Although Joscelyn continued to hold herself aloof from Richard, yet she was conscious of his protecting influence in other ways besides the healing of that family quarrel that had been such a burden to her and to them all. Most of the women of her set continued to cut her outright, or to treat her with the scantest courtesy; but there were no more threats concerning her; the boys who had hooted under her window left off their insolent ways, and the merchants and tradespeople no longer gave her indifferent service. And in all this she recognized Richard’s work, for he had openly espoused her cause, and had let it be known that those who offended or ill-used her should later on be answerable to him. From the day of his coming, she felt herself shadowed by an unobtrusive but persistent watchfulness that plucked many a thorn from her path; and after the stormy months that had passed, she could not but be grateful for the calm. Invalid though he was, she intuitively felt his to be the stronger will, and made no fight against what he did in her behalf. The protection for which she had longed had come to her, and she was glad to feel his strength between her and her persecutors. Never in any boastful way did he remind her of the defeat of her cause; and tacitly she acknowledged his generosity. The very perils they had shared drew them together with that subtle bond of sympathy a mutual interest creates; and so seldom was there a return to their former sparring that Mistress Strudwick protested she knew not which had the better manners.
“I declare, my dear,” she said, pinching Joscelyn’s cheek, “you are so beautifully behaved of late that I begin to find you a bit tiresome. Methinks I must stir up Amanda Bryce to pay you a visit and talk over the war, or else we’ll all be stagnating for lack of excitement.”
“Well, after these eight years of fermentation, stagnation is just now the special estate to which I aspire.”
“So? Well, Richard here prefers the estate of matrimony. Is it not true, my lad?” And from the sofa Richard’s eyes said yes; whereupon the old lady went on, nodding her head with mock solemnity, “And since one of you wants stagnation and one wants matrimony, I am not so sure but that you are of the same mind, for some folk find these things of a piece. And so, miss, you may have come around to Richard’s way of thinking after all.”
And seeing Joscelyn stiffen, Richard was sorry that the conversation had taken such a personal turn; for the two had come in to pay him a visit. That was one thing that troubled him—she never came by herself; always it was her mother or Betty or Janet Cameron she brought with her as though she feared to trust herself alone with him, wishing, perchance, to hear no more of his love-making. And even with these others she came so seldom. He could not go to her, for the hard rough journey home had racked his arm and set the fever to throbbing again in his blood, and he must remain quiet, or dire consequences were threatened.
But one February night, when she had stayed away several days, and the longing in his breast grew unbearable, he sent for her. The wind without howled like some hungry creature seeking its prey, and the white-fingered spirit of the snowstorm tapped weirdly at his window. But he gave it no heed; storm or shine, he must see her this night of all others; and so a word of entreaty was sent across the street. She came at once, a brilliant apparition in a scarlet shawl over which the snow lay powdered in shining crystals; on her lips and in her eyes the smile of which he had dreamed in the copper and crimson sunsets on the prison-ship. He gathered her cold hands into his feverish ones.
“You knew I must see you this night?”
“Yes; I felt you would send for me, for I knew we were thinking of the same things.”