Originally published in Harper's New Monthly Magazine (Harper and Brothers) vol.18 #108 (May 1859).
It is good for the young heart when it finds one whom it can love and reverence with single and unfeigned trust; better still, when a great and living kindness establishes a bond of obligation which the favored one may acknowledge by the continually outspoken gratitude of daily service. Mrs. Margaret Wood, an excellent spinster past the prime of her age, had acquired her matronly title—not often bestowed upon single ladies in this country—by the dignity of her character and circumstances, and by the praiseworthy and protective benevolence of her disposition. I have known her many years, at first by observation, when she was to me like the bright star far away in the cool depths of evening; afterward I was permitted to approach her for blessing and comfort, as men draw closer to the cheerful and beneficial fire upon the hearthstone when the night is dark and the weather is chill. And thus it was:
After months of painful watching and much sorrow my mother and I were left alone in the great world—what a weary vastness it seemed! My mother had a pretty talent for fancy-work; I was well instructed and tolerably skilled in music; and we thought that with our little property and our pleasant industry we could do well in the city. It was the old story, illustrated too often by living examples to need repeating. Our recommendations were not of the sort to secure valuable patronage; we lost opportunities of helping ourselves through timidity and lack of enterprise, and we suffered on in daily bondage of spirit to the increased expenses of living, while our tedious waiting grew into fearful, hopeless waiting, and a sick despair crushed my dear mother down into the very grave.
Just opposite our tenement, that was small but respectable—my mother said two lone women should have due regard to appearances—was a large and handsome establishment which, to begin with, filled our prospect; and, as we grew acquainted with the various indications of its domestic arrangements, insensibly gained much of our attention.
We learned in time about its inhabitants, as interested observers will. I hope we were not blamably curious; it certainly did us a great deal of good to think of something besides ourselves. So we waited with a childlike pleasure every day for the hour when Mrs. Margaret appeared for a walk or drive, and we thought it specially fortunate if she stopped on the pavement to speak with a passer-by, or went out upon a terrace where a few plants tried to grow in the cool shade—it was bitter to think that human beings were struggling in the same way—for then Mrs. Margaret would always glance up at our windows, just as if her poor, pale blossoms reminded her of our existence.
My mother had not been able to sit by the window for many weeks, and, as my place had been at her bedside during that period, we had ceased to see and almost to think of Mrs. Margaret, and it was for a moment as if a stranger had entered when she suddenly made her appearance in our parlor one day. She had heard we were sick, and therefore came. She asked me a few questions, nodded little sharp answers, and from that time seemed to understand us as well as if she had known us from childhood. To be sure a few general facts were enough, for we were plain, simple persons, and easily comprehended. Her continued friendship was the dayspring of consolation: alike we needed it, the living and the dying.
It was all over, the suffering of the dear departed one, the first agony of sorrow, the visits of the undertaker, the bustling services of attendants, the funeral; and I sat alone in the forsaken parlor, compelling my mind, so tossed and smitten, to some practical consideration of the future. My bills paid, and I had but ten dollars, a scanty wardrobe, and the world before me, yet nothing in it I might choose. In dismay I uttered some wrong and bitter words, and was shocked that they had reached the ears of Mrs. Margaret, who stood unexpectedly beside me.
She spoke kindly. "My dear little Lettice, you must not think of dying now, for I have set my heart on having you live with me. I never envied any body but the parents of good children, and I have heard much of your filial love and duty. Heaven has not given me a natural claim to the blessed title of mother, but your mother told me that for her sake you would be to me as a daughter. Will you? Will you come to my arms, Lettice?"
"For her sake, and for yours!" I cried, throwing myself upon her loving breast, where lay in convulsive weeping. Mrs. Margaret's tears fell also upon my cheek. Presently she took me to her own house.
Lettice Gray was soon at home in the grand old mansion, like one born there. She found no fictitious display to intimidate her inexperience. The tone of the establishment was graduated on principles of utility, fallen a little into disuse at the present day, she has since found. The richly-carved mahogany furniture was disposed for comfort and convenience, somewhat oddly, perhaps; the thick curtains and carpets kept out the cold, the abundant plate and old painted china had no recognized value in point of ostentation, but at all times adorned the table with its sober glitter.
And Lettice soon found her employment. Mrs. Margaret was not exacting. Such portions of the mornings as she spent at home were passed in the library, where Lettice often read aloud, a new book sometimes, but more frequently selections from the English classics. Several hours before dinner were occupied by plain sewing, and the evening was enlivened with music, which Mrs. Margaret greatly admired. All this was pleasant to Lettice, who loved books, her old songs, and the routine of quiet industry.
There was but little variety in the household, and no company, if I except the regular visits of Mrs. Margaret's nephew and foster-son, who was reckoned at home with us, although, to meet with more facility his engagements of business, he lived elsewhere. He always dined with us on Sundays, and took tea in our large and stately parlor once or twice a week besides. Mr. Herbert Eldred, a very handsome gentleman, not quite thirty years of age, was well educated and sensible. Mrs. Margaret said that he was prosperous in his affairs, and that he possessed consideration and accomplishments that obtained for him a good reception in the best society. But I cared more for his agreeable home qualities. His visits were the events and epochs of the week, both because of his own vigorous, inspiriting presence, and that he brought with him new periodicals, or music, or a popular book; in short, something always that infused a freer, fresher element into our life, that otherwise might have become somewhat stagnant and morbid. He had a pleasant, cultivated voice, which he was fond of exercising, partly. since it gratified Mrs. Margaret; so it happened that our concerts, as we called our enjoyable rehearsals, came to be an understood thing, and always followed the removal of the tea-table. We sung until Mrs. Margaret fell asleep, when Mr. Eldred would ask me to play something soft and low, if I pleased, just to keep up the soothing sound of the instrument, when he would read or more frequently write letters, until the dear old lady awoke with many apologies, which made us all laugh as she had to repeat them so often.
After a few months of this sort of living, Mrs. Margaret afforded us a change by dispensing with her evening nap. She seemed a little anxious and restless, and an indefinable something in her manner diffused a feeling of constraint upon our trio. This was especially so whenever Herbert brought me music, or noticed me more than usual, or if I said a great deal to him in a familiar way, which our long acquaintance and his kindness seemed to authorize. This vague pressure upon our movements was rather a matter of feeling than explanation. I had an instinctive sense of its locality, and soon learned to prevent the causes of derangement; so that we were very happy, only Mrs. Margaret did not appear inclined to sleep while Herbert remained.
One evening Mr. Eldred spoiled every thing by bringing a set of jet ornaments, which he presented to me. They were very beautiful, and Mrs. Margaret had said only two evenings before that she wished me to have them; but she was much displeased to see them coming in the way they did, so that I could not tell whether I ought to accept them or not, and was greatly embarrassed, and doubtless looked very foolish. Mrs. Margaret was then more kind, and told me to receive them from her, and that Herbert had only anticipated her orders a little—she should have given him special directions about them in a day or two. Mr. Eldred insisted upon slipping the bracelets over my hand, and as he did so said something complimentary about contrasted colors and the like; whereupon Mrs. Margaret rung the bell energetically to order the tea brought in. When it was over, she suddenly recollected that she had omitted sending some promised jellies to a sick woman, who lived in a narrow lane not far from our house; and she gave me directions for making up a basket of nice things, and finally begged me to go with the servant to see if the invalid required more substantial attention. This was altogether an irregular proceeding in our household, and could be explained only on the supposition that Mrs. Margaret desired a private conference with Herbert without using the formality of requesting it. I felt annoyed and intrusive, and was only too glad to escape for a while into the free night air.
When I returned Mrs. Margaret looked very happy and contented; we had music as usual. After Mr. Eldred had gone the. dear old lady talked with me a great while, for it required so long for her to get at the point without implying any thing unkind and offensive.
You have imagined, courteous reader, that she feared it would happen with Herbert and me, as it so often does with young people in close proximity. She told me how she had cared for her nephew from his infancy; that he was to her as a son; that he would be her heir; and then she spoke of his future, which, in some important respects, was yet undetermined. She wished him to make a suitable marriage, but the conditions of fitness were so arbitrary and numerous it seemed that nothing short of a miracle would constitute them realities. Herbert possessed ability, family, and wealth, and had been formed and refined by a public education and foreign travel. It was necessary that his wife should have shared in all these advantages, besides exhibiting the more subtle adaptation of temper and spirit to his own.
"In brief, that they love each other," said I.
"More than that. People can always love each other when their tastes and circumstances correspond. The proper way is to keep the fancy free until the judgment approves, when it is safe to listen to inclination. You see, dear Lettice, that I want you to consider Herbert just as a brother. You are both my dear foster-children, and when he has chosen him a wife you will have a sister. Does that please you, my child?"
Mrs. Margaret held my hands, and sent a piercing gaze through my eyes into my inmost soul. I met her gaze fearlessly, for it did me good to have her talk so explicitly in order to clear away the shadows of suspicion that had darkened our atmosphere somewhat.
"It does please me entirely," I replied, fervently. "I ask only to be loved and trusted by you, and to know how I can make you happy."
"My darling Lettice"—I lay in the dear, kind lady's arms—"you are plain and unpretending, but you are good and lovable. I will provide for your future. You will be happier with me than in a situation too brilliant and exacting for your previous training and quiet abilities. What will you say?"
"Only my great thanks. You have chosen for me as I would for myself."
After that, for a long time, Mrs. Margaret was quite at ease. Herbert was kind and sincere, but uttered no compliments. Had my good friend seen all my heart she would have feared no treacherous romance beneath her roof; nor yet, could she have heard my unwearied prayer, sent up night and morning, during five long years, in behalf of one who had left me for an unknown fate—of one who could not be living, and who yet must not be dead: so said my poor heart, that prayed unweariedly night and morning against reason, almost against hope and faith, beseeching the good Lord, with earnest cry, to succor, help, and comfort all who are in danger, necessity, and tribulation; to preserve all who travel by land or by water, and to show pity upon all prisoners and captives; for who can tell, hope pleaded, but that somewhere on this wide earth he yet lives, longing for a blessed release that he may return to break the silence of years with the story of his misfortunes and sufferings. Thus my faith received a little strength, and sent up still its unwearied prayer.
Almost always, as men and women advance beyond the maturity of life, they seek some compensation for the decay of physical force in a more intimate contact with the freshness and vigor of nature. Thus Mrs. Margaret, wearied of the monotony of her systematized town residence, where nothing but heat and cold indicated the passing seasons, fancied her idyl somewhere among our New England hills and vales, and pictured the combined attractions of great trees and running water, the broad blue sky and clover meadows, the lowing of herds and the peeping of young fowls, the fragrance of orchards, and gardens of lavender and thyme, sage and rue. Our pastoral enthusiasm ran high all winter, and our wishes took such a positive direction that, when spring came, Herbert was assiduously engaged in locating Mrs. Margaret with all her rural anticipations. I omit the prosy details of preliminaries and removal, and pass at once to Elton Corner, where Herbert had found an estate, which, in most respects, suited Mrs. Margaret, and whither we went on a smiling May day.
A portion of the house, containing the parlors, dining-room, and the airy chambers above, was quite modern; while attached to these, in picturesque connection, was the commodious remnant of a quaint and roomy structure, the preservation of which added greatly to the domestic convenience of our household. We had the projected garden well stocked with all desirable fruits and herbs, the orchard full of music and swelling buds; a terrace of green sward, where we could set the parlor roses and geraniums in the summer; the runlet, which rushed or tinkled according as it was high or low, and a row of maples on either side of the public road, extending as far as we cared to walk without the formality of usual outer coverings. It seemed that we should be very happy. There was at first a great deal of pleasant labor. Herbert would spend his long summer vacation at Elton Corner; then would succeed the gorgeous, dreamy beauty of autumn, beyond which I would not anticipate; for I dreaded inexpressibly the unbroken, solitary winter, the heaviness of storm-imprisoning weeks, and, above all, the invariable loneliness of Sundays. I feared that Mrs. Margaret's philosophy would not be a satisfactory substitute for our usual visitor even for herself, much less for another.
Elton Corner was not a village, only a loose cluster of houses so wide apart that the most adventurous chickens were rarely able to trespass on a neighbor's supply of grubs. The inhabitants, like their dwellings, exhibited no conspicuous characteristics; accordingly, in the egotism of our own engagements, we scarcely thought of them at all. Southward from the windows of my room there was visible a broad, low farm cottage, against a back-ground of glistening mulberry-trees. As the position was pretty and the edifice quaint, I was tempted to essay a pencil-sketch of it, which Mrs, Margaret was pleased to admire and to hang just over her writing-table in a scraggy frame of larch cones. This picture excited our interest in the cottage, and we used to watch it analytically every time we went by in our chaise. We had not discovered any thing particularly entertaining or remarkable, either in the garden or large yard, or in the two little children who were always playing under the mulberry-trees a good ways from the road, until, one day, when they came down to swing on the gate, close by which we passed. Their sun-bonnets were thrown back, and revealed such wonderful childish beauty as I could not believe existed save in the fancy of artists and poets. Those little upturned faces were exquisitely human and rich in bloom, by no means suggesting conventional cherubs, and a prospective translation from this to more congenial celestial abodes. They looked as indigenous to their homes as the straggling bouquets which their pretty fingers clasped, made up of clover, buttercups, and dandelions, the rude sweetness and gayety of our New England fields. Mrs. Margaret, who is always attracted by children, guided our fat, lazy horse close up to the gate to make the acquaintance of such pleasant neighbors, when I saw that the elder girl was much more beautiful than her sister, and that lurking somewhere in her full lips, violet eyes, and bright brown hair was an expression that irresistibly reminded me of one of the angels in the Sistine Madonna. So I loved the child from my heart henceforth.
Mrs. Margaret was a diplomatist in her own way, and she soon became very popular with Mr. and Mrs. Branch, the owners of the cottage, and with the children, whom she privately called the little Twigs. We had a long stool placed in the chaise at our feet, whereon the Twigs rode when we trotted along the highways and by-ways, and proved themselves very agreeable and well-behaved companions, and not communicative beyond the capacity of their observation and memory.
One day their heads were nearly turned with news in prospect of a summer boarder, who was to have the parlor and the best bedroom leading out of it for everyday use. It was to be a lady from Boston, in all respects worthy of such resplendent accommodations. Mr. Hendrick had been there to make these arrangements, and Mrs. Hendrick would follow in a day or two.
"That is all very nice. We will make her acquaintance if we like her," said Mrs. Margaret to me.
Mrs. Hendrick abundantly satisfied the condition of our favor, and with the brevity of prelude which the country air authorizes, we established.a familiarity that promised the reciprocal advantage of good company in a locality that had little experience of the refinements of town life. Mrs. Hendrick charmed me at once. She was stylish in her plain French prints and ginghams; she was thoroughly well-bred to the last in all the provoking contrarieties and the apologetic fatigues of country-rambles; she evidenced by a fascinating indirectness a high culture and wide observation; but, above all, she touched my heart by the strange sweetness of her smile, and by an occasional deep cadence that reminded me of more in my far away past than it would be well for me here to write.
About this time Herbert made a most delightful accession to our society, and introduced an indescribable geniality into our household, with the only drawback that he must leave us with the summer sun. Butterflies, perhaps, would not always flit from flower to flower if they could think of the coming snows. I resolved, like them, to be happy in the warmth and gladness of the to-day.
"How fortunate it is that Mrs. Hendrick is a married lady!" remarked Mrs. Margaret, confidentially to me. "Mr. Herbert could not help falling in love at once. Sentiment is so apt to run away with young heads in the country."
"If you think her so lovable, we ought rather to be sorry that she is not free, for granted that Herbert should have a wife, whom could he find better than one like Mrs. Hendrick?"
"You are very sensible there," returned Mrs. Margaret, meditatively. "I have nearly resolved to adopt Mrs. Hendrick as my standard for the future Mrs. Eldred, or rather, as the basis of my ideal prospective niece, for Mrs. Hendrick has two or three little faults."
There succeeded a silence, during which I pondered whether Mrs. Margaret ever included in her ambitious calculations for my brother any estimate of the mighty force of that love which, wherever it exists between married persons, as in all other human intercourse, will hide a multitude of shortcomings. I wondered very much if Herbert looked forth upon the same artificial future with the life of living left out. Mrs. Margaret commenced talking.
"I am a believer in family resemblances, dear Lettice. Sisters and cousins are often much alike in essential characteristics. Mrs. Hendrick pleases me so well, I would fain have you make such inquiries of her as courtesy will permit in reference to her family, in which we may find somebody for our Herbert."
Mrs. Margaret, thoroughly exhausted from the gardening and drive of the morning, always slept two or three hours after an early dinner, which time I happily spent with Mrs. Hendrick, generally under the maple or mulberry trees, with any variety of plan our caprice suggested. On the earliest opportunity—for our vagabond Herbert had a habit of taking us in his way when he strolled off with his gun or geological hammer, or his indefinite seven-league boots, and contrived to stay as long as I did; and lest he should lack ability to make his presence desirable, he always brought a racy new book in his pocket, and sat reading by our feet, while we knitted and sewed. It was wonderful how quietly and easily we got on, just as if we had all been real brother and sisters! As I was saying, on the earliest opportunity I talked with Mrs. Hendrick about her family, as best I might, and found out something which seemed to my surprised delight like a resurrection from the dead, like the opening of the skies. She was the friend and cousin-german of Robert Harrington, the lost one for whom I prayed unweariedly night and morning. This discovery bound us very closely together. She had heard somewhat of me from Robert, and knew that I had been greatly loved. How I hung upon her lips for that deep-toned cadence! How I compelled my sad heart to the invention of amusing conceits that I might catch the rare beauty of that smile again and again!
But I found nothing wherewith to encourage Mrs. Margaret. There was not a floating sister or female cousin among all the Harringtons. I did not think it worth while to trouble her with my dead past.
As our acquaintance advanced, and the weather grew warmer, Herbert laid aside his pretentious excuses of sport and science, which had incurred the satirical notice of Mrs. Hendrick, and accompanied me in a straightforward manner whenever I went to Branch Cottage. As soon as Mrs. Margaret retired for her siesta I found my hempen reticule, in which there was always plenty of work, and Herbert also, who always stood waiting, and went with him under the maple-trees till we met Mrs. Hendrick and the little Twigs, who were always expecting us. If it was not too warm, we diversified our encampments beneath the mulberry-trees by a walk. The Twigs showed us a green, clover-flecked lane, which led us to an inclosure of woodland, in the midst of which, at the bottom of a curved dale, we met our runlet strayed, gliding along very quietly between mossy, slimy banks, and beneath the solemn shadows of thick summer foliage. In that untrampled retirement we found rich aromatic odors, pale flowers, brilliant fungi, and fairy-like ferns; and, better still, two low granite boulders that just supplied our party with rest, while we could look over into a broad, clear pool which the runlet stopped to make, and smooth our hair, or define the tints and study the design of the pebbled mosaic revealed below.
One day, when we were all going down the lane, the Twigs being very frolicsome, my Sistine angel turned an awkward and unwilling somersault off a bank, and tore her dress disastrously. I bade my friends go on, and staid to repair the damage as best I might with the materials in my reticule; after which, with a noticeably chastened temper on the part of the Twigs, we hastened quietly along the soft, turfy path to the pool. I was thus the unexpected witness of a tableau that flashed a world of meaning to my deepest soul, and made me tremble in every limb. Herbert sat at the feet of Mrs. Hendrick, holding her hand, and looking up into her face as only lovers can; while she bent over him, and with her free hand caressed his hair. A glance was enough. With the quickness of thought I turned and called loudly to the Twigs. When we advanced together to our companions that burning transfiguration had faded—they sat conversing as friend with friend.
The horrible spectacle that I had seen almost crazed me, filling my body even with uncontrollable agitation, which I strove vainly to hide by continual movement. I vexed the placid waters of the pool with tossing pebbles. I made little garlands and scattered them pettishly, and ground the juicy herbs into the soil with my foot.
The Twigs avoided me, and hovered around Mrs. Hendrick, who, laughing, said I was bewitched with a spirit of restlessness. It made me angry to hear her. I almost hated her, the unscrupulous, the sorceress! Herbert sent troubled glances at me, as if he conjectured what I had seen. It was wholly a miserable afternoon. I complained of headache. Herbert proposed a return, to which I gladly assented; and having conducted Mrs. Hendrick and the little children to Branch Cottage, we went home very early. I hastened to my room, called myself indisposed that I might have time to think, and did not go down again that night.
As I pondered the stupendous sin and shame that had betrayed themselves, I remembered that a shadow had been coming over Mrs. Margaret during the previous fortnight. Had any thing excited her suspicions, and was she watching and waiting for proof, and ought I to tell her what I knew? I had not regarded her trouble very much, partly because I had been so engrossed with my newer friend, and partly because a domestic cloud in the free life of the summer is less gloomy than when you are shut up with it by the winter fireside. I little thought the tempest would culminate on the morrow, and that the thunder-bolt would fall upon my head.
The morning was very dull. I was greatly distressed at dinner to hear Mrs. Margaret say every thing in praise of Mrs. Hendrick, while Herbert replied with that expression of tender and eager interest which the commendation of a loved object is sure to excite. I wondered at his ease and freedom of expression, and that he should be unsuspicious of a trap which Mrs. Margaret evidently laid for him. With what self-possession and clearness she also spoke! I alone was confused, and blundered.
When she had retired, as usual, Herbert asked me to go into the parlor; he wanted to talk with me. My poor head reeled in expectation of I knew not what. Herbert placed me on the sofa beside him.
"It is not necessary, dear Lettice, that I should discourse to you of my aunt's pet hobby. She wants me to marry a wife more perfect than the world has seen since Eve's temptation. It is not enough that I am suited; she fears-every delusion. Years ago I paid my incipient addresses in various quarters; but my slightest exhibition of preference excites a jealousy which blinds her to every perfection. I do not wish to displease her by:my marriage. I wish to satisfy myself. Let me tell you how I am endeavoring to manage my affair. Can you keep a profound secret?"
"If it is right."
"I pledge you my honor. Have I your promise?"
"Yes," I gasped; for I could not wholly distrust the open face into which I looked.
"For a few days only. I want your counsel. Last winter I met in society a beautiful, brilliant, and wealthy widow—Mrs. Hendrick."
Herbert looked curiously at me as he said this. I saw it all then, and laughed and cried hysterically. Herbert quieted me, and made me lean my poor tired, happy head upon his arm, while he went on: "I saw her frequently, and we loved each other. I did not know how to break the matter to my aunt. I could not bear to proceed without her approval. This Elton project suggested a contrivance. Her favor to my bride, if ever obtained, must be beguiled from her, not requested openly. Louisa's brother-in-law came hither to bespeak her rooms. Their supposed relationship, luckily, was taken for granted, and did not require an assertion. You know the rest. She has won my aunt's esteem as none have ever done, unless it is my dear Lettice here. I want you to help me break the secret to her. I am in a regular cul de sac, and must cut my way out somehow. Advise me with your wisdom."
We discussed twenty plans; but I was yet much confused, and requested time to think.
Herbert clasped me to his breast and kissed my cheek. "Only help me through this, and I will love you fondly all the days of my life!"
I suddenly felt a dreadful consciousness, and, raising my eyes, beheld Mrs. Margaret in the door-way, frowning like a fearful retribution. I sprang to my feet. She passed on.
"Good!" exclaimed Herbert, laughing.
"Unmitigatedly bad," said I, almost crying.
"I have an idea," said Herbert.
"I shall never have another," returned I, as I left the room, and following Mrs. Margaret to her chamber, determined to make peace; for I perceived how greatly she misunderstood Herbert and me. I was not admitted.
When I came down I saw Herbert under the maples going to Branch Cottage. I wandered about the house during the whole afternoon. Mrs. Margaret took tea in her room, but late in the evening she sent for me.
"Can you explain what I witnessed just after dinner?" inquired she, with a severity that made me tremble. I remembered my promise, and stammered, "I could if you would give me time. You will not be displeased when you know."
"I must be my own judge as to that. After all, your position was sufficiently significant. Make no excuse. Rise to your feet! Obedience is better than fawning. I requested your presence to let you know that the stage-coach will call at six to-morrow morning, by which you will travel to R—, a half-day's journey, and give a letter to my old friend, Mrs. Grant, who will treat you kindly until I make some farther disposition in your behalf. We will not protract our interview. You require every moment to prepare for your journey. The housekeeper will assist you." Thus, like a felon, I was sent from Mrs. Margaret and Elton Corner. I could only patiently wait the hour of reconciliation, which I knew must soon come.
I will not enlarge upon my temporary residence at R—, which can have no more interest for the reader than it had for me.
On the third day of my banishment the stagecoach drew up at the door, and Mrs. Margaret, alighting, marched with rapid strides into the sitting-room, where I was alone, and clasping me to her heart, wept over me tears of joy and filled my ears with self-accusations.
When we were more calm, Mrs. Margaret told me a long and minute story, from which I learned that matters had turned out very much as I had conjectured they might.
Herbert had taken advantage of the dear old lady's chagrin to introduce Mrs. Hendrick as an element of reconciliation and safety. After twenty-four hours' suspense, Mrs. Margaret resolved to be not only satisfied but delighted.
We went to Elton Corner on the next morning, where we had a festival of happiness that lasted many days. Mrs. Margaret sent Herbert to fit her town residence for the suitable reception of his bride. When he returned there was a quiet wedding at Elton Corner, the rolling of carriage-wheels, and Mrs. Margaret and I remained to meet the approaching autumn.
I can not believe that the world has a wonder more deserving of admiration than the glorious death of summer greenery in its brief acme of proud splendor as we see it in our New England, nor a spectacle more dispiriting than the sudden fading of the lavish diffusion of crimson and gold into the melancholy hues of crisp and ruined verdure. I had sufficient leisure to note these changes in the period that succeeded the festive departure of our friends, and if I had loved Mrs. Margaret less I should have been very miserable and desolate. On pleasant afternoons I used often to take the old walk to the pool. As I sat there one day foolish regrets subdued my courage. Light breezes stirred the tree-tops, and the dun leaves dropped in lazy showers, and I thought of "dead hopes falling" in like manner. The curled leaves rustled behind me. How is it that surprise and joy do not petrify and kill us? I saw Robert Harrington as if I beheld a vision—there was a chasm of oblivion, and I awoke to behold him a reality, older and worn with hardships, but otherwise unchanged.
We were not again separated. It is impossible to describe the beautiful love of Mrs. Margaret which illumines our daily life; it is even less easy to paint the serene happiness of our winter days and the delight and conscious peace of their long evenings, when Mrs. Margaret forgets to ask for the accustomed music as she listens during the flying hours to the wonderful and stirring adventures of our Ulysses.