Hope Mills Part 29

"He _was_ weak, he was worse, Jack." There was a curious cry of anguish in her voice, and her shoulders swayed unconsciously, while her eyes looked out on the summer night he could not see.

"Don't get so excited over it, Sylvie," and the pleasant, cheery laugh seemed to bring healing on its wings. "Whatever it was, and we will let all that go, he made the _amende honorable_ the night we had tea together up there in the great house. We took up our friendship just where it had dropped. Men never go over those crooked and th.o.r.n.y steps of the past, they have so much work to do in the present and the future.

I wanted then to make a position for him in the mill; but it was not possible, and would not have been the part of wisdom under _any_ circ.u.mstances. Yet it seemed as if I had stepped in his place. I was glad to hear of this other, though Fred would have been happier elsewhere. Sylvie, I do not believe you realize what it cost him to come back to Yerbury, to walk about, a working-man, where he had driven in his carriage. So down at the bottom there is the temper of the real blue steel, which _can_ bend."

"How generous you are, Jack!" There was something more than admiration in her tone, and yet she was wondering if she could ever forgive her fallen hero.

"See here, Sylvie, I don't mean to question any one's religion, but I've often thought about the rejoicing up above, over the one who went astray. I do not believe we rejoice with a very full heart: maybe we are not heavenly enough. We can never be sure of our own strength until some far-reaching test is applied, and yet it may not be an entirely true test. It may quiver about the weak spot in our souls; but, while there is any feeling, one cannot be entirely lost. That is why I say he never forgot. And you and I ought to rejoice that he _did_ come back instead of going off in that gloomy, diseased, Manfred style, and upbraiding the world. 'Whatever his hand found to do'--that was one of grandmother's texts, and he went bravely at it."

"I do believe you are a better Christian than I," she answered softly, her eyes limpid with emotion.

"No. Perhaps not even a better friend;" and a smile played about his mouth.

"A truer friend, a more generous one"--

"What were we talking of?" in a sudden change of tone. "Oh, the business at Garafield's! Fred is a good deal of an artist, an intellectual artist I should say; and, though he may not attain to fame by painting pictures, there are many other points coming to be appreciated. He is in the way for usefulness; and, if he wins the bays for beauty as well, I am sure we shall all rejoice. I heard he had been designing."

"You hear every thing." Sylvie made a capricious little _moue_. Her nods and gestures were so much a part of her, so piquant, decisive, and full of expression, when she did not intrench herself behind a studied dignity.

"I am glad you have heard it. I was wondering how best to tell you. I thought Garafield's might be a stepping-stone, these hard times, but it may prove the veritable ladder itself. Only"--

"Well!" with a trifle of impatience, as if she could not endure the suggestiveness of the tone.

"I wonder if you understand the courage it took for Fred Lawrence to make a home here in Yerbury, to bring his mother and sister; for you see he must endure for them as well as himself. Mrs. Lawrence will always be an invalid, I suppose. He thinks her quite changed and softened: evidently she clings to him. They see none of their old friends. Miss Lawrence never goes anywhere."

"As if one could help that!" almost pa.s.sionately. "Auntie wrote a note to Mrs. Lawrence, and it was merely answered. They do not desire to receive any one. We can only let them alone, Jack."

"Even then we can hardly fail to appreciate what he is doing, possibly suffering. I think he will come in time to win back all the regard his friends ever gave him," Jack Darcy said in a steady tone.

Was he pleading for him? Sylvie was somewhat puzzled, the most so, perhaps, about herself. How much had she cared for Fred in that old time? If not at all, why did this feeling of shame over a fallen idol continually haunt her? She compared the two men in every thing, and sometimes was vexed to admit that Jack was the n.o.bler.

Their walk had come to an end. They paused at the gate; and a third person striding up Larch Avenue took in the drooping, attentive, and pliant figure, the strong, protecting, powerful personality of the other,--and wondered, as he had more than once before. Were they friends merely? It was not possible for a woman to see so much of Jack Darcy's n.o.ble, manly life, and not admire, not love, Dr. Maverick admitted. She showed in many ways that she did care for him. Oddly enough she sheltered herself under his friendly care when other admirers came too near. Could not Darcy see! What a blind, stupid mole he must be in this respect! and the doctor kicked a stone in his path with such force that the two turned in the midst of their good-bys, and waited with smiling faces for him to reach them. Not a shade of annoyance in look or tone at the interruption.

"The queerest lovers," he thought to himself. "If I stood in that man's place"--

Jack went homeward in a curiously speculative mood. He has always fancied for Sylvie some handsome, spirited knight, whose mental intuitions would be as delicate and refined as hers, whose enjoyment as intense. Little as he knew of love, he understood their friendship too thoroughly to be betrayed into any mistake. And he wondered now if he held the key to Sylvie's spiritual enfranchis.e.m.e.nt of all other men? If she had not loved Fred Lawrence, she had come too dangerously near it ever to free herself entirely from whatever thrall his soul had thrown over hers. She _had_ been disappointed in him, he read that from her tone; but surely, if he brought himself up to a finer and truer standard than any known in that enervating atmosphere of luxury, would she still be implacable? How could he best serve these two people, whom he loved so entirety?

He had many other things to busy himself about beside love and friendship. March came on apace, and the balance-sheet for the six months had to be put in shape. The accounts had been systematically kept: that he had insisted upon in the beginning. Cameron knew every gallon of oil, every pound of wool, every penny spent for repairs and stock; Hurd and Yardley had kept account of every yard of cloth, and what quality, that had pa.s.sed through their hands; Winston, of travelling, advertising, commissions, &c.; and Jack went over every thing. They had done wonderfully. There was actually a balance of profit to every man, woman, and child. The forms were printed, and distributed to every employee, and there was a great rejoicing time. They engaged the Cooking Club to provide them a supper, and the young people had a merry dance afterward.

"It's hardly safe to halloo until you are out of the woods," said some of the solid old men of Yerbury, who were living snugly on the interest of government-bonds. "Six months is no test at all. Wait until there is a hard pull, and you will not be so jubilant."

"No," answered Jack with a humorous twinkle in his eye: "it's right to have the rejoicing now, when we have fairly earned it. The man who croaks when Providence has smiled upon him, deserves the frown; and he who is unthankful for small successes hardly has a right to great ones.

I do not expect all fair sailing, but we will weather the storms together."

"It _is_ rather unfortunate," commented another wise-acre. "I have observed these wonderful beginnings seldom end well. If you should have a run of bad luck now, your men will be dissatisfied, and likely blame you for not keeping up to that mark. I shouldn't have made such a great effort, and then there would have been a chance for improvement."

"A new broom sweeps clean, but it _will_ get worn out," with sundry mysterious nods.

"I declare," said Jack to his friend and comforter, Maverick, "half the town looks at me as if I must have robbed a bank, or falsified accounts, told a lie, or cheated, or maybe murdered some rich old don, and made merry on his money. Why can't people rejoice with you when there is any thing to rejoice about,--an event which does not happen so often in these evil days? I do believe Boyd, and a lot of the others, would be glad to see the scheme fail; but I'll work night and day to make a success of it. It shall not go down," and Jack set his lips together in a way that spoke volumes for his resolve.

"I have observed before that some people are fond of disparaging plans that they have no hand in," returned the doctor coolly.

"And philanthropy is a much-derided virtue. If the old Athenian had been a stock-broker or a bank-director, he might not have been sent into exile, eh?" and Darcy laughed good-humoredly. "If I have kept a few people from starvation this winter, I ought surely to have as much credit as to have dealt around alms. As for the success, we had the reputation of Hope Mills in our favor, and every man had his own fortune at stake, and brought out the best that was in him."

He sent Miss McLeod her half-yearly rent, a copy of the statement, and a very temperate letter. He was quite proud to think he had no need of accepting her proffered favor, but he thanked her again for it.

She answered promptly. She had shown the statement to Mr. Hildreth, and he thought it remarkable. Wasn't it a trifle too rose-colored to last?

Count on her as a friend, if evil days came; and we none of us could tell exactly what was in store. The financial horizon was by no means clear.

A few others gave him words of heartfelt encouragement. The Rev. Mr.

Marlow spoke of him in very high terms, much to Sylvie's delight, and said already there had been a great change in the mill-hands. The coffee-house he considered an especially commendable thought.

There was a quiet change going on that was destined to bear more abundant fruit in the future. Some of the men and women had begun to think a little for themselves. The pupils of the cooking-school were beginning the A B C of beauty and neatness. Their rooms were swept cleaner; their clothes took on a more tidy aspect. With the opening spring, gardens and court-yards were cleared of their rubbish, and flower-beds flourished again. Sylvie gave her girls one very instructive lecture on slips and flower-seeds, and one Sat.u.r.day they went out to the woods for ferns and wild flowers. It was only one little corner, to be sure, but it was the leaven that was presently to do a wide-spread work.

Hope Mills took up its steady march again. Half a dozen new hands were added, though Jack wished that he could find employment for some of the poor souls that besieged him daily. If times really were coming better, if orders only would increase, and he could with safety enlarge his borders! But "slow and steady" was his motto. He was not one to disparage the present by exaggerating the advantages of the future.

There was one home that these cordial little excitements never entered.

The three souls in it, although they should have been very near and dear, wrapped themselves in their own thoughts and sorrows, and took no note of their fellows.

Mrs. Lawrence heeded the outward change least of the three. She had her pretty room, her glowing fire in winter, her fur slippers, and zephyr shawls; her late breakfast in bed, then her luxurious dressing-gown, and her books. She had settled herself into the _role_ of an invalid for the remainder of her days. The loss and suffering had not taken her out of herself, or raised her narrow, vapid nature. She was at once patient and complaining,--even her affection for her son was combined with great mental and moral weakness. She was profoundly grieved that he should have been compelled to accept so unsuitable a position; but to her it was only a temporary event. Something _must_ happen. In some mysterious way they would come back to their former grandeur,--not that she cared especially, but for the sake of Fred and Irene. Then for days she would lose herself in the joys and sorrows of her heroines. To such people novel-reading is certainly a G.o.dsend. A readable book was as exhilarating to her as a splendid morning drive or a good deed is to many others. She had society without being bored. She had wit, poetry, art, music, travels, dinners, and b.a.l.l.s, with no worry, no late hours, or fatigue.

Irene could not so yield up her personality. She brooded over her lot in a haughty, bitter spirit. She uttered no complaint,--she was far too proud for that,--but she took no interest in any thing. Like a melancholy ghost she wandered up and down, or sat by the window for hours in a listless att.i.tude. There were moments when she wished herself Lady Frodsham, times when the change and bustle of such a life as that of Mr. Barringer would have been heaven itself.

Fred could never persuade her to go anywhere. She took no walks, except to pace up and down the garden path when the quiet of the house drove her well-nigh crazy. Once in a great while she opened the piano, and played as if a demon had taken possession of her soul and her fingers.

Fred breakfasted early and alone. After a while he fell into the habit of taking his lunch in his office, and coming home to a late dinner.

Martha was certainly the perfection of maids. The housekeeping went on with the regularity of clockwork: there were no complaints even. Fred used to sit in his mother's room until her bedtime, when he would go down to the library, and work for an hour or two.

The utter dearth of interest would have been terrible to him but for his business. At first he preserved a wide and punctilious distance between himself and Mr. Garafield. He was the employer, to be sure; but then Fred Lawrence had a dignity of his own to maintain. One day, however, the dignity suffered a collapse. Mr. Garafield brought in some new designs, and they lapsed into an exceedingly entertaining art discussion. The employer had excellent taste, trained and shaped by practical experience: Fred possessed the wider mental reach and exquisite perception of harmony and color, the sentiment of genius.

"Why do you not take up the idea, Mr. Lawrence?" asked his employer.

"House finishing and furnishing is fast coming to be a fine art. An intelligent, harmonious beauty is demanded. We are leaving behind the complacency of mere money in our adornments, and asking for something that evinces thought and refinement. I am sure you could succeed if you once set about the work."

The compliment touched Fred profoundly, roused him to a new venture. He practised his almost lost art of designing to some purpose: he wrote two or three art essays that happened to find much more favor than his abstruse philosophies. After all, he was young, and the whole world lay before him. Surely he could carve out some kind of fortune. The light of earnest endeavor shone in his eyes, the languid step quickened into one of courageous elasticity. He had dawdled away years enough: he would put a purpose into his manhood, that some distant eyes, seeing, might not relegate him entirely to the regions of contempt.

"There's quite a good deal in that young Lawrence," declared Phil Maverick decisively. "I was in at Garafield's the other evening, and, I must confess, listened to a fine art lecture. All about wall-papering, too!" with a genial laugh. "What an education that fellow has! Couldn't he find any thing to do, that he must drop down upon a paper-factory? I am sure I should have made a big fight out somewhere in the great world."

"'Beyond the Alps lies Italy,'" quoted Jack. "Not on the top, you observe, but perhaps in the valley. I wish you would be a little friendly with him, Maverick: you couldn't help but like him."

"There is more in him than I gave him credit for. I thought at the time of his father's death I had never seen so useless a fine gentleman, with all the stamina educated out of him. I had half a mind to turn him over to Aunt Jean and Miss Lothrop."

Darcy laughed absently, and Maverick saw that his mind had wandered elsewhere. How odd that these two should be friends! Maverick could not discern the fine bond uniting them.

CHAPTER XIX.