Maurine and Other Poems Part 5

But drink your tea before you read it, dear!

'Tis from some distant cousin, Auntie said, And so you need not hurry. Now be good, And mind your Helen."

So, in pa.s.sive mood, I laid the still unopened letter near, And loitered at my breakfast more to please My nurse, than any hunger to appease.

Then listlessly I broke the seal and read The few lines written in a bold free hand: "New London, Canada. Dear Coz. Maurine!

(In spite of generations stretched between Our natural right to that most handy claim Of cousinship, we'll use it all the same) I'm coming to see you! honestly, in truth!

I've threatened often--now I mean to act.

You'll find my coming is a stubborn fact.

Keep quiet though, and do not tell Aunt Ruth I wonder if she'll know her petted boy In spite of changes. Look for me until You see me coming. As of old I'm still Your faithful friend, and loving cousin, Roy."

So Roy was coming! He and I had played As boy and girl, and later, youth and maid, Full half our lives together. He had been, Like me, an orphan; and the roof of kin Gave both kind shelter. Swift years sped away Ere change was felt: and then one summer day A long lost uncle sailed from India's sh.o.r.e-- Made Roy his heir, and he was ours no more.

"He'd write us daily, and we'd see his face Once every year." Such was his promise given The morn he left. But now the years were seven Since last he looked upon the olden place.

He'd been through college, traveled in all lands, Sailed over seas, and trod the desert sands.

Would write and plan a visit, then, ere long, Would write again from Egypt or Hong Kong-- Some fancy called him thither unforeseen.

So years had pa.s.sed, till seven lay between His going and the coming of this note, Which I hid in my bosom, and replied To Aunt Ruth's queries, "What the truant wrote?"

By saying he was still upon the wing, And merely dropped a line, while journeying, To say he lived: and she was satisfied.

Sometimes it happens, in this world so strange, A human heart will pa.s.s through mortal strife, And writhe in torture: while the old sweet life So full of hope, and beauty, bloom and grace, Is slowly strangled by remorseless Pain: And one stern, cold, relentless, takes its place-- A ghastly, pallid specter of the slain.

Yet those in daily converse see no change Nor dream the heart has suffered.

So that day I pa.s.sed along toward the troubled way Stern duty pointed, and no mortal guessed A mighty conflict had disturbed my breast.

I had resolved to yield up to my friend The man I loved. Since she, too, loved him so I saw no other way in honor left.

She was so weak and fragile, once bereft Of this great hope, that held her with such power She would wilt down, like some frost-bitten flower And swift untimely death would be the end.

But I was strong: and hardy plants, which grow In out-door soil, can bear bleak winds that blow From Arctic lands, whereof a single breath Would lay the hot-house blossom low in death.

The hours went by, too slow, and yet too fast.

All day I argued with my foolish heart That bade me play the shrinking coward's part And hide from pain. And when the day had past And time for Vivian's call drew near and nearer, It pleaded. "Wait, until the way seems clearer: Say you are ill--or busy: keep away Until you gather strength enough to play The part you have resolved on."

"Nay, not so,"

Made answer clear-eyed Reason, "Do you go And put your resolution to the test.

Resolve, however n.o.bly formed, at best Is but a still born babe of Thought, until It proves existence of its life and will By sound or action."

So when Helen came And knelt by me, her fair face all aflame With sudden blushes, whispering, "My sweet!

My heart can hear the music of his feet-- Go down with me to meet him," I arose, And went with her all calmly, as one goes To look upon the dear face of the dead.

That eve, I know not what I did or said.

I was not cold--my manner was not strange: Perchance I talked more freely than my wont, But in my speech was naught could give affront; Yet I conveyed, as only woman can, That nameless _something_, which bespeaks a change.

'Tis in the power of woman, if she be Whole-souled and n.o.ble, free from coquetry-- Her motives all unselfish, worthy, good, To make herself and feelings understood By nameless acts--thus sparing what to man, However gently answered, causes pain, The offering of his hand and heart in vain.

She can be friendly, unrestrained, and kind, a.s.sume no airs of pride or arrogance; But in her voice, her manner, and her glance, Convey that mystic something, undefined, Which men fail not to understand and read, And, when not blind with egoism, heed.

My task was harder. 'T was the slow undoing Of long sweet months of unimpeded wooing.

It was to hide and cover and conceal The truth--a.s.suming, what I did not feel.

It was to dam love's happy singing tide That blessed me with its hopeful, tuneful tone, By feigned indiff'rence, till it turned aside, And changed its channel, leaving me alone To walk parched plains, and thirst for that sweet draught My lips had tasted, but another quaffed.

It could be done. For no words yet were spoken-- None to recall--no pledges to be broken.

"He will be grieved, then angry, cold, then cross,"

I reasoned, thinking what would be his part In this strange drama. "Then, because his he Feels something lacking, to make good his loss, He'll turn to Helen: and her gentle grace And loving acts will win her soon the place I hold to-day: and like a troubled dream At length, our past, when he looks back, will seem."

That evening pa.s.sed with music, chat and song: But hours that once had flown on airy wings Now limped on weary, aching limbs along, Each moment like some dreaded step that brings A twinge of pain.

As Vivian rose to go, Slow bending to me, from his greater height, He took my hand, and, looking in my eyes, With tender questioning and pained surprise, Said, "Maurine, you are not yourself to-night!

What is it? Are you ailing?"

"Ailing? no,"

I answered, laughing lightly, "I am not: Just see my cheek, sir! is it thin, or pale?

Now tell me, am I looking very frail?"

"Nay, nay!" he answered, "it can not be _seen_, The change I speak of--'twas more in your mien: Preoccupation, or--I know not what!

Miss Helen, am I wrong, or does Maurine Seem to have something on her mind this eve?"

"She does!" laughed Helen, "and I do believe I know what 'tis! A letter came to-day Which she read slyly, and then hid away Close to her heart, not knowing I was near: And since she's been as you have seen her here.

See how she blushes! so my random shot We must believe has struck a tender spot."

Her rippling laughter floated through the room, And redder yet I felt the hot blood rise, Then surge away to leave me pale as death, Under the dark and swiftly gathering gloom Of Vivian's questioning, accusing eyes, That searched my soul. I almost shrieked beneath That stern, fixed gaze; and stood spellbound until He turned with sudden movement, gave his hand To each in turn, and said, "You must not stand Longer, young ladies, in this open door.

The air is heavy with a cold damp chill.

We shall have rain to-morrow, or before.

Good night."

He vanished in the darkling shade; And so the dreaded evening found an end, That saw me grasp the conscience-whetted blade, And strike a blow for honor and for friend.

"How swiftly pa.s.sed the evening!" Helen sighed.

"How long the hours!" my tortured heart replied.

Joy, like a child, with lightsome steps doth glide By Father Time, and, looking in his face, Cries, s.n.a.t.c.hing blossoms from the fair road-side, "I could pluck more, but for thy hurried pace."

The while her elder brother Pain, man grown, Whose feet are hurt by many a thorn and stone, Looks to some distant hill-top, high and calm, Where he shall find not only rest, but balm For all his wounds, and cries in tones of woe, "O Father Time! why is thy pace so slow?"

Two days, all sad with lonely wind and rain, Went sobbing by, repeating o'er and o'er The miserere, desolate and drear, Which every human heart must sometime hear.

Pain is but little varied. Its refrain, Whate'er the words are, is for aye the same.

The third day brought a change: for with it came Not only sunny smiles to Nature's face, But Roy, our Roy came back to us. Once more We looked into his laughing, handsome eyes, Which, while they gave Aunt Ruth a glad surprise In no way puzzled her: for one glance told What each succeeding one confirmed, that he Who bent above her with the lissome grace Of his fine form, though grown so tall, could be No other than the Roy Montaine of old.

It was a sweet reunion: and he brought So much of sunshine with him, that I caught, Just from his smile alone, enough of gladness To make my heart forget a time its sadness.

We talked together of the dear old days: Leaving the present, with its depths and heights Of life's maturer sorrows and delights, I turned back to my childhood's level land, And Roy and I, dear playmates, hand in hand, Wandered in mem'ry, through the olden ways.

It was the second evening of his coming.

Helen was playing dreamily, and humming Some wordless melody of white-souled thought, While Roy and I sat by the open door, Re-living childish incidents of yore.

My eyes were glowing, and my cheeks were hot With warm young blood; excitement, joy, or pain Alike would send swift coursing through each vein.

Roy, always eloquent, was waxing fine, And bringing vividly before my gaze Some old adventure of those halcyon days, When suddenly in pauses of the talk, I heard a well-known step upon the walk, And looked up quickly to meet full in mine The eyes of Vivian Dangerfield. A flash Shot from their depths:--a sudden blaze of light Like that swift followed by the thunder's crash, Which said, "Suspicion is confirmed by sight,"

As they fell on the pleasant door-way scene.

Then o'er his clear-cut face, a cold white look Crept, like the pallid moonlight o'er a brook, And, with a slight, proud bending of the head, He stepped toward us haughtily and said, "Please pardon my intrusion, Miss Maurine: I called to ask Miss Trevor for a book She spoke of lending me: nay, sit you still!

And I, by grant of your permission, will Pa.s.s by to where I hear her playing."

"Stay!"

I said, "one moment, Vivian, if you please;"

And suddenly bereft of all my ease, And scarcely knowing what to do, or say, Confused as any school-girl, I arose, And some way made each to the other known They bowed, shook hands: then Vivian turned away And sought out Helen, leaving us alone.

"One of Miss Trevor's, or of Maurine's beaux?

Which may he be, who cometh like a prince With haughty bearing, and an eagle eye?"

Roy queried, laughing: and I answered, "Since You saw him pa.s.s me for Miss Trevor's side, I leave your own good judgment to reply."

And straightway caused the tide of talk to glide In other channels, striving to dispel The sudden gloom that o'er my spirit fell.

We mortals are such hypocrites at best!

When Conscience tries our courage with a test, And points to some steep pathway, we set out Boldly, denying any fear or doubt; But pause before the first rock in the way, And, looking back, with tears, at Conscience, say "We are so sad, dear Conscience! for we would Most gladly do what to thee seemeth good; But lo! this rock! we cannot climb it, so Thou must point out some other way to go."

Yet secretly we are rejoicing: and, When right before our faces, as we stand In seeming grief, the rock is cleft in twain, Leaving the pathway clear, we shrink in pain!

And loth to go, by every act reveal What we so tried from Conscience to conceal.

I saw that hour, the way made plain, to do With scarce an effort, what had seemed a strife That would require the strength of my whole life.

Women have quick perceptions: and I knew That Vivian's heart was full of jealous pain, Suspecting--nay _believing_ Roy Montaine To be my lover.--First my altered mien-- And next the letter--then the door-way scene-- My flushed face gazing in the one above That bent so near me, and my strange confusion When Vivian came, all led to one conclusion: That I had but been playing with his love, As women sometimes cruelly do play With hearts when their true lovers are away.