Aikenside Part 17

"A saint!" Maria uttered under her breath, smiling contemptuously as she made a movement to leave the piano, hoping Guy would follow her.

But he did not at once. Standing for a moment irresolute, while he looked curiously at Maddy, he said at last:

"Of course I interfere with no one's scruples of that kind, but I cannot allow you to wear yourself out for our amus.e.m.e.nt."

"I like to play--please let me," was Maddy's reply; and, as the set upon the floor were waiting for her, she turned to the instrument, while Guy mechanically offered his arm to Maria, and sauntered toward the green room.

"What a blue old ignoramus that grandfather must be, to object to dancing, don't you think so?"

Maria laughed a little spitefully, secretly glad that Maddy had refused, and secretly angry at Guy for seeming to care so much.

"Say," she continued, as Guy did not answer her, "don't you think it a sign that something is lacking in brains or education, when a person sets up that dancing is wicked?"

Guy would have taken Maddy's side then, whatever he might have thought, and he replied:

"No lack of brains, certainly; though education and circ.u.mstances have much to do with one's views upon that subject. For my part, I like to see people consistent. Now, that old ignoramus, as you call him, lays great stress on pomp and vanities, and when I asked him once what he meant by them, he mentioned dancing in particular as one of the things which you, church people, promise to renounce;" and Guy bowed toward Maria, who, knowing that she was one of the church people referred to, winced perceptibly.

"But this girl--this Maddy. There's no reason why she should decline,"

she said; and Guy replied: "Respect for her grandfather, in her case, seems to be stronger than respect for a higher power in some other cases."

"It's just as wicked to play for dancing as 'tis to dance," Maria remarked impatiently, while Guy rejoined:

"That is very possible; but I presume Maddy has never seen it in that light, which makes a difference;" and the two retraced their steps to the rooms where the gay revelers were still tripping to Maddy's stirring music.

After several ineffectual efforts Agnes had succeeded in enticing the doctor away from the piano, and thus there was no one near to see how at last the bright color began to fade from her cheeks as the notes before her ran together, and the keys a.s.sumed the form of one huge key which Maddy could not manage. There was a blur before her eyes, a buzzing in her ears, and just as the dancers were entering heart and soul into the merits of a popular polka, there was a sudden pause in the music, a crash among the keys, and a faint cry, which to those nearest to her sounded very much like "Mr. Guy," as Maddy fell forward with her face upon the piano. It was hard telling which carried her from the room, the doctor or Guy, or which face of the three was the whitest. Guy's was the most frightened, for the doctor knew she had only fainted, while Guy, struck with the marble rigidity of the face so recently flushed with excitement, said at first, "She's dead," while over him there flashed a feeling that life with Maddy dead would be desolate indeed. But Maddy was not dead, and Guy, when he went back to his guests carried the news that she had recovered from her faint, which she kindly ascribed to the heat of the rooms, instead of fatigue from playing so long. The doctor was with her and she was doing as well as could be expected, he said, thinking within himself how he wished they would go home, and wondering what attraction there was there, now that Maddy's place was vacant. Guy was a vastly miserable man by the time the last guest had bidden him good-night, and he had heard for the hundred-and-fiftieth time what a delightful evening it had been. Politeness required that he should look to the very last as pleasant and unconcerned as if upstairs there were no little sick girl, all alone undoubtedly with Dr. Holbrook, whom he mentally styled a "lucky dog," in that he was not obliged to appear again in the parlors unless he chose.

The doctor knew Maddy did not require his presence after the first half hour, but he insisted upon her being sent to bed, and then went frequently to her door until a.s.sured by Mrs. Noah that she was sleeping soundly, and would, if let alone, be well as ever on the morrow, a prediction which proved true, for when at a late hour next morning the family met at the breakfast table, Maddy's was the brightest, freshest face of the whole, not even excepting Jessie's. Maddy, too, was delighted with the party, declaring that nothing but pleasurable excitement and heat had made her faint, and then with all the interest which young girls usually attach to fainting fits, she asked how she looked, how she acted, if she didn't appear very ridiculous, and how she got out of the room, saying the only thing she remembered after falling was a sensation as if she were being torn in two.

"That's it," cried Jessie, who readily volunteered the desired information, "Brother Guy was 'way off with Maria Cutler, and doctor was with mamma, but both ran, oh, so fast, and both tried to take you up. I think Miss Cutler real hateful, for she said, so meanlike, 'Do you see them pull her, as if 'twas of the slightest consequence which carried her out?'"

"Jessie," Guy interposed sternly, while the doctor looked disapprovingly at the little girl, who subsided into silence after saying, in an undertone, "I do think she's hateful, and that isn't all she said either about Maddy."

It was rather uncomfortable at the table after that, and rather quiet, too, as Maddy did not care to ask anything more concerning her faint, while the others were not disposed to talk.

Breakfast over, the two young men repaired to the library, where Guy indulged in his cigar, while the doctor fidgeted for a time, and then broke out abruptly:

"I say, Guy, have you said anything to her about--well, about me, you know?"

"Why, no, I've hardly had a chance; and then, again, I concluded it better for each one to speak for himself;" and carelessly knocking the ashes from his half-smoked cigar, Guy leaned back in his chair, with his eyes, and, to all appearance, thoughts, wholly intent upon the curls of smoke rising above his head.

"Guy, if you were not engaged, I should be tempted to think you wanted Maddy Clyde yourself," the doctor suddenly exclaimed, confronting Guy, who, still watching the rings of smoke, answered with the most provoking coolness, "You should?"

"Yes, I should; and I am not certain but you do as it is, Guy," and the doctor grew very earnest in his manner, "if you do care for Maddy Clyde, and she for you, pray tell me so before I make a fool of myself."

"Doctor," returned Guy, throwing the remains of his cigar into the grate and folding his hands on his head, "you desire that I be frank, and I will. I like Maddy Clyde very much--more indeed than any girl I ever met--except Lucy. Had I never seen her--Lucy, I mean--I cannot tell how I should feel toward Maddy. The chances are, however, that much as I admire her, I should not make her my wife, even if she were willing.

But I have seen Lucy. I am engaged to be married. I shall keep that engagement, and if you have feared me at all as a rival, you may fear me no longer. I do not stand between you and Maddy Clyde."

Guy believed that he was saying the truth, notwithstanding that his heart beat faster than its wont and his voice was a little thick. It was doubtful whether he would marry Maddy Clyde, if he could. By nature and education he was very proud, and the inmates of the red cottage would have been an obstacle to be surmounted by his pride. He knew they were good, far, far better than himself; but, from his earliest remembrance, he had been taught that blood and family and position were all-important; that by virtue of them Remington was a name of which to be proud; that his father's foolish marriage with a pretty governess was the first misalliance ever known in the family, and that he was not likely to follow that example was a point fully established in his own mind. He might admire Maddy very much, and, perhaps, build castles of what might possibly have been, had she been in his sphere of life; but, should he verily think of making her his wife, the olden pride would certainly come up a barrier between them. Guy could not explain all this to the doctor, who would have been tempted to knock him down, if he had; but he succeeded in quieting his fears, and even suggested bringing Maddy in there, if the doctor wished to know his fate that morning.

"I hear her now--I'll call her," he said; and, opening the door, he spoke to Maddy, just pa.s.sing through the hall. "Dr. Holbrook wishes to see you," he said, as Maddy came up to him; and, holding the door for her to enter, he saw her take the seat he had just vacated. Then, closing it upon them, he walked away, thinking that last night's party, or something, had produced a bad effect on him, making him blue and wretched, just as he should suppose a criminal would feel when about to be executed.

CHAPTER XVI. -- THE DOCTOR AND MADDY.

Now that they were alone, the doctor's courage forsook him, and he could only stammer out some commonplace remarks about the party, asking how Maddy Lad enjoyed it, and if she was sure she had entirely recovered from the effects of her fainting fit. He was not getting on at all, and it was impossible for him to say anything as he had meant to say it. Why couldn't she help him, instead of looking so unsuspiciously at him with those large, bright eyes? Didn't she know how dear she was to him? He should think she might. She might have divined it ere this; and if so, why didn't she blush, or something?

At last she came to his aid by saying, "You promised to tell me about the bracelets and necklace, whether I ought to keep them."

"Yes, oh yes, he believed he did." And getting up from his chair, the doctor began to walk the floor, the better to hide his confusion. "Yes, the bracelets. You looked very pretty in them, Maddy, very; but you are always pretty--ahem--yes. If you were engaged to Guy, I should say it was proper; but if not, why, I don't know; the fact is, Maddy, I am not quite certain what I am saying, so you must excuse me. I almost hated you that day you sent the note, telling me you were coming to be examined; but I had not seen you then. I did not know how, after a while--a very little while--I should in all probability--well, I did; I changed my mind, and I--I guess you have not the slightest idea what I mean." And stopping suddenly, he confronted the astonished Maddy, who replied:

"Not the slightest, unless you are going crazy."

She could in no other way account for his strange conduct, and she sat staring at him while he continued: "I told you once that when I wanted my bill I'd let you know. I'd ask for pay. I want it now. I present my bill."

With a scared, miserable feeling, Maddy listened to him, wondering where she should get the money, if it were possible for her grandfather to raise it, and how much her entire wardrobe would bring, suppose she should sell it! The bill had not troubled her latterly, for she had fallen into a way of believing that the doctor would wait until she was graduated and could earn it by teaching. Nothing could be more inopportune than for him to present it now; and with a half-stifled sob she began to speak, but he stopped her by a gesture, and sitting down beside her, said, in a voice more natural than the one with which he had at first addressed her:

"Maddy, I know you have no money. It is not that I want, Maddy; I want--I want--you."

He bent down over her now, for her face was hidden in her hands, all sense of sight shut out, all sense of hearing, too, save the words he was pouring into her ear--words which burned their way into her heart, making It throb for a single moment with gratified pride, and then growing heavy as lead as she knew how impossible it was for her to pay the debt in the way which he desired.

"I can't, doctor; oh, I can't!" she sobbed. "I never dreamed of this; never supposed you could want me for your wife. I'm only a little girl--only sixteen last October--but I'm so sorry for you, who have been so kind. If I only could love you as you deserve! I do love you, too; but not the way you mean. I cannot be Maddy Holbrook; no; doctor, I cannot."

She was sobbing piteously, and in his concern for her the doctor forgot somewhat the stunning blow he had received.

"Don't, Maddy darling!" he said, drawing her trembling form closely to him, "Don't be so distressed. I did not much think you'd tell me yes, and I was a fool to ask you. I am too old; but, Maddy, Guy is as old as I am."

The doctor did not know why he said this, unless in the first keenness of his disappointment there was a satisfaction in telling her that the objection to his age would apply also to Guy. But it did not affect Maddy one whit, or give her the slightest inkling of his meaning. He saw it did not, and the pain was less to bear. Still, he would know certainly if he had a rival, and so he said to her:

"Do you love some one else, Maddy? Is another preferred before me, and is that the reason why you cannot love me?"

"No," Maddy answered, through her tears. "There is no one else. Whom should I love, unless it were you? I know n.o.body but Guy."

That name touched a sore, aching chord in the doctor's heart, but he gave no sign of the jealousy which had troubled him, and for a moment there was silence in the room; then, as the doctor began faintly to realize that Maddy had refused him, there awoke within him a more intense desire to win her than he had ever felt before. He would not give her up without another effort, and laying her unresisting head upon his bosom, he pleaded again for her love, going over all the past, and telling of the interest awakened when first she came to him that April afternoon, almost two years ago; then of the little sick girl who had grown so into the heart never before affected in the least by womankind, and lastly of the beautiful woman, as he called her, sitting beside him now in all the freshness of her young womanhood. And Maddy, as she listened, felt for him a strange kind of pity, a wish to do his bidding if she only could, and why shouldn't she? Girls had married those whom they did not love, and been tolerably happy with them, too. Perhaps she could be so with the doctor. There was everything about him to respect, and much which she could love. Should she try? There was a great lump in Maddy's throat as she tried to speak, but it cleared away and she said very sadly, but very earnestly, too:

"Dr. Holbrook, would you like me to say yes with my lips, when all the time there was something at my heart tugging to answer no?"

This was not at all what Maddy meant to say, but the words were born of her extreme truthfulness, and the doctor thus learned the nature of the struggle which he saw plainly was going on.

"No, Maddy, I would not have you say yes unless your heart was in it,"

he answered, while he tried to smile upon the tearful face looking up so sorrowfully at him.

But the smile was a forlorn one, and there came instead a tear as he thought how dear was the fair creature who never would be his. Maddy saw the tear, and as if she were a child wiped it from his cheek; then, in tones which never faltered, she told him it might be in time she'd learn to love him. She would try so hard, she'd think of him always as her promised husband, and by that means should learn at last not to shrink from taking him for such. It might be ever so long, and perhaps she should be twenty or more, but some time in the future she should feel differently. Was he satisfied, and would he wait?

Her little hand was resting on his shoulder, but he did not mind its soft pressure or know that it was there, so strong was the temptation to accept that half-made promise. But the doctor was too n.o.ble, to unselfish to bind Maddy to himself unless she were wholly willing, and he said to her that if she did not love him now she probably never would. She could not make a love. She need not try, as it would only result in her own unhappiness. They would be friends just as they always had been, and none need know of what had pa.s.sed between them, none but Guy. "I must tell him" the doctor said, "because he knows that I was going to ask you."

Maddy could not explain why it was that she felt glad the doctor would tell Guy. She did not a.n.a.lyze any of her feelings, or stop to ask why she should care to have Guy Remington know the answer she had given Dr.