Miss Ayr of Virginia, & other stories

by Julia Magruder

“Yes, he misses the country so, and so do I! I ought to have pity on Tommy, for I’d run from the city, too, if I could, and if I saw an open door.”

They had reached the house now, and mounted the steps, side by side. He made her go inside and close the door, leaving just enough space for him to hand the wriggling Tommy through. As the little black object passed from his hands to hers, she looked up at him out of the gloom within, and said a fervent, “Thank you.” Her glance was frank and simple as a child’s, but, all the same, it sent him back across the street with a heart whose quick thumping was not wholly due to the rather violent exercise which he had had.

Randall returned to the meditations of his own room more puzzled than ever; and if his interest in the girl of whom he had simply had a glimpse from afar, had been great before, what was it now that he had seen, in the glaring sunlight, only a pace or two away from him, the exquisite perfection of her loveliness, and had heard the refined and educated utterance of a voice which lingered in his ear as one of the very sweetest to which he had ever listened? Then, too, her impetuously expressed longing for the country, and hatred of the city, seemed a strange note to be struck by this being, whom with his own eyes he had seen as a common street musician, truckling to the vulgar taste of a crowd of loafers, and holding out her hands to receive their dirty pennies. As he recalled the scene, the memory of that strident, ineffectual, hard, discordant voice came to him, and he found himself in a state of tempestuous protest against the whole thing. How could that fair, idyllic girl descend to the playing of such a part, and how could such singing go with such a face and figure? He had looked in vain for any signs of illness which might account for it. She seemed the emblem of eternal youth and health. Then came the memory of that look that she had flashed upon him from the gloom, and brought with it certain thoughts and aspirations, which had not been stirred within him for long and saddened years.

The Sunday after the episode with the kitten, Randall came out of his lodgings at a little before eleven o’clock, and saw across the street, just ahead of him, the well-known figure in the long black cloak, with the close veil around the face. He had watched the opposite house for days, but had not caught a glimpse of this figure. Other lodgers came and went (for the house seemed a crowded one), but not the one he sought. He had started out rather aimlessly this morning, and he saw no reason why, in taking his airing, he should not keep the graceful figure ahead of him in view, particularly as he, himself, could not have been observed by her. So, for a long distance he walked after her on the other side of the street, until at last she turned and joined the straggling stream of people that seemed setting toward a small new church—one of the little mission places so common now in our great cities. Randall quoted to himself the lines:

“She went to a cheap, cheap church

That stood in a back, back street,”

and smiled at the thought of the new complicatedness of the aspect of things. And when she joined the crowd and entered, a sudden wish to go to church himself came over him, and he saw no reason why he should not indulge it. He did so accordingly, and being told that the seats were all free, he presently found himself placed a little behind the young girl, so that he could have a distinct view of her profile during the entire service. He was secure in the consciousness that he had not been observed, and his presence, therefore, could cause her no annoyance. He watched her furtively as she sank upon her knees, burying her veiled face in two exquisite little shabbily-gloved hands, and remained for some moments in silent prayer. What a wretch of a creature he suddenly felt himself to be, and what a yearning he had to ask her to pray for him!

When she got up presently and took her seat, his heart quickened to see her raise her hand to unfasten her veil. How odd it appeared that no one else seemed to be noticing or caring! The congregation was composed chiefly of people with stolid faces and rather dull expressions, and Randall was further surprised to see that no one manifested any interest when this beautiful young face was exposed to view. He had occasion, however, to congratulate himself upon this indifference, since it extended to himself, as well, and left him free to look toward his lovely neighbor very often. He had to admit that she was as unconscious of the rest of the congregation as he, though no one else that he could see betrayed such absorbed consciousness of the effect of the service. It was a high-church service, and this young girl went through all the rather elaborate forms with an intense devotion and absorption, that for some unknown reason almost made him feel resentful.

The more Randall looked at her, the more lovely and lovable did she appear. It was quite, quite the most beautiful face that he had ever seen, he decided, and his heart was somehow more attuned to worship to-day than he had felt it for many a year.

At last, a hymn was given out, and the congregation rose. Randall jumped up rather suddenly with a positive instinct of flight. He did not want to hear her sing. He could not bear to stand so near and see those most lovely lips part and send forth such a voice as he knew, alas, must issue from them! But while he hesitated, the music began, and the sweet lips remained closed and immovable, except for a little tremor which he fancied he saw, as the girl’s eyes followed the words in her book.