Rutledge Part 37

This upon the threshold! Under the very shadow of the doorway! I felt faint and giddy as I pa.s.sed on into the hall. Kitty, with a low cry of delight, sprung forward to meet me.

"Kitty, I am so glad!" I said, laying my hand upon her arm. "Isn't it a long time since I went away? But I am so tired; do take me to my room."

Kitty flew up the stairs in delight, only stopping occasionally to ask me if I didn't feel well, and if she couldn't help me. All the others had gone to their rooms; not even Mrs. Roberts was to be seen.

"She's got her hands too full to prowl around now," said Kitty, with a wicked shake of the head. She led the way to my old room, and, to my surprise, putting her hand in her pocket, drew out the key, and fitted it in the lock.

"What's the reason of its being locked up?" I said in surprise.

"Reason enough, Miss," said Kitty, with a profound look. Then, admitting me and shutting the door carefully, continued, in a less guarded tone: "The idea of your coming back here and having any but your own room! And it's been just as much as I could do to keep Mrs. Roberts from putting Miss Churchill in it. Such a time as I had about it when the baggage came! None of the ladies had come upstairs yet; they were all walking about the piazza and hall with master, and Thomas was seeing to the trunks being carried up, and I overheard Mrs. Roberts say: 'Thomas, Miss Churchill's baggage is to be put in the blue room, and her mamma's and Miss Grace's in the oak-chamber opposite, and Miss Wynkar's goes in the south room.' 'No, I beg your pardon, ma'am,' I says, coming forward, '_my_ young lady's trunk goes to the blue room, if you please. I've master's own orders for it, and I'll go ask him again if you choose.'_Your_ young lady, indeed!' says Mrs. Roberts, throwing me such an awful look. 'Thomas, you will attend to my orders.' I flew upstairs and put the key in my pocket, and Thomas tipped me a wink, and left your trunk outside the door. And now," said Kitty, stopping a moment to recover breath, "don't you think it looks pleasant, Miss?"

"Indeed it does, Kitty," I said, gratefully, sinking down in an easy-chair, and looking about me admiringly. It looked whiter and cooler than ever. There were new book-shelves in the recesses, and new curtains at the windows; roses, mignonette and heliotrope, filled the slender vases, and the wax candles on the dressing-table shed the softest light around the room. Kitty, busying herself about putting away my bonnet and shawls, chatted on eagerly.

"Gay times, these, for Rutledge," she went on, after having answered my inquiries for Stephen and the others. "Gay times, and busy times. Who'd ever have thought to see this house full of company again?"

"Yes," I said, "so busy, I am afraid, I shall not have much of your attendance, Kitty. It will not be like last fall, when you had nothing to do but wait on me. What nice times those were! I wish all the rest of the people were miles away, Kitty, and there was no one in the house that wasn't here last November."

"Oh!" exclaimed Kitty, deprecatingly, "I'm sure you'll enjoy it, Miss, with so many young gentlemen and ladies. I'm certain master thought you would, or he wouldn't have asked them. And as for my waiting on you, why that's all settled, and Mrs. Roberts knows it too. Mr. Rutledge told me this very morning that he supposed it would please me to be allowed to attend upon you, and that I was to consider that my duty as long as you were here. Mrs. Roberts had come in for some directions, and she heard it all. She jerked her head, and flounced a little, but didn't dare to say a word. But," continued Kitty, anxiously, "I'm afraid you are not well. Can I get you anything? Won't you lie down? Oh! I am afraid you are crying."

Kitty's fears were not unfounded. The tears rushed to my eyes, and hiding my face in my hands, I tried, but vainly, to suppress the hysterical sobs that choked me, as I essayed to answer her anxious questions. She was so disappointed and alarmed at my unexpected mood that she hardly knew what to do, and I tried, as soon as I could speak, to a.s.sure her that I was really very glad to get back, that there was nothing the matter, only I was very nervous and tired.

"And there's the tea-bell!" exclaimed Kitty, in dismay, "and everybody else is dressed! What's to be done?"

"There's nothing for it, Kitty, but to let me go to bed. I can't go downstairs to-night--it would kill me. Undress me, and then don't let a soul come in--not even my aunt. That's a good Kitty: it isn't the first time you've taken care of me."

"Ah!" said Kitty, with tears in her kind eyes, "if I only knew what to do to make you better! It isn't the headache that I mean--a cup of tea and a good night's rest will make that all right; but you ain't the same young lady that you were last fall. I saw that the minute you stepped into the hall. There's something on your mind; I knew it the instant you spoke. When you used to talk, it was as if there was a laugh in your voice all the time, and now you talk as if you were tired, and hated to open your lips."

"So I am, Kitty," I said, with a fresh burst of crying. "I am tired and heart-sick, and when I talk it's no wonder there are 'tears in my voice.' There are a great many things to make me unhappy; you mustn't ask me anything about them; but it's so long since I've had anybody to care for me, and nurse me, that it makes me babyish, I believe. There!"

I exclaimed, after a minute, conquering my tears, "don't think anything more about it, Kitty, but help me to undress."

There could have been no better medicine for my aching head and heart, than that Kitty administered. It was a perfect luxury to resign myself into her hands, to feel that I needn't think again to-night if I didn't choose, that I was sure of being watched over and cared for, come what might. I had not realized, till I came into its sunshine again, how perfectly necessary to anything like happiness an atmosphere of love is.

I had known that, in my home, I had felt chilled and forlorn. I had given no pleasure to others, and received none myself; but, child-like, I had only known it was, and had not asked why. But now, that kind and tender hands rendered the services that I had long wearily performed for myself, and a watchful care provided for my comfort and remembered my tastes, I realized how unnatural and unkind a thing it is for anything of human mold to be denied human love and sympathy; I realized how necessary to the fair growth and goodly proportions of a nature, is the sunshine of kindness and affection. Since I had left Rutledge, I had never known what it was to be caressed and favored; misconstrued, slighted, and put aside by those around me, the natural result had been reserve, distrust, and aversion on my part. I was, as Kitty said, not the same girl I had been. I knew better than Kitty did how deep the change had gone--how far below the surface the blight had struck. The brave, gay heart of the child was dead in my bosom forever. Whatever there might be to hope for, in the future, it must be the life-and-death struggle and victory of the woman, not the careless happiness of the child.

CHAPTER XXV.

"Love is hurt with jar and fret, Love is made a vague regret, Eyes with idle tears are wet, Idle habit links us yet-- What is love? for we forget; Ah! no, no!"

TENNYSON.

My bright eyed maid had something evidently on her mind the next morning, as stealing early to my bedside, she found me awake and quite ready for her services. I caught sight of her perplexed face in the gla.s.s, as she dressed my hair, and said at last, "What are you thinking about, Kitty, has anything happened?"

"Happened? Oh, no, Miss," she said, blushing, and a little confused. "I was only thinking--I was only wondering"----

"Well, Kitty?"

"I mean that--that is--are you very fond of Miss Churchill?"

I laughed and blushed a little in my turn, and said:

"Why no, not particularly, I think."

"Because _I_ think she's a very haughty lady, for my part; and if I am any judge, her maid, Frances, is a much-put-upon young woman, that's all."

"What has led you to that conclusion so soon?" I asked, with a smile.

"Oh! nothing particular, ma'am, only some of Miss Churchill's ruffled morning dresses got crushed in the packing, and Frances was in the laundry till after twelve o'clock last night, fluting 'em over; and I've noticed, Frances starts and fl.u.s.ters when her lady's bell rings, as if there were a scolding for her at the other end of the wire, that's all."

"Oh, that's a trifle! Frances is nervous," I said, apologetically. "What did my aunt say when you told her my message last night?"

"Nothing but 'very well,' and 'I am sorry to hear it.' There wasn't time for any more, for the gentleman they call Captain, with the big moustache, came up for her to play whist, and she went away with him.

But," said Kitty, hesitatingly, and looking at me very sharply, "I don't know whether I ought to tell you, but there was a gentleman who didn't seem to take it quite so coolly as Mrs. Churchill did."

"Who, pray?" I asked, as the blood started to my cheeks.

"The young French gentleman, Miss; I think they call him Mr."----

"Oh, Mr. Viennet!"

"I wonder, Miss, why you say 'Oh, Mr. Viennet!' as if you were disappointed," said Kitty, quite nettled. "I'm sure he's the handsomest gentleman among 'em; and if you could have seen him, when he followed me up the stairs, and asked about you, I am sure you'd think better of it; and he's got the handsomest eyes! I can't think why you don't like him."

"I have not said I did not; and besides, Kitty," I continued, gravely, "it's not right for you to talk to the gentlemen; you must be careful."

"I know, Miss; but who could help talking to such a nice gentleman, just answering his questions? I'm sure he could get round Mrs. Roberts herself, if he tried! let alone people that ain't made of stone or leather. And," continued Kitty, "isn't it odd, Miss, but all the time he was talking to me, I couldn't help wondering where I'd seen him before?

I know for a certainty, that he's never been within forty miles of Rutledge till now, and I've never been twenty miles away from it; and yet, for my life, I couldn't get it out of my head, that some where or other I'd seen him before!"

"It's a very foolish idea to have in your head, Kitty, and a very improbable one at the best; so I wouldn't trouble myself any further about it, if I were you."

I did not mention it to Kitty, but I could not help being struck with the similarity of my own impressions on first meeting Victor Viennet. It was the vaguest, mistiest chain of reminiscence that his face seemed to stir, but till I had seen him several times, it continued to perplex me.

I could not account for it in any way; but the a.s.sociation or recollection, or whatever it was, had faded before a closer acquaintance; and now Victor Viennet's handsome face suggested Victor Viennet, and n.o.body or nothing more.

"These will match your lilac muslin exactly, Miss," said Kitty, offering me a handful of purple "morning glories." "I ran out to get you some flowers before I came in to wake you, but I was in such a hurry, that I couldn't go as far as the garden, and so just picked these out of the hedge."

I thanked her as I fastened them in my dress; they looked lovely with the dew still shining on them. It was yet a good while to breakfast, but I turned to go downstairs, accepting, with a smile at the newness of such services, the dainty handkerchief that Kitty shook out for me.

The fresh morning breeze swept softly through the wide hall as I descended the stairs. Summer had come in and taken the gloomy old place by storm. A pyramid of flowers stood on the dark oak table in the centre, a mocking-bird in its gay cage hung at one end, and over the cold marble pavement the sunshine was creeping fast. The house was so quiet, that I could almost fancy I was alone in it, and crossing the hall, I went up to the library door; but a cowardly irresolution made me turn away, and pa.s.s on to the north door of the hall, which, as well as the front one, stood wide open. The broad fields stretched far away June-like and lovely in the sunshine; the hedges and trees were in such luxuriant leaf, that they quite hid the stables and outhouses on the left that last fall had been so prominent in the landscape. Looking from the parlor windows, there was the same view of the lake that I had from my room. The mists were rolling up from its fair bosom, and the foliage that crowned its banks was of the freshest and glossiest green. The dew was glittering on the lawn, early birds twittered and sang in the branches overhead, and on the breeze came the rich perfume of the roses that climbed from pillar to pillar of the piazza. Rutledge had fulfilled my antic.i.p.ations; in my weary, longing day-dreams, I had never pictured anything fairer than this.

It was with a half-defined feeling of curiosity that I wandered through the large parlors, furnished in an odd mixture of old-fashioned splendor and modern elegance. It was _terra incognita_ to me; I had never entered these rooms before. I could hardly understand how the sunshine and fresh air came to be so much at home in them, as it seemed they now were. It was difficult to believe that these finely furnished, habitable looking apartments, had been closed and unused for twenty years and more. They had been thoroughly revised, no doubt, and the past put to the rout; but they were strange and unattractive to me, and I turned again to the library. Listening at the door before I pushed it open, I entered noiselessly. There was no need of so much caution; this room was as untenanted as its neighbors, save by thronging memories and torturing regrets, and they entered with me.

Here at least there was no change; the wide cas.e.m.e.nts were open to the morning, but the white north light seemed subdued and cold after the sunshine of the other rooms, and the dark panelling and frowning moldings looked a defiance at the intruding summer. I liked it better so; there had been change enough without this last stronghold of memory being invaded.

Every article of furniture in the room--the table, with its pile of papers at one end and books at the other, the familiar paper-cutter lying by the unopened review, the heavy bronze inkstand, the graceful lamp, the chair, pushed back half a yard from the table--minded me of the happy hours that it would have been wiser to forget. One of the bookcases stood open, and a book lay on the table as if recently read, and a card marked the reader's place. I took it up involuntarily. It was Sintram, and the words swam before me as I bent over its familiar pages.

On the card that had served for a mark, were written a few lines in a well known hand; and as I raised my eyes from them to the window, I saw Mr. Rutledge himself approaching the house from the direction of the stables. With a hurried movement I slipped the card in my pocket, and finding nothing else to replace it with, pulled one of the flowers from my bosom, and hastily shutting it between the leaves, threw the book on the table, and ran into the hall. If I had been a fugitive from justice, I could not have had a more guilty feeling than that which now impelled me to escape from meeting Mr. Rutledge. But there was no time to get upstairs; he would see me from the piazza if I went into the parlor; and while I stood in the hall, trembling with eagerness, and alarm, and irresolution, my retreat was cut off by the sudden appearance of Victor descending the stairs, who with an exclamation of pleasure, hurried toward me, and taking my hand was bowing over it in most devout fashion, when Mr. Rutledge entered the hall. Victor looked a little confused, and paused in the midst of an elegant French speech, while the quick crimson dyed my cheeks, all of which Mr. Rutledge appeared to ignore, as, approaching us, he said good morning with his usual courtesy of manner, expressed his pleasure in the improvement apparent in my looks, and then to Victor his astonishment at finding him a person of such early habits.