Hills of the Shatemuc Part 151

said Elizabeth.

"What makes you think so?"

There was quick annoyance in his tone, but Miss Haye was not careful.

"Am I wrong? Are you as fond of it?"

"I don't know," said Rufus. "His life has been as steadily given to his pursuits as mine has to mine."

"Perhaps more. But what then? I always thought you loved the city."

"Yes," Rufus said thoughtfully, -- "I did; -- but I love this too. It would be a very cold head and heart that did not."

Elizabeth made no reply; and the two enjoyed it in silence for a minute or two longer.

"For what do you suppose I have intruded upon you at this time, Miss Haye?"

"For some particular purpose -- what, I don't know. I have been trying to think."

"I did not venture to presume upon making an ordinary call of civility."

What _less_ are you going to do? -- thought Elizabeth, looking at him with her eyes a little opened.

"I have been -- for a few months past -- constantly engaged in business at the South; and it is but a chance which permitted me to come here lately -- I mean, to Mannahatta -- on a visit to my brother. I am not willing to let slip any such opportunity."

"I should think you would not," said Elizabeth, wondering.

"There I heard of you. -- Shall we walk down again?"

"If you please. I don't care whether up or down."

"I could not go home without turning a little out of my way to pay this visit to you. I hope I shall be forgiven."

"I don't know what I have to forgive, yet," said Elizabeth.

He was silent, and bit his lip nervously.

"Will you permit me to say -- that I look back with great pleasure to former times pa.s.sed in your society -- in Mannahatta; -- that in those days I once ventured to entertain a thought which I abandoned as hopeless, -- I had no right to hope, -- but that since I have heard of the misfortunes which have befallen you, it has come back to me again with a power I have not had the strength to resist -- along with my sympathy for those misfortunes. Dear Miss Haye, I hope for your forgiveness and n.o.ble interpretation, when I say that I have dared to confess this to you from the impulse of the very circ.u.mstances which make it seem most daring."

"The misfortunes you allude to, are but one," said Elizabeth.

"One -- yes, -- but not one in the consequences it involved."

"At that rate of reckoning," said Elizabeth, "there would be to such a thing as _one_ misfortune in the world."

"I was not thinking of one," said Rufus quietly. "The actual loss you have suffered is one shared by many -- pardon me, it does not always imply equal deprivation, nor the same need of a strong and helping friendly hand."

Elizabeth answered with as much quietness, --

"It is probably good for me that I have care on my hands -- it would be a weak wish, however natural, to wish that I could throw off on some agent the charge of my affairs."

"The charge I should better like," said Rufus looking at her, -- "the only charge I should care for, -- would be the charge of their mistress."

An involuntary quick movement of Elizabeth put several feet between them; then after half a minute, with a flushed face and somewhat excited breathing, she said, not knowing precisely what she said,

"I would rather give you the charge of my property, sir. The other is, you don't very well know what."

"My brother would be the better person to perform the first duty, probably," Rufus returned, with a little of his old- fashioned haughtiness of style.

Elizabeth's lips parted and her eye flashed, but as she was not looking at him, it only flashed into the water. Both stood proudly silent and still. Elizabeth was the first to speak, and her tone was gentle, whatever the words might be.

"You cannot have your wish in this matter, Mr. Landholm, and it would be no blessing to you if you could. I trust it will be no great grief to you that you cannot."

"My grief is my own," said Rufus with a mixture of expressions. "How should that be no blessing to me, which it is the greatest desire of my life to obtain, Miss Haye?"

"I don't think it is," said Elizabeth. "At least it will not be. You will find that it is not. It is not the desire of mine, Mr. Landholm."

There was silence again, a mortified silence on one part, -- for a little s.p.a.ce.

"You will do justice to my motives?" he said. "I have a right to ask that, for I deserve so much of you. If my suit had been an ungenerous one, it might better have been pressed years ago than now."

"Why was it not?" said Elizabeth.

It was the turn of Rufus's eyes to flash, and his lips and teeth saluted each other vexedly.

"It would probably have been as unavailing then as now," he replied. "I bid you good evening, Miss Haye. I ask nothing from you. I beg pardon for my unfortunate and inopportune intrusion just now. I shall annoy you no more."

Elizabeth returned his parting bow, and then stood quite still where he left her while he walked up the path they had just come down. She did not move, except her head, till he had pa.s.sed out of sight and was quite gone; then she seated herself on one of the rocks near which her boat was moored, and clasping her hands round her knees, looked down into the water. What to find there? -- the grounds of the disturbance in which her whole nature was working? it lay deeper than that.

It wrought and wrought, whatever it was -- the colour flushed and the lips moved tremulously, -- her brow knit, -- till at last the hands came to her eyes and her face sunk down, and pa.s.sionate tears, pa.s.sionate sobbing, told what Elizabeth could tell in no other way. Tears proud and humble -- rebelling and submitting.

"It is good for me, I suppose," she said as she at last rose to her feet, fearing that her handmaid might come to seek her, -- "my proud heart needed to be brought down in some such way -- needed to be mortified even to this. Even to this last point of humiliation. To have my desire come and mock me so and as it were shake my wish in my face! But how could _he_ think of me? -- he could not -- he is too good -- and I am a poor thing, that may be made good, I suppose --"

Tears flowed again, hot and unbidden; for she was walking up to the house and did not want anybody to see them. And in truth before she was near the house Clam came out and met her half way down the path.

"Miss 'Lizabeth, -- I don' know as you want to see n.o.body --"

"Who is there for me to see?"

"Well -- there's an arrival -- I s'pect we'll have to have supper in the kitchen to-night."

CHAPTER XV.

With weary steps I loiter on, Though always under altered skies; The purple from the distance dies, My prospect and horizon gone.

TENNYSON.

Whether or not Elizabeth wanted to see anybody she did not say -- except to herself. She walked into the house, fortified with all the muniments of her spirit for the meeting. It was a quiet one on the whole. Rose cried a good deal, but Elizabeth bore it without any giving way; saving once or twice a slight twinkling of lip and eye, instantly commanded back. Rose had all the demonstration to herself, of whatever kind. Elizabeth sat still, silent and pale; and when she could get free went and ordered supper.