Queechy Volume Ii Part 50

Fleda replied, with a jump of her heart, that business affairs had obliged him to be away for a few days.

"And when does he expect to return?" said the doctor.

"I hope he will be home as soon as I am," said Fleda.

"Then you do not expect to remain long in the city this time?"

"I shall not have much of a winter at home if I do," said Fleda. "We are almost at January."

"Because," said the doctor, "in that case I should have no higher gratification than in attending upon your motions. I ?

a ? beg you to believe, my dear Miss Ringgan, that it would afford me the ? a ? most particular ? it would be most particularly grateful to me to wait upon you to ? a ? the confines of the world."

Fleda hastened to a.s.sure her officious friend that the time of her return was altogether uncertain, resolving rather to abide a guest with Mrs. Pritchard than to have Dr. Quackenboss hanging upon her motions every day of her being there. But, in the meantime, the doctor got upon Captain Rossitur's subject, then came to Mr. Thorn, and then wanted to know the exact nature of Mr. Rossitur's business affairs in Michigan, through all which matters poor Fleda had to run the gauntlet of questions, interspersed with gracious speeches which she could bear even less well. She was extremely glad to reach the cars, and take refuge in seeming sleep from the mongrel attentions, which, if for the most part prompted by admiration, owned so large a share of curiosity. Her weary head and heart would fain have courted the reality of sleep, as a refuge from more painful thoughts, and a feeling of exhaustion that could scarcely support itself; but the restless roar and jumble of the rail-cars put it beyond her power. How long the hours were ? how hard to wear out, with no possibility of a change of position that would give rest! Fleda would not even raise her head when they stopped, for fear of being talked to; how trying that endless noise to her racked nerves! It came to an end at last, though Fleda would not move for fear they might be only taking in wood and water.

"Miss Ringgan!" said the doctor in her ear, "my dear Miss Ringgan, we are here" ?

"Are we?" said Fleda, looking up; "what other name has the place, doctor?"

"Why, Bridgeport," said the doctor; "we're at Bridgeport. Now we have leave to exchange conveyances. A man feels constrained after a prolonged length of time in a place. How have you enjoyed the ride?"

"Not very well ? it has seemed long. I am glad we are at the end of it."

But as she rose and threw back her veil, the doctor looked startled.

"My dear Miss Ringgan, are you faint?"

"No, Sir."

"You are not well, indeed! ? I am very sorry ? the ride has been ? Take my arm! ? Ma'am," said the doctor, touching a black satin cloak which filled the pa.s.sage-way, "will you have the goodness to give this lady a pa.s.sport?"

But the black satin cloak preferred a straightforward manner of doing this, so their egress was somewhat delayed. Happily faintness was not the matter.

"My dear Miss Ringgan," said the doctor, as they reached the ground and the outer air, "what was it? ? the stove too powerful? You are looking ? you are of a dreadfully delicate appearance!"

"I had a headache yesterday," said Fleda; "it always leaves me with a disagreeable reminder the next day. I am not ill."

But he looked frightened, and hurried her, as fast as he dared, to the steamboat; and there proposed half a dozen restoratives, the simplest of which Fleda took, and then sought delicious rest from him and from herself on the cushions of a settee. Delicious! ? though she was alone, in the cabin of a steamboat, with strange forms and noisy tongues around her, the closed eyelids shut it out all; and she had time but for one resting thought of "patient continuance in well-doing," and one happy heart-look up to Him who has said that he cares for his children, a look that laid her anxieties down there ? when past misery and future difficulty faded away before a sleep that lasted till the vessel reached her moorings and was made fast.

She was too weary and faint even to think during the long drive up to Bleecker Street. She was fain to let it all go ?

the work she had to do, and the way she must set about it, and rest in the a.s.surance that nothing could be done that night.

She did not so much as hear Dr. Quackenboss's observations, though she answered a few of them, till, at the door, she was conscious of his promising to see her to-morrow, and of her instant conclusion to take measures to see n.o.body.

How strange everything seemed! She walked through the familiar hall, feeling as if her acquaintance with every old thing was broken. There was no light in the back parlour, but a comfortable fire.

"Is my ? is Dr. Gregory at home?" she asked of the girl who had let her in.

"No, Ma'am; he hasn't got back from Philadelphia."

"Tell Mrs. Pritchard a lady wants to see her."

Good Mrs. Pritchard was much more frightened than Dr.

Quackenboss had been when she came into the back parlour to see "a lady," and found Fleda in. the great arm-chair, taking off her things. She poured out questions, wonderings, and lamentings, not "in a breath," but in a great many; quite forgot to be glad to see her, she looked so dreadfully; and "what had been the matter?" Fleda answered her ? told of yesterday's illness and to-day's journey; and met all her shocked inquiries with so composed a face, and such a calm smile and bearing, that Mrs. Pritchard was almost persuaded not to believe her eyes.

"My uncle is not at home?"

"O no, Miss Fleda! I suppose he's in Philadelphy ? but his motions is so little to be depended on, that I never know when I have him; maybe he'll stop going through to Boston, and maybe no, and I don't know when; so anyhow I had to have a fire made, and this room all ready; and aint it lucky it was ready for you to-night? ? and now he aint here, you can have the great chair all to yourself, and make yourself comfortable ? we can keep warmer here, I guess, than you can in the country," said the good housekeeper, giving some skilful admonishing touches to the fire; ? "and you must just sit there and read and rest, and see if you can't get back your old looks again. If I thought it was _that_ you came for, I'd be happy. I never did see such a change in any one in five days."

She stood looking down at her guest with a face of very serious concern, evidently thinking much more than she chose to give utterance to.

"I am tired, Mrs. Pritchard," said Fleda, smiling up at her.

"I wish you had somebody to take care of you, Miss Fleda, that wouldn't let you tire yourself. It's a sin to throw your strength away so ? and you don't care for looks, nor nothing else when it's for other people. You're looking just as handsome, too, for all," she said, her mouth giving way a little, as she stooped down to take off Fleda's overshoes; "but that's only because you can't help it. Now, what is there you'd like to have for supper? ? just say, and you shall have it ? whatever would seem best ? because I mightn't hit the right thing."

Fleda declared her indifference to everything but a cup of tea, and her hostess bustled away to get that, and tax her own ingenuity and kindness for the rest. And, leaning her weary head back in the lounge, Fleda tried to think ? but it was not time yet; she could only feel ? feel what a sad change had come over her since she had sat there last ? shut her eyes and wish she could sleep again.

But Mrs. Pritchard's hospitality must be gone through with first.

The nicest of suppers was served in the bright little parlour, and her hostess was a compound of care and good-will; nothing was wanting to the feast but a merry heart. Fleda could not bring that, so her performance was unsatisfactory, and Mrs.

Pritchard was distressed. Fleda went to her own room, promising better doings to-morrow.

She awoke in the morning to the full burden of care and sorrow which sheer weakness and weariness the day before had in part laid down ? to a quicker sense of the state of things than she had had yet. The blasting evil that had fallen upon them ?

Fleda writhed on her bed when she thought of it. The sternest, cruellest, most inflexible grasp of distress. Poverty may be borne, death may be sweetened, even to the survivors; but _disgrace_ ? Fleda hid her head, as if she would shut the idea out with the light. And the ruin it had wrought! Affection killed at the root ? her aunt's happiness withered for this world ? Hugh's life threatened ? the fair name of his family gone ? the wear and weariness of her own spirit ? but that had hardly a thought. Himself! ? oh! no one could tell what a possible wreck, now that self-respect and the esteem of others ? those two safeguards of character ? were lost to him. "So much security has any woman in a man without religion;" she remembered those words of her aunt Miriam now; and she thought, if Mr. Thorn had sought an ill wind to blow, upon his pretensions, he could not have pitched them better. What fairer promise, without religion, could be than her uncle had given! Reproach had never breathed against his name, and no one less than those who knew him best could fancy that he had ever given it occasion. And who could have more at stake? ?

and the stake was lost ? that was the summing up thought.

No, it was not ? for Fleda's mind presently sprang beyond ? to the remedy; and after a little swift and earnest flitting about of thought over feasibilities and contingencies, she jumped up, and dressed herself with a prompt energy which showed a mind made up to its course. And yet when she came down to the parlour, though bending herself with nervous intentness to the work she had to do, her fingers and her heart were only stayed in their trembling by some of the happy a.s.surances she had been fleeing to ?

"COMMIT THY WORKS UNTO THE LORD, AND ALL THY THOUGHTS SHALL BE ESTABLISHED."

"IN ALL THY WAYS ACKNOWLEDGE HIM: HE SHALL DIRECT THY PATHS."

? a.s.surances, not, indeed, that her plans should meet with success, but that they should have the issue best for them.

She was early, but the room was warm, and in order, and the servant had left it. Fleda sought out paper and pencil, and sat down to fashion the form of an advertis.e.m.e.nt ? the first thing to be done. She had no notion how difficult a thing, till she came to do it.

"_R. R. is entreated to communicate with his niece at the old place in Bleecker Street, on business of the greatest importance_."

"It will not do," said Fleda, to herself, as she sat and looked at it ? "there is not enough to catch his eye, and there is _too much_, if it caught anybody else's eye ? 'R. R.', and 'his niece,' and 'Bleecker Street,' ? that would tell plain enough."

"_Dear uncle, F. has followed you here on business of the greatest importance. Pray let her see you; she is at the old place_."

"It will not do," thought Fleda, again ? "there is still less to catch his eye ? I cannot trust it. And if I were to put 'Queechy' over it, that would give the clue to the Evelyns, and everybody. But I had better risk anything rather than his seeing it."

The miserable needlessness of the whole thing, the pitiful weighing of sorrow against sorrow, and shame against shame, overcame her for a little; and then, dashing away the tears she had no time for, and locking up the strong-box of her heart, she took her pencil again.