Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 (22 page)

 
          
Cecil
made no answer, but seemed lost in wonderment, till Yorke, observing how pale
and heavy-eyed she looked, said kindly, “Have you, too, been ill? I asked for
you every day, and Hester always gave a good report. Is anything amiss? Tell
me, child.”

 
          
“I
am not ill, and nothing is amiss except that I do not sleep, owing to want of
exercise, perhaps.”

 
          
“This
must be mended; I’ll give you sleep tonight, and tomorrow we will have a long
drive together.”

 
          
Going
to an ancient cabinet, he took from it a quaint flask, poured a few drops of
some dark liquid into a tiny glass, and mingling it with water, brought it to
her.

 
          
“It
is bitter, but it will bring you deep and dreamless sleep.
Drink,
little wakeful spirit, drink and rest.”

 
          
Without
offering to take the glass, she bent and drank, not the first bitter draft his
hand had given her.

 
          
“I
think you would drink hemlock without a question if I gave it to you,” he said,
smiling at her mute obedience.

 
          
“I
think I should. But I asked no questions now because I knew that this was
laudanum. Mamma used it when in pain, and I have often tasted it, playing that
I made it sweet for her.”

 
          
Yorke
turned hastily away as if to replace the flask and cup, and when he spoke again
he was his gravest self. “Go now, and sleep, Cecil. Tomorrow the old quiet life
shall begin again.”

 
          
It
did begin again, and week after week, month after month passed in the same
monotonous seclusion. They went nowhere, saw scarcely anyone; Yorke’s genius
was almost unknown, Cecil’s beauty blooming unseen; and so the year rolled
slowly by.

GOSSIP

 
          
PUTTING
his head into the studio where Cecil was at work as usual, and Yorke lounged on
the sofa in a most unwonted fit of indolence, “Mrs. Norton’s compliments, and
can she see the master for a few minutes?” said Anthony.

 
          
“Alfred’s mother!
What next? I’ll come, Tony,” answered the
master, turning to observe the effect of this announcement upon the girl.

 
          
But
she scarcely seemed to have heard the question or answer, and went on smoothing
the rounded limbs of a slender Faun, with an aspect of entire absorption.

 
          
“What
an artist I have made of her, if a lump of clay is more interesting than the
news of her first lover,” thought her guardian, as he left the room with a
satisfied smile.

 
          
Since
Alfred’s disappointment, there had been a breach between the neighbors, and his
mother discontinued the friendly calls she had been wont to make since Cecil
came. She was a gray-haired, gracious lady, with much of her son’s frankness
and warmth of manner. After a few moments spent in general inquiries, she said,
with some embarrassment but with her usual directness, “Mr. Yorke, I have felt
it my duty to come and tell you certain things, of which I think you should be
informed without delay. You lead such a secluded life that you are not likely
to hear any of the injurious rumors that are rife concerning Cecil and
yourself. They are but natural, for any appearance of mystery or peculiarity
always excites curiosity and gossip, and as a woman and a neighbor, I venture
to warn you of them, because I take a deep interest in the girl, both for her
own sake and my son’s.”

 
          
“I
thank you, Mrs. Norton, and I beg you will speak freely. I am entirely ignorant
of these rumors, though I know that tattling tongues find food for scandal in
the simplest affairs.”

 
          
The
guest saw that the subject was distasteful to her host, but steadily continued,
“While she was a child, the relationship of guardian and ward was all
sufficient; but now that she is a woman, and so beautiful a woman, it strikes
outside observers that you are too young a man to be her sole companion. It is known
that you live here together with no society, few friends, and those chiefly
gentlemen; that you have neither governess nor housekeeper, only an old female
servant. Cecil goes nowhere, and never walks without yourself or Anthony; while
her beauty attracts so much attention that interest and curiosity are
unavoidably aroused and increased by the peculiarity of her life. It would be a
trying task to repeat the reports and remarks that have come to me; you can
imagine them, and feel how much pain they cause me, although I know them to be
utterly groundless and unjust.”

 
          
Intense
annoyance was visible in Yorke’s face, as he listened and answered haughtily,
“Those who know me will need no denial of these absurd rumors. I care nothing
for the idle gossip of strangers, nor does Cecil, being too innocent to dream
that such things exist.”

 
          
“But
you know it, sir, and you know that a man may defy public opinion, and pass
scatheless, a woman must submit and walk warily, if she would keep her name
unsullied by the breath of slander. A time may come when she will learn this,
and reproach you with unfaithfulness to your charge, if you neglect to surround
her with the safeguards which she is, as yet, too innocent to know that she
needs.”

 
          
Mrs.
Norton spoke earnestly, and her maternal solicitude for the motherless girl
touched Yorke’s heart, for he had one, though he had done his best to starve
and freeze it. His manner softened, his eye grew anxious, and he asked, with
the air of one convinced in spite of
himself
, “What
would you have me do? I sincerely desire to be faithful to my duty, but I begin
to fear that I have undertaken more than I can perform.”

 
          
“May
I suggest that the presence of a respectable gentlewoman in your house would
most effectually silence busy tongues, and might be a great advantage to Miss
Stein, who must spffer for the want of female society?”

 
          
“I
have tried that plan and it failed too entirely to make me willing to repeat
the experiment.”

 
          
A
slight flush on Yorke’s dark cheek and a disdainful curl of the lips told the
keen-eyed lady as plainly as words that the cause of the dismissal of a former
governess had been too much devotion to the guardian, too little to the ward.
Mrs. Norton was silent a moment, and then said, with some hesitation, “May I
ask you a very frank question, Mr. Yorke?”

 
          
“Your
interest in Cecil gives you a right to ask anything, madam,” he replied, bowing
with the grace of manner which he could assume at will.

 
          
“Then
let me inquire if you intend to make this girl your wife, at some future time?”

 
          
“Nothing
can be further from my intentions” was the brief but decided reply.

 
          
“Pardon
me; Alfred received an impression that you were educating her for that purpose,
and I hoped it might be so. I can suggest nothing else, unless some other
gentleman is permitted to give the protection of his name and home. My poor boy
still loves her, in spite of absence, time, and efforts to forget; he is still
eager to win her, and I would gladly be a mother to the sweet girl. Is there no
hope for him?”

 
          
“None,
I assure you. She loves nothing but her art, as I just had an excellent proof;
for when you were announced, and your sons name mentioned, she seemed to hear
nothing, remember nothing, but worked on, undisturbed.”

 
          
Mrs.
Norton rose, disappointed and disheartened by the failure of her mission.

 
          
“I
have ventured too far, perhaps, but it seemed a duty, and I have performed it
as best I could. I shall not intrude again, but I earnestly entreat you to
think of this, for the girl’s sake, and take immediate steps to contradict
these injurious rumors. Call upon me freely, if I can aid you in any way, and
assure Cecil that I am still her friend, although I may have seemed estranged
since Alfred’s rejection.”

 
          
Yorke
thanked her warmly, promised to give the matter his serious consideration, and
bade her adieu, with a grateful respect that won her heart, in spite of sundry
prejudices against him.

 
          
As
the door closed behind her, he struck his hands impatiently together, saying to
himself
, “I might have known it would be so! Why did I
keep the child until I cannot do without her, forgetting that she would become
a woman, and bring trouble as inevitably as before? I’ll not have another
companion to beset me with the romantic folly I’ve forsworn; neither will I
marry Cecil to silence these malicious gossips; 111 take her away from here,
and in some quiet place we will find the old peace, if possible.”

 
          
In
pursuance of this purpose, he announced that he was going away upon business
that might detain him several days, and after many directions, warnings, and
misgivings, he went. He was gone a week, for the quiet place was not easily
found, and while he looked, he saw and heard enough to convince him that Mrs.
Norton was right. He took pains to gather, from various sources, the reports to
which she had alluded, and was soon in a fever of indignation and disgust. Her
words haunted him; he soon saw clearly the wrong he had been doing Cecil, felt
that his present plan would but increase it, and was assured that one of two
things must be done without delay, either provide her with a chaperon or marry
her himself, for he rebelled against the idea of giving her to any other. The
chaperon was the wisest but most disagreeable expedient, for well he knew that
a third person, however discreet and excellent, would destroy the seclusion and
freedom which he loved so well, and had enjoyed so long. It was in every
respect repugnant to him, and he believed it would be to Cecil also. The other
plan to
his own
surprise did not seem so impossible or
distasteful, and the more he thought of it, the more attractive it became.
Nothing need be changed except her name, slander would be silenced, and her
society secured to him for life. But would she consent to such a marriage? He
recalled with pleasure the expression of her face when she went to him, saying,
“I will never leave you, my dear master, never”; and half regretted that he had
checked the growth of the softer sentiment, which seemed about to take the
place of her childish affection. He did not love her as a husband should, but
he felt how sweet it was to be beloved, knew that she was happy with him, and
longed to keep his little ward, at any cost, to himself.

 
          
Still
undecided, but full of new and not unpleasurable fancies, he hurried home,
feeling a strong curiosity to know how Cecil would regard this proposition
should he make it. No one ran to meet him, as he entered, no one called out a
glad welcome, and the young face that used to brighten when he came was nowhere
visible.

 
          
“Where
is Miss Cecil?” he asked of Hester.

 
          
“In
the garden, master,” she answered, with a significant nod, that sent him to the
nearest window that opened on the garden.

 
          
Cecil
was walking here with Alfred, and Yorke’s face darkened ominously, as a jealous
fear assailed him that she was about to solve the question for herself. He eyed
her keenly, but her face was half averted, and he could see that she listened
intently to her companion, who talked rapidly, and with an expression that made
his handsome face more eloquent than his ardent voice.

 
          
“Cecil!”
called Yorke sharply, unwilling to prolong a scene that angered him, more than
he would confess even to himself.

 
          
Alfred
looked up, bowed with a haughty, half-defiant air, said a few words to Cecil,
and leaped the wall again. But she, after one glance upward, went in so slowly
that her guardian chafed at the delay, and when at length she came to him with
a cold handclasp, and a tranquil “Home so soon?” he answered, almost harshly,
“Too soon, perhaps. Why do I find that boy here? I thought he was away again.”

 
          
“He
is going soon, and came because he could not keep away, he said. Poor Alf, I
wish he did not care for me so much.”

 
          
While
she was speaking, Yorke examined her with a troubled look, for that brief absence
made him quick to see the changes a year had wrought, unobserved till now.
Something was gone that once made her beauty a delight to heart as well as eye;
some nameless but potent charm that gave warmth, grace, and tenderness to her
dawning womanhood. He felt it, and for the first time found a flaw in what he
had thought faultless until now. There was no time to analyze the feeling, for
drawing away the hand he had detained, she brought him from her desk three
letters, directed to
herself
, in a man’s bold writing.

 
          
“Germain!”
exclaimed Yorke, as his eye fell on them. “Has he dared to write, when he swore
he would not? Have you read them?”

 
          
She
turned them in his hand, and showed the seals unbroken. A flash of pleasure
banished the disquiet from his face, and there was no harshness in his voice as
he asked, “How did they come? I forbade Tony to receive any communication he
might venture to make.”

 
          
“Tony
knows nothing of them. One came in a bouquet, which was tossed over the wall
the very day you went; one was brought by a carrier dove soon afterward; the
bird came pecking at my window, and thinking it was hurt, I took it in; the
third was thrust into my hand by someone whom I did not see, as I was walking
with Hester yesterday. I suspected who they were from, and did not open them,
because I promised not to listen to this man.”

 
          
“Rare obedience in a woman!
Have you no wish to see them?
Will you give me leave to look at them before I burn them?”

 
          
“Do
what you
like,
I care nothing for them now.”