a sacred fashion by her dying father; he must place before her the best and richest of life, even if it condemned him to after-years of joyless solitude.
For it was not as a father he loved her, though he had played a little at fatherhood in the beginning. She was so companionable, they had so many similar tastes. He was so fond of reading to an appreciative listener, and even as he sat in the darkness, when she did not know he was alone in the study, he could see her lovely eyes raised in their tender light. He thought this her unusual wisdom and discernment, never dreaming it had been mostly his training and her receptiveness. And to think of the house without her! Why, going out of it in her wedding gown would be almost as if she had been laid in her shroud and shut away. Of course, he could not have her here and see her love another.
Giles Leverett's dream was much happier. In his mind he saved her for his favorite. When Anthony was through—and he was putting in law, with the classics—he would take him in his office, where he would find much business made to his hand. The house was big enough for them all, and he had grown curiously interested in young people. Anthony was very fond of his sweet, fascinating cousin—they all were. He did not know whether there was any one in Salem quite good enough for her. Saltonstall was a rather trifling fellow, whose fancies were evanescent.
But Mr. Ed Saltonstall had a good friend in Mrs. Stevens, and she counselled him not to be too ardent in his pursuit. She said pleasant little things about him without any effusiveness. She considered his friendship with her very charming—young men were not generally devoted to middle-aged women. Once she shrewdly wondered why he had not made some errand down.
Altogether it was a pleasant visit, though Cynthia kept revolving her duty, if such there was in the case. A blind, mysterious asking for something haunted her, something it would be sad to miss out of her life.
Then she came home alone in the stage. There was a property dispute going on, where Mr. Leverett was an important witness for a friend. When the stage stopped, Rachel and Jane both ran out and gave her a joyful welcome.
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Cousin Eunice, "we are so glad to get you back. You are the light of the house, isn't she?" glancing at the other. "Even Chilian has been mopey, though I think he isn't well. He is getting thin, too, and goodness knows he had no flesh to lose. Oh, my dear, I hope you will never go away again while I live;" and she gave a long sigh as the girl left the room.
She came down presently in a cheerful light frock and began to tell Cousin Eunice and Jane what she had seen and heard. She was in the full tide of this, eager, bright, and flushing when Chilian entered. He greeted her rather languidly. Yes, he had grown thinner, and Cousin Giles was putting on too much flesh and growing jollier. Chilian did not look well and an ache went all over Cynthia's body, every nerve being sympathetic. He was not silent, however; he asked questions, but she thought he was hardly paying attention to the answers. He remained down in the sitting-room and read his Gazette, now and then making some comment, or answering some query of Cousin Eunice. It was not nine yet when he rose and said, "He was very tired; if they would excuse him, he would go to bed."
They all went presently. She was glad to be alone in the room, glad there was no moon, and she turned her face over on the pillow and cried softly. After all, life was a riddle—two ways and not knowing which to take, both having a curiously lonely ending. Could she not bear it better alone? If he should go away as her father had done, if she should stay here in the old house, and then Cousin Eunice would fold her hands in that silent clasp, Rachel would slip into old womanhood, Jane would marry, she was keeping company now. There would be other Janes and she——
On the other hand would be love, marriage, children maybe, a pleasant home. Living along side by side, as other people did.