CHAPTER X.
THE NEW LIFE.
The winter passed away quietly. The sudden absence of James Argyllcaused much harmless gossip in the village. It was reported, andgenerally believed, that he had gone abroad, on a tour to Egypt,because Miss Argyll had jilted him. Fortunately, the arrangements forthe wedding were known to but few, the feelings of the family havinginclined toward a very quiet affair. The little woman who had preparedthe wedding-dress was a New York milliner, who probably never learnedthat the wedding was not consummated.
I was very busy in the office. Mr. Argyll's health was poor, andbusiness had accumulated which took the most of my time. He wished meto board in his house, but I declined doing so; though, as in the old,happy times, I spent nearly all my evenings there.
Beyond the first shock, Mary did not seem to suffer from the abrupttermination of an engagement into which she had entered reluctantly. Ieven believed that she felt very much relieved at not being compelledto marry a cousin for the sake of securing a protector. Her gay laughsoon resumed its sweetness; her bright loveliness bloomed in the midstof winter, making roses and sunshine in the old mansion. Eleanor seemedto love to see her sister happy, gently encouraging her efforts todrive away the shadow which lingered about the house. Her own sad lifemust not be permitted to blight the joy of any other. I have said thatmy feelings toward her had changed from passionate love, throughintense sympathy, into affectionate reverence. I think, now, that Ifelt toward her a good deal as Mary did--that nothing we could do forher, to show our silent love and sympathy, could be too much--a tenderregard for her wishes and habits--a deep respect for the manner inwhich she bore her loss. We did not expect that she would ever again begay or hopeful; so we did not annoy her with trying to make her so.
In the mean time a great change was taking place in my own nature, ofwhich I was but faintly aware. I only knew that I enjoyed my hardwork--that I felt resolute and strong, and that my evenings werepleasant and homelike. Further, I did not question. I wrote to mymother a guarded account of what had occurred; but I was obliged to payher a flying visit to explain all the facts, for I dared not trust themon paper. Thus the winter glided away into sunshine and spring again.
It was the first day which had really seemed like spring. It was warmand showery; there was a smell of violets and new grass on the air. Ihad my office-window open, but as the afternoon wore away, and the sunshone out after an April sprinkle, I could not abide the dullness ofthat court of law. I felt those "blind motions of the spring," whichTennyson attributes to trees and plants. And verily, I was in sympathywith nature. I felt _verdant_--and if the reader thinks that to mydiscredit, he is at liberty to cherish his opinion. I felt young andhappy--years seemed to have dropped away from me, like a mantle of ice,leaving the flowers and freshness to appear. Not knowing whither myfancy would lead me, I walked toward the mansion, and again, as uponthat autumn afternoon upon which I first saw Eleanor after hercalamity, I turned my steps to the arbor which crowned the slope at theback of the lawn. Thinking of Eleanor, as I saw her then, I entered theplace with a light step, and found Mary sitting, looking off on theriver with a dreamy face. She blushed when she perceived who hadintruded upon her reverie; I saw the warm color sweep, wave after wave,over the lovely cheek and brow, and I knew instantly the secret itbetrayed. I remembered the arms which had once fallen about my neck,the tears which had rained upon my cheek from the eyes of a young girl,the eager voice which had said, "_I_ love you Richard! _I_ will believenothing against you!"
Oh, how sweetly the revelation came to me then! My own heart was fullyprepared to receive it. Through months I had been transferring thewealth of young, hopeful love, which craves the bliss of being shared,from the sister who was raised so far above mortal passion, to thisdear semblance of her former self. My face must have expressed myhappiness, for when I stood over Mary, as she sat, and turned her sweetface up toward my own, she gave but one glance before her eyes fell tohide their thought.
I kissed her, and she kissed me back again, shyly, timidly. She lovedme; I was no longer mateless, but drank the cup of joy which is filledfor youth. What happy children we were, when, late enough after sunset,we strolled back to the house and went to receive the paternal blessing!
I believe that hour when our betrothal was known was the best which hadblessed the household since the shadow descended upon it.
In June we were married; there was no excuse for delay, and all thefriends expressed themselves urgent to have the matter settled. Wewent, on our wedding-tour, to see my mother, with whom we had a long,delightful visit. Three years have passed since then, and in that timethere have been changes--some of them very sad. Mr. Argyll died abouttwo years since, his health never rallying from the shock which itreceived during those trying times. Since then, we have resided in theold mansion, and Eleanor lives with us. She is a noble woman--one ofChrist's anointed, who puts aside her own sorrow, to minister to thegriefs and sufferings of others. Both Mary and myself defer a greatdeal to her judgment, which is calm and clear, never clouded bypassion, as ours will sometimes be. We feel as if nothing evil couldlive where Eleanor is; she is the light and blessing of our household.
The saddest affliction which has fallen upon us since the loss of ourfather, is the death of Mr. Burton. Alas! he has fallen a victim, atlast, to the relentless pursuit of enemies which his course in liferaised up about him. The wicked feared him, and compassed hisdestruction. Whether he was murdered by some one whom he had detectedin guilt, or by some one who feared the investigations he was making,is not known; he died of poison administered to him in his food. Itwrings my heart to think that great and good soul is no more of thisworld. He was so active, so powerful, of such a genial temperament, itis hard to conceive him dead. We all loved him so much! Oh, if we coulddiscover the cowardly assassin! Sometimes I wonder if it may not havebeen the man whom he once so mercilessly exposed. God knows--I do not.Attempts upon his life were many times made, but his acute perceptionshad always, hitherto, warned him of danger.
Lenore is with us. We shall keep her until some lover comes in thefuture to rob us of her. She is a rare child--almost a woman now--astalented as her father, and exceedingly lovely. At present she isoverwhelmed with grief, and clings to Eleanor, who is her bestcomforter. In our love for her we try to repay some of the debt we oweher father.
THE END.
Transcriber's Notes
When italics were used in the original book, the corresponding text hasbeen surrounded by _underscores_.
Some presumed printer's errors have been corrected, includingnormalizing punctuation. Further corrections are listed below with theprinted text (top) and corrected text (bottom):
until it it is until it is (p. 111)
detcetive detective (p. 231)
wth with (p. 266)
reappearance reaeppearance (p. 96; change based on usage elsewhere in the book)
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