Hills of the Shatemuc Part 114

"A plea of _fraud_, on my part, in selling the cotton. I suppose you would like to cultivate his acquaintance after that."

Elizabeth sat back in her seat with a little start, and did not speak again during the conversation. Rose looked up from her mesh-stick and poured out a flood of indignant and somewhat incoherent words; to which Mr. Haye responded briefly, as a man who was not fond of the subject, and finally put an end to them by taking the paper and walking off.

Elizabeth changed her position then for a low seat, and resting her chin on her hand sat looking into the fire with eyes in which there burned a dark glow that rivalled it.

"Lizzie," said her companion, "did you ever hear of such a thing!"

"Not 'such a thing,'" she answered.

"Aren't you as provoked as you can be?"

"'Provoked' is not exactly the word," Elizabeth replied.

"Well you know what to think of Winthrop Landholm now, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you surprised?"

"I wish I could never be surprised again," she answered, laying her head down for an instant on her lap; but then giving it the position it held before.

"You take it coolly!" said Rose, jerking away at her netting.

"Do I? _You_ don't."

"No, and I shouldn't think you would. Don't you _hate_ those Landholms?"

"No."

"Don't you! You ought. What are you looking at in the fire?"

"Winthrop Landholm, -- just at that minute."

"I do believe," said Rose indignantly, "you like Winthrop Landholm better than you do Mr. Haye!"

Elizabeth's eyes glared at her, but though there seemed a moment's readiness to speak, she did not speak, but presently rose up and quitted the room. She went to her own; locked the door, and sat down. There was a moment's quiver of the lip and drawing of the brow, while the eyes in their fire seemed to throw off sparks from the volcano below; and then the head bent, with a cry of pain, and the flood of sorrow broke; so bitter, that she sometimes pressed both hands to her head, as if it were in danger of parting in two. The proud forehead was stooped to the knees, and the shoulders convulsed in her agony. And it lasted long. Half hour and half hour pa.s.sed before the struggle was over and Elizabeth had quieted herself enough to go to bed. When at last she rose to begin the business of undressing, she startled not a little to see her handmaid Clam present herself.

"When did you come in?" said Elizabeth after a moment's hesitation.

"When the door opened," said Clam collectedly.

"How long ago?"

"How long have you been here, do you s'pose, Miss 'Lizabeth?"

"That's not an answer to my question."

"Not ezackly," said Clam; "but if you'd tell, I could give a better guess."

Elizabeth kept a vexed silence for a little while.

"Well Clam," she said when she had made up her mind, "I have just one word to say to you -- keep your tongue between your teeth about all _my_ concerns. You are quite wise enough, and I hope, good enough for that."

"I ain't so bad I mightn't be better," said Clam picking up her mistress's scattered things. "Mr. Winthrop didn't give up all hopes of me. I 'spect he'll bring us all right some of these days."

With which sentence, delivered in a most oracular and encouraging tone, Clam departed; for Elizabeth made no answer thereto.

The next morning, after having securely locked herself into her room for an hour or more, Elizabeth summoned her handmaid.

"I want you to put on your bonnet, Clam, and take this note for me up to Mr. Landholm's; and give it with your own hand to him or to his sister."

Clam rather looked her intelligence than gave any other sign of it.

"If he's out, shall I wait till I see him?"

"No, -- give it to his sister."

"I may put on more than my bonnet, mayn't I, Miss 'Lizabeth?

_This_ won't keep me warm, with the snow on the ground."

But Elizabeth did not choose to hear; and Clam went off with the note.

Much against her expectations, she found Mr. Winthrop at home and in his room, and his sister not there.

"Mornin', Mr. Winthrop!" said Clam, with more of a courtesy than she ever vouchsafed to her mistress or to any one else whomsoever. He came forward and shook her hand very kindly and made her sit down by the fire. The black girl's eyes followed him, as if, though she didn't say it, it was good to see him again.

"What's the word with you, Clam?"

"'Tain't with me -- the word's with you, Mr. Winthrop."

"What is it?"

"I don' know, sir. I've nothin' to do but to bring it."

"How do you do this cold day?"

"_I_ ain't cold," said Clam. "I bethought me to put my cloak on my shoulders. Miss 'Lizabeth wanted me to come off with only my bonnet."

And she produced the note, which Winthrop looked at and laid on the table.

"How is Miss Elizabeth?"

"She's sort o'," said Clam. "She has her ups and downs like other folks. She was down last night and she's up this mornin'

-- part way."

"I hope she is pleased with you, Clam."

"She ain't pleased with anything, much," said Clam; "so it can't be expected. I believe she's pleased with me as much as with anything else in our house. Last night she was cryin' as if her head would split -- by the hour long."