Rutledge Part 44

"Are these all your recruits, Miss Grace?" said Mr. Rutledge.

"Yes. Josephine and Ella are afraid of their complexions, or their tempers, or something, and won't come, and I can't find Captain McGuffy or Phil."

Victor stood ready to hand me into the carriage; I immediately took possession of the back seat.

"This is a very selfish arrangement," said Victor, discontentedly, as Grace was about to follow me. "Miss Grace, you'd have a much better view of the country up there beside Mr. Rutledge."

"And Grace might drive," I added; "she's so fond of horses."

"As you please," she said, with a shrug. "I only go for ballast yet awhile, I know, and it's evident I'm not wanted here. Mr. Rutledge, do _you_ want me?"

"Miss Grace, my happiness will not be complete till you comply with Mr.

Viennet's disinterested suggestion;" and Grace mounted up beside him.

I had undertaken, in that drive, more than I was quite equal to. I had brought myself into the position that I had been avoiding all day, a tete-a-tete of the most unequivocal kind with a man whose devotion it was impossible to ignore, and I had gone too far to retract entirely. It was cruel to treat him with coldness, now that we were on the eve of a long separation, and to repel with indifference the tenderness that shone in his eloquent eyes and faltered in his low tones. Our companions left us entirely to ourselves; my awkward attempts to draw them into a general conversation were all frustrated by Mr. Rutledge's cool indifference, and Grace's cool impertinence.

The only time that Mr. Rutledge addressed a single remark voluntarily to me, was on our way home. We had driven around by Norbury, and were returning by way of the post-office. Suddenly drawing the reins, Mr.

Rutledge stopped for an instant on the brow of the hill.

"Do you remember this?" he said, abruptly, turning to me, and fixing his eyes on my face.

Remember it? My cheek was crimson with the recollection then; the scene would never fade but with life and memory. It was just here, that, in the glow of the autumn sunset, he and I had parted on that ever-to-be-remembered evening, when my willfulness had led me into such danger. Hemlock Hollow lay dark and dense below us. Far off at the left, the mill and bridge that had served as a landmark then, gleamed in the setting sun. The forest foliage was greener and thicker now, but the picture was the same; I could never have got it out of my memory if I had tried; and yet, when Mr. Rutledge asked me that sudden question, a wicked lie, or as wicked a prevarication, rose to my lips.

"Yes, I think I remember it. Didn't we go this way to the Emersons' the day of the fete?"

"I think we did--yes," said Mr. Rutledge, with an almost imperceptible compression of the lips, as, bending forward, he startled the eager horses with a galling lash of the whip.

Grace was quite white with alarm as we reached the village.

"Mr. Rutledge, why _do_ you drive so frightfully fast? I am terrified to death."

He drew the horses in a little, and, looking down at her, said:

"Were we going fast? I am sorry I frightened you; for my part, I thought we crept."

He paused a moment at the Parsonage gate. Mrs. Arnold was in the garden; Mr. Rutledge called out to her that he had brought Mr. Shenstone's letters and papers, but had not time to stop to see him. She approached the carriage, looking so lady-like and attractive, with her soft, white hair smoothed plain under her neat cap, and her clinging dark dress, that Victor said, involuntarily to me:

"What an attractive-looking person! I never saw a gentler face."

She was quite absorbed in attending to the message Mr. Rutledge left for Mr. Shenstone, and in her retiring modesty I do not think she ventured a look at us, till Victor, who had been watching her with interest, addressed some remark to her. She raised her eyes at the sound of his voice in a startled way, the same fluttering, frightened look transformed her quiet features, and trying in vain to command herself, she stammered some excuse, and turned away.

"Strange!" exclaimed Victor, as we drove on. "Did you notice the odd way in which that person looked at me, both now and the other day?"

"It _is_ strange," said Mr. Rutledge, thoughtfully. "Can you account for it in any way?"

"In no way, sir. I do not think I ever enjoyed the happiness of meeting her before I visited this neighborhood; and since my residence in it, I cannot remember having done anything to have rendered myself at all an object of interest to her."

"Who's that bowing so graciously to you?" interrupted Grace.

"Oh! Ellerton's medical adviser."

"By the way, Mr. Viennet," said Mr. Rutledge, turning rather abruptly to him, "the doctor tells me he is an old friend of yours."

"Hardly a friend, if I understand the term aright," returned Victor, changing color slightly. "I knew him when he was studying medicine in the city two or three years ago. I lost sight of him entirely after that, and the renewal of our acquaintance has been attended with more zest on his part than on mine."

"I believe he is rather apt to presume," said Mr. Rutledge, briefly, and there the conversation dropped.

We were rather a taciturn party for the remainder of the way. Tea was waiting for us on our return, and after it, Grace and I had to make quite a hurried toilet for the party, the others being already dressed.

"Aunt Edith, be kind enough to let me accompany you," I said, hurriedly, following her into the carriage, as we all stood, ready to start, on the stone walk below the piazza. Victor, with a look of disappointment, closed the door upon Mrs. Churchill, Grace, Ella, and myself.

"Miss Josephine," I had heard Mr. Rutledge say, "it is such a lovely night, you will surely not refuse to let me drive you. It will be infinitely pleasanter than going in the carriage, I a.s.sure you."

It was a very long and a very silent drive for the inmates of the carriage, to Windy Hill; and when we arrived there, we found the gentlemen of our party awaiting our coming with some impatience. The curtain would be raised in a moment, Phil said; the tableaux had been r.e.t.a.r.ded as long as possible on our account. Where were Josephine and Mr. Rutledge?

"Echo answers where," said Grace. "Taking the longest way, you may be sure, and making the most of this lovely moonlight."

Mrs. Churchill did not seem very uneasy, and after a little consultation in the dressing-room, it was decided that we should not wait for them, but should all go down to the parlor. Accordingly we descended the stairs and entered the room _en ma.s.se_. It was quite full, and as they had only been waiting for our arrival, in a few moments the curtain rose.

The tableaux were very fine, no doubt; there were murmurs of applause and exclamations of admiration from all the company. All were enthusiastically received, and some were encored. I tried to attend, but my recollection of them is only a confused jumble of convent and harem scenes, trials of queenly personages, and signings of death warrants and marriage contracts; Effie Deans, and Rebekah at the well, the eve of St.

Bartholomew, and the landing of the Pilgrims. I tried to attend, both to the tableaux and to Victor's whispered conversation, but there was "something on my mind" as Kitty would have said, too engrossing to allow me to succeed. Do what I might, I still found myself listening eagerly for the sound of carriage wheels outside. Victor noticed my abstracted and nervous manner, and turned away at last with a half sigh.

The curtain rose and fell many times, the audience admired, applauded and encored, with untiring enthusiasm, the little French clock above me on the mantelpiece, marked the departing minutes faithfully, and still they did not come. This was as unlike Josephine as it was unlike Mr.

Rutledge. Something dreadful had happened, I was sure; something that would make the memory of this night forever terrible, and what a miserable mockery it was for us all to be laughing and talking so thoughtlessly. Mrs. Churchill was anxious, I could see, but she tried very faithfully to conceal it, and laughed and turned off all conjectures about them with her usual skillful nonchalance. Phil had walked the piazza as long as he could endure it, then throwing himself upon his horse, had galloped off in the direction of Rutledge.

At last the parlors were cleared of all the appurtenances of the tableaux, and the dancing began. I was standing by a window listening--oh, how eagerly!--for the sound of wheels, when Victor approached me, and asked for the next dance.

"Indeed you must excuse me, I cannot dance," I said almost impatiently, "ask somebody else."

The look with which he turned away would have cut me to the heart, if my heart had not been too selfishly miserable to mind the pain of others.

He did not dance, but leaning against the window opposite gazed abstractedly out. The gay music and merry voices grated perhaps as cruelly on his mood as on mine.

I never had had less the command of myself; the persons who came up to talk to me, could make nothing of me; I could not talk, could not find a word of answer to their questions. At length a gentleman who had been standing near me for some minutes, said kindly:

"These rooms are too warm for you, will you come on the piazza for a little while?"

I gave him a grateful look, and taking his arm, followed him out into the fresh air. Several others were there before us, and accepting my cicerone's offer of a seat, I leaned against the vine-covered pillar, and looked intently down the road that led winding up from the lodge. My companion evidently understood and pitied my anxiety and did not attempt to make me talk.

At last! there came a distant sound of wheels, and as they rapidly neared the house, I involuntarily covered my face with my hands. What might they bring? What news might I hear in another moment?

"They are safe," said my companion, kindly. "Look, they are at the door."

I looked up. Josephine, with a light laugh, was springing up the steps.

Mr. Rutledge, who had thrown the reins to a servant, was following her.

Mrs. Churchill and a group of others hurried out to meet them.

"My dear," she exclaimed hurriedly, "what has detained you? We have been excessively worried about you."

"Why, mamma," laughed the daughter, lightly kissing her mother's cheek, "I knew you would scold, and I didn't mean to have been so naughty, but you know it was such a sweet evening, and Mr. Rutledge said that wild Hemlock Hollow looked so picturesque by moonlight, that we couldn't resist the temptation of going that way, and after we had driven--oh! I can't tell you how far--we suddenly came upon a huge old tree that had fallen across the road, and over it of course we could not get, and the woods were so dense on either side that it was impossible to get around it, so the only thing left for us to do, was to turn, and make the best of our way back."