CHAPTER XVII
IRENE MEETS RUSSELL
"Surely, Uncle Eric, there is room enough in this large, airy house of oursto accommodate my mother's brother! I thought it was fully settled that youwere to reside with us. There is no good reason why you should not.Obviously, we have a better claim upon you than anybody else; why doomyourself to the loneliness of a separate household? Reconsider the matter."
"Irene, I want a house of my own, to which I can feel privileged to invitesuch guests, such companions as I deem congenial, irrespective of the fiatsof would-be social autocrats, and the social ostracism of certain cliques."
She was silent a moment, but met his keen look without the slightestembarrassment, and yet when she spoke he knew, from her eyes and voice,that she fully comprehended his meaning.
"Of course, it is a matter which you must determine for yourself. You arethe best judge of what conduces to your happiness; but I am sorry, verysorry, Uncle Eric, that, in order to promote it, you feel it necessary toremove from our domestic circle. I shall miss you painfully."
He looked pained, puzzled, and irresolute; but she smiled, and swept herfingers over the bars of her bird-cage, toying with its golden-throatedinmate.
"Have you any engagement for this morning?"
"None, sir. What can I do for you?"
"If you feel disposed, I shall be glad to have you accompany me to town; Iwant your assistance in selecting a set of china for my new home. Will yougo?"
A shadow drifted over the colourless tranquil face, as she said sadly--
"Uncle Eric, is it utterly useless for me to attempt to persuade you torelinquish this project, and remain with us?"
"Utterly useless, my dear child."
"I will get my bonnet, and join you at the carriage."
Very near the cottage formerly occupied by Mrs. Aubrey stood a small brickhouse, partially concealed by poplar and sycamore trees, and surrounded bya neat, well-arranged flower-garden. This was the place selected andpurchased by the cripple for his future home. Mr. Huntingdon had opposedthe whole proceeding, and invited his brother-in-law to reside with him;but beneath the cordial surface the guest felt that other sentiments rolleddeep and strong. He had little in common with his sister's husband, andonly a warm and increasing affection for his niece now induced him tosettle in W----. Some necessary repairs had been made, some requisitearrangements completed regarding servants, and to-day the finishing toucheswere given to the snug little bachelor establishment. When it was apparentthat no arguments would avail to alter the decision, Irene ceased to speakof it, and busied herself in various undertakings to promote her uncle'scomfort. She made pretty white curtains for his library windows, knittedbright-coloured worsted lamp-mats, and hemmed and marked the contents ofthe linen-closet. The dining-room pantry she took under her special charge,and at the expiration of ten days, when the master took formal possession,she accompanied him, and enjoyed the pleased surprise with which hereceived her donation of cakes, preserves, ketchups, pickles, etc., etc.,neatly stowed away on the spotless shelves.
"What do those large square boxes in the hall contain?"
"Books which I gathered in Europe and selected in New York; among them manyrare old volumes, which you have never seen. Come down next Monday, andhelp me to number and shelve them; afterward, we will read them together.Lay aside your bonnet, and spend the evening with me."
"No, I must go back; Hugh sent me word that he would bring company to tea."
He took her hand, and drew her close to his chair, saying gently--
"Ah, Irene! I wish I could keep you always. You would be happier here, inthis little unpretending home of mine, than presiding as mistress over thatgreat palatial house on the hill yonder."
He kissed her fingers tenderly, and, taking her basket she left him alonein his new home.
A few weeks passed without incident; Hugh went to New Orleans to visitfriends, and Mr. Huntingdon was frequently absent at the plantation.
One day he expressed the desire that Judge Harris's family should dine withhim, and added several gentlemen, "to make the party merry." Irene promptlyissued the invitations, suppressing the reluctance which filled her heart;for the young people were not favourites, and she dreaded Charlie's setspeeches and admiring glances, not less than his mother's endlessdisquisitions on fashion and the pedigree of all the best families of W----and its vicinage. Grace had grown up very pretty, highly accomplished,even-tempered, gentle-hearted, but full of her mother's fashionablenotions, and, withal, rather weak and frivolous. She and Irene wereconstantly thrown into each other's society, but no warmth of feelingexisted on either side. Grace could not comprehend her companion'scharacter, and Irene wearied of her gay, heedless chit-chat. As the latteranticipated, the day proved very tiresome; the usual complement of musicwas contributed by Grace, the expected quantity of flattering nothingsgracefully uttered by her brother, the customary amount of execrable punshanded around the circle for patronage and Irene gave the signal fordinner. Mr. Huntingdon prided himself on his fine wines, and, after thedecanters had circulated freely, the gentlemen grew garrulous asmarket-women.
Irene was gravely discussing the tariff question with Mr. Herbert Blackwell(whom Mrs. Harris pronounced the most promising young lawyer of heracquaintance), and politely listening to his stereotyped reasoning, when ascrap of conversation at the opposite end of the table, attracted herattention.
"Huntingdon, my dear fellow, I tell you I never made a mistake in my life,when reading people's minds; and if Aubrey has not the finest legalintellect in W----, I will throw up my judgeship. You have seen Campbell, Isuppose? He returned last week, and, by the way, I half-expected to meethim to-day; well, I was talking to him about Aubrey, and he laughed hisdroll, chuckling laugh, snapped his bony fingers in my face; and said--
"'Aye! aye, Harris, let him alone; hands off! and I will wager my newoffice against your old one that he steps into your honour's shoes.' Nowyou know perfectly well that Campbell has no more enthusiasm than a brickwall, or a roll of red tape; but he is as proud of the young man as if hewere his son. Do you know that he has taken him into partnership?"
"Pshaw! he will never commit such a _faux pas_."
"But he has; I read the notice in this morning's paper. Pass the Madeira.The fact is, we must not allow our old prejudices to make us unjust. I knowAubrey has struggled hard; he had much to contend----"
With head slightly inclined, and eyes fixed on Mr. Blackwell's face, Irenehad heard all that passed, and as the gentleman paused in his harangue todrain his glass, she rose and led the way to the parlours. The gentlemenadjourned to the smoking-room, and in a short time Mrs. Harris ordered hercarriage, pleading an engagement with Grace's mantua-maker as an excuse forleaving so early. With a feeling of infinite relief the hostess accompaniedthem to the door, saw the carriage descend the avenue, and, desiring one ofthe servants to have Erebus saddled at once, she went to her room andchanged the rich dinner-dress for her riding-habit. As she sprang into thesaddle, and gathered up the reins, her father called from the open window,whence issued curling wreaths of blue smoke--
"Where now, Irene?"
"I am going to ride; it threatened rain this morning, and I was afraid toventure."
He said something, but without hearing she rode off, and was soon out ofsight, leaving the town to the left, and taking the rocky road leading upthe hill-side to the cemetery gate. Dismounting she fastened the reins toone of the iron spikes, and, gathering the folds of her habit over herarm, carried her flowers to the family burying-ground. It was a largesquare lot, enclosed by a handsome railing and tall gate, bearing the nameof "Huntingdon" in silver letters. As she approached, she was surprised tofind a low brick wall and beautiful new marble monument close to herfather's lot, and occupying a space which had been filled with grass andweeds a few weeks previous.
As she passed the new lot the gate swung open, and Russell stood beforeher.
"Good evening, Miss Huntingdon."
"Good
evening, Mr. Aubrey."
The name sounded strange and harsh as she uttered it, and involuntarily shepaused and held out her hand. He accepted it; for an instant the coldfingers lay in his warm palm, and as she withdrew them he said, in the richmellow voice which she had heard in the church--
"Allow me to show you my mother's monument."
He held the gate open, and she entered and stood at his side. The monumentwas beautiful in its severe simplicity--a pure faultless shaft, crownedwith a delicately chiselled wreath of poppy leaves, and bearing these wordsin gilt letters: "Sacred to the memory of my mother, Amy Aubrey." Justbelow, in black characters, "_Resurgam_"; and underneath the whole, on afinely fluted scroll, the inscription of St. Gilgen. After a silence ofsome moments Russell pointed to the singular and solemn words, and said, asif speaking rather to himself than to her--
"I want to say always, with Paul Flemming, 'I will be strong,' andtherefore I placed here the inscription which proved an evangel to him,that when I come to my mother's grave I may be strengthened, not melted, bythe thronging of bitter memories."
She looked up as he spoke, and the melancholy splendour of the deep eyesstirred her heart as nothing had ever done before.
"I have a few flowers left; let me lay them as an affectionate tribute, an'_in memoriam_' on your mother's tomb--for the olden time, the cottagedays, are as fresh in my recollection as in yours."
She held out a woodland bouquet which she had previously gathered; he tookit, and strewed the blossoms along the broad base of the shaft, reservingonly a small cluster of the rosy china cups. Both were silent; but as sheturned to go, a sudden gust blew her hat from her head, the loosened combfell upon the grass, and down came the heavy masses of hair. She twistedthem hastily into a coil, fastened them securely, and received her hat fromhim, with a cool--
"Thank you, sir. When did you hear from Electra?"
They walked on to the cemetery gate, and he answered--
"I have heard nothing for some weeks. Have you any message? I am going toNew York in a few days to try to persuade her to return to W---- with me."
"I doubt the success of your mission; W---- has little to tempt an artistlike your cousin. Be kind enough to tender her my love, and best wishes forthe realization of her artistic dreams."
They had reached the gate where Erebus waited, when Russell took off hishat.
"You have a long walk to town," said Irene, as Russell arranged her horse'sreins.
"I shall not find it long. It is a fine piece of road, and the stars willbe up to light it."
He held out his hand to assist her; she sprang easily to the saddle, thenleaned toward him, every statue-like curve and moulding of her proud ivoryface stamping themselves on his recollection as she spoke.
"Be so good as to hand me my glove; I dropped it at your feet as I mounted.Thank you. Good evening, Mr. Aubrey; take my best wishes on your journeyand its mission."
"Good-bye, Miss Huntingdon." He raised his hat, and, as she wheeled off,the magnetic handsome face followed, haunted her. Erebus was impatient, outof humour, and flew up the next steep hill as if he, too, were haunted.
On through gathering gloom dashed horse and rider, over the little gurglingstream, through the gate, up the dark, rayless avenue to the doorstep. Thebilliard-room was a blaze of light, and the cheerful sound of mingledvoices came out at the open window, to tell that the gentlemen had not yetfinished their game. Pausing in the hall, Irene listened an instant todistinguish the voices, then ascended the long easy staircase. The lampthrew a mellow radiance on the steps, and as she reached the landing Hughcaught her in his arms, and kissed her warmly. Startled by his unexpectedappearance, she recoiled a step or two and asked, rather haughtily--
"When did you get home?"
"Only a few moments after you left the house. Do change your dress quickly,and come down. I have a thousand things to say."
She waited to hear no more, but disengaged herself and went to her room.
When she went down she met her father at the dining room door.
"Come, Queen; we are waiting for you."
He looked at her fondly, took her hand, and drew her to the table; and, inafter years, she recalled this occasion with mournful pleasure as the laston which he had ever given her his pet name.