"Discovery of that unexpected debt,
Owed by my father, killed the last faint hope
Which I had cherished; and our interview—
Your daring offer of this little hand—
But made me emulous to equal you
In self-renouncing generosity;
And so, I frankly told you what I told:
That love and marriage were not in my lot.
"Ten days elapsed, and then from utter gloom
I sprang to cheerful light. My father's partner,
The man named Judd, who robbed us all one day,
Had a compunctious interval, and sent
A hundred thousand dollars back to us—
Why do you smile?"
"Go on. 'Tis worth a smile."
"That very day I cleared myself from debt;
That very day I sued for Linda's hand;
That very day she gave it willingly;
And the next month beheld us two made one.
And so it would have been, if you, my dear,
Had made no sign, and waited patiently.
But ah! what luck was mine! After two days,
The news arrived that Linda was an heiress.
An heiress! Think of it; and I had said,
Never, no, never would I wed an heiress!
But 'twas too late for scruples; I was married,—
Caught in the trap I always meant to shun!"
Then Linda, mischief in her smile, exclaimed:
"O simple Charles! The innocent dear man!
Who doubts but woman ought to hold her tongue,
And wait till he, the preordained, appear?
That hundred thousand dollars, you are sure,
Was from your father's partner—was from Judd?"
"Of course it was,—from Judd, and no one else!
Who could have sent the money, if not Judd?
No doubt it came from Judd! My father said,
'Twas conscience-money, and restored by Judd,
Who had become a deacon in the Church.
Why did you ask me whether I was sure
The hundred thousand dollars came from Judd?
What are you smiling at, provoking Linda?"
"O, you're so quick, so clever, all you men!
And women are so dull and credulous,
So easily duped, when left to go alone!
What you would prove is, that my daring step,
In being first to make a declaration,
Was needless, since priority in love
Was yours, and your intention would have brought
The same result about without my seeking.
Know then, the money was not yours until
I'd got the news of my recovered fortune;
From me the money came, and only me;
And all that story of a Judd, turned deacon,
Grown penitent and making restitution,
Was a mere myth, invented by your father,
Lest you might hesitate to take the money.
Now if I had not sought you as I did,
And if I had not put you to the test,
And if I had not learnt your secret grief,
We might have lived till we were gray and bent
Before a step of yours had brought us nearer."
"Outflanked! I own it, and I give it up!"
Cried Charles, all flushing with astonishment:
"But how I'll rate that ancient fisherman,
My graceless father, for deceiving me!
See him stand there, as if with conscience void,
Throwing the line for innocent, fat trout!
With that grave face, saying the money came
From Judd,—from Deacon Judd! I'll deacon him!"
"What! you regret it, do you, Master Charles?
The crooked ways that brought you where you are
You would make straight, and have the past undone?
To think that by a woman you've been wooed,
To think that by a woman you've been won,
Is thought too humbling and too scandalous;
Is an indignity too hard to bear!
Oh! well, sir, well; do as you please; the child
Goes with its mother, though; remember that."
And here the infant threw its eyelids back,
Revealing orbs, blue as the shadows cast
On Saranac's blue by overhanging woods.
Said Lothian, snatching up the smiling wonder,
And handing it, with kisses, to the mother:
"Take all your woman's rights; even this, the best:
Are we not each the richer by the sharing
Of such a gift? I'll not regret your daring."