Was It Right to Forgive? Part 15

"I know not, Cousin Peter." Her face became thoughtful, and she added, with some seriousness:

"The thing we intend is sure to bring with it lots of things we did not intend, and often of far superior importance; but----"

"Our times are always in His hand. We do not shape our own destiny, cousin."

"Oh, indeed! I should like to dispute that point with you; but the train is no respecter of persons, so we must let its settlement wait on our convenience."

With these words she waved an adieu to Adriana, and Peter drove her away. Then Adriana sat down to try to realize the change that had so suddenly come over her circ.u.mstances. Her first thought was the glad one that she had voluntarily made her father happy before this invitation came. How mean she would have felt if she had not done so!

He might then have been pleased to get rid of her sad face and melancholy ways; and she could not have written to him about her pleasures in New York. She would have been ashamed to do so. And on many other accounts, she understood at this hour that unselfishness pays no one so well as it pays those who practice it.

It was Friday afternoon, and the interval was full of pleasant talk and antic.i.p.ations; though naturally on the Sabbath the tone of both was subdued to the day and its holy observances. In the bare old Dutch Reformed Church, Adriana was an object of interest to the maidens worshipping there; almost as much so as if she were going to be married. A strange destiny had fallen upon this girl, who had been their playmate and schoolmate, and they could not help wondering what quality she possessed capable of attracting to her so much good fortune. She was pretty, but then they also were pretty; some of them lived in larger and finer homes than Adriana's; and as for her plain tweed gowns, they thought their own styles far superior.

"It must have been something she learned at college," said one speculative girl, in their future discussion of this subject. "No,"

said another, "it is the Dutch in her. Mother says the Van Hoosens have always stuck together. There never was a poor one among them, or, if there was, they all helped him until he could stand on his feet and fight his own battle."

And certainly Alida Van Hoosen's interest in Antony and Adriana--only very distant relatives--seemed to warrant this explanation. For a good family tree has far-spreading branches and roots, and the crown of leaves on the topmost branch, and the tiniest fibre that offshoots from the trunk, are part and parcel of the same life. And no other tree is just like it. Now, Alida Van Hoosen was one of those women who ripen well and improve by keeping--a much sweeter woman at sixty than she had been at forty; for though age turns a frivolous nature into a hard one, it makes a serious woman tender and tolerant and humanly sympathetic. And Miss Alida, having wearied her capacity for travel and change, was fortunately in need of a living object on which to bestow her time and her affections. So that the unlooked-for appearance of Antony, and the handsome appearance of Adriana, allied with circ.u.mstances so singularly fitting into her love of race and family, supplied her with an interest promising to be both sufficiently active and sufficiently lasting.

"Here am I," she said to herself, "provided by my good fortune with two sons and two daughters, just at their most interesting age; all their childish tempers and troubles over, their education finished, and their love affairs pleasantly tangled up. I am grateful to Peter Van Hoosen and Henry Filmer for finding me a vocation so suitable for my age and my position as the good genius of the Van Hoosens." And with this pleasant idea underlying all her other ideas, she awaited the arrival of Adriana.

Monday morning proved to be fine and frostily exhilarating; and Peter took his daughter to the train in a cheerful mood. He knew better than to offer her advice about a life of which he was entirely ignorant; besides, he had faith in Adriana's religious nature and clear judgment; and he felt it to be sufficient as he held her hand at parting to say: "Be a good girl, Yanna, 'unspotted from the world'--you know what that means, my dear. And try to do something for Antony."

She smiled a.s.sent to both commissions, and with this comfort at heart, Peter drove leisurely home, and began to settle his life to its new order. He was resolved to work more in his barn and his greenhouse, and to begin writing a little book, which he had long contemplated, upon the culture of bulbs. On the whole, he was sure he could manage to enjoy his solitary life very well; for love destroys all egotisms; it can be happy in the happiness of others.

Antony was the first person Adriana saw when she reached New York. He had come with the carriage to meet his sister, and he was smiling a welcome to her, before he had any opportunity to speak it. "What do you think?" he said to Yanna, as soon as they were together. "Cousin Alida sent for me on Sat.u.r.day, and when I answered her note, she entreated me to be her guest during this winter. She told me she expected you to-day, and that a gentleman in the house was necessary for comfort and safety--and respectability. She pretended to be afraid of burglars and servants, and made out such a hard condition for herself and you that I finally consented to accept her invitation. But I am afraid I have done a very foolish thing."

"Indeed, you have not, Antony. You are looking pale and ill; certainly you want some one to care for you. What is the matter, dear brother?"

"Nothing."

"Do you mean Rose Filmer, when you say 'nothing'?"

"Far from it. Rose is everything."

"You love Rose so much? Tell me about it, Antony. It will do you good."

"I love Rose so much, Yanna, that I only live to love her."

"Well, then, you will soon meet her often, and under very favorable conditions. She will be sure to visit me, and in the quiet of Cousin Alida's house you may influence her when you could not do so in a crowd."

"I have thought of that. And, oh, Yanna! you must help me to keep my Rose sweet and pure. She has so many temptations; she is so weak, and you are so strong. Surely you will help me to help Rose!"

"With all my heart. Miss Alida told me----"

"Do not mind what you are told--the dear girl is in danger, and I love her all the more. Oh, Yanna, the love has got into my soul, and whatever Rose is, or whatever she does, cannot affect it. Deep down, below all the folly and cruelty she is sometimes guilty of, she loves me. Do I mind, then, the accidentals of her position? Not at all. Her heart is mine. Some day she will find that out. I am not to be discouraged by pouts or tempers--no, nor yet by graver faults."

And Yanna felt at once that there was no reasoning with a love like this. Also, it had her most living sympathy. Just in this unreasonable way, she would fain have been loved herself. She looked with admiration on the man capable of it. As he talked of Rose, of her beauty, her sweetness, her facile temper responding to every breath of opinion, to every whim and wish, he talked with an astonishing eloquence; for the highest poetry is struck from the eternal strings of the human heart, and every word Antony said came thrilling from them. It was evident that he had learned this eloquence in the school of pain; Yanna could see through his shy, sensitive, uncomplaining manner that he had suffered, and was still suffering from the conditions he described so graphically.

"We are at home," he said at length. "And, oh, Yanna! it has done me so much good to speak to you. I have never said a word to any one before. I felt this morning as if my heart must break."

"Come to me with every fresh joy or sorrow, Antony. What is a sister for? See, there is cousin at the door!"

"Welcome, children!" was Miss Alida's cheerful greeting. "Was the train late? I expected you an hour ago. In fact, I have been looking for you, Adriana, ever since last Friday. Come, I will show you your room. I am sure you have a headache, they heat those cars so ferociously. Did Antony attend to your trunks? Is it not a charming day? And after lunch we will go out and do some shopping. There is always shopping to do--that is the one interest never lacking. How is Cousin Peter? Did he fret at parting with you?" So she talked, as she stirred the fire, and pointed out the comforts of the apartment ere she left her guest to rest and refresh herself.

When the door closed, Adriana sat down with her hat in her hand, and looked around her. The house was large, lofty and furnished with all the splendid taste of the present era; and its atmosphere was singularly quiet and cheerful. It gave her that sense of contentment which comes from satisfied ideals; and she wondered vaguely at the chain of circ.u.mstances which had brought Antony and herself under Madame Zabriski's roof. Antony in no way appeared out of his place; and yet culture, in its educational sense, had done nothing for him.

But he possessed naturally that serene, self-contained, courteous manner which is the essence of good breeding; and in outward aspects he had been wise enough not to trust his own judgment, but to wear what his tailor decreed. Antony, therefore, was well-dressed, calm and leisurely; the latter excellent society trait having been acquired to perfection in the long, hot days of ranching life, when lounging was the only thing possible, and a very little exertion went a very long way.

As for herself, Adriana had no fears. She antic.i.p.ated no social contingency to which she would not be equal; and she found in her relationship to her hostess all the surety she needed for her position. But she did consider the propriety of rich costumes in rooms so magnificent, and admit that Miss Alida's proposition concerning shopping was a necessary one. So the time went swiftly by, as she noted down her own ideas on the subject; for in spite of all her efforts, her mind would wander. She thought of Harry, she thought of Rose, and she wondered how and when they would meet. So before she had completed her list, the lunch bell rang; and she saw Antony at the foot of the stairs waiting for her. He looked at her with proud satisfaction, and slipping a piece of paper into her hand said: "You will want lots of fine things, Yanna; you must let me get some of them for you."

When they entered the dining-room there was an old gentleman present--a fiery professor of some kind, who was sipping his bouillon, and contradicting Miss Alida with an apparently equal satisfaction.

She seemed to be enjoying his unconventional manner. "Professor," she was saying as they entered, "you seize every opportunity to lecture the universe. Will you regard my adopted children? They are Mr. Antony and Miss Adriana Van Hoosen--cousins, sir, and a little more than cousinly." He bowed to the young people, smiled, nodded, and then said brusquely to Miss Alida:

"Dutch, too, I perceive."

"Pure Dutch, Professor. Look at them. They may be descendants of John de Bakker, or of Madame Wendelmost Klaas; or they may be of the same blood as the Cromelins, Laboucheres, and Van Overzees, for aught even your wisdom can tell. For the race is pure on their side."

"And all is race. There is no other truth; because it includes all others. I admire the Dutch, madame; and I am lost in wonder when I consider Holland."

"You may well be that, Professor," cried Miss Alida, as she lifted daintily for him a Joseph-portion of the tempting salad, "for the sublime thing about Hollanders is that they have created a country for themselves. If you had ever stood on the town house of Leyden----"

"I have stood there."

"And what did you see?"

"I saw streets, where there was once the open sea. I saw cornfields, where fish had once been caught. I saw an orchard, where there had once been an oyster-bed. I saw a fair province, covered with a web of silvery waters."

"And yet they say that Dutchmen are prosaic and phlegmatic! Holland is in itself a poem!"

"Yes," said Adriana, "for some poet must have seen beneath the salt waves the land flowing with milk and bristling with barley."

"And then," added Miss Alida, all aglow with enthusiasm--"and then came the heroes! and they dived into the turbid waters and brought the vision to the light of day."

"Very good!" said the Professor; "but what I like about the Hollanders is their religion. Holland was nothing till all of a sudden the Gospel made it sublime. The Hollanders knew the worth of their souls. In their politics, they thought of eternity--a thing statesmen do not usually take into account; and seeking first the kingdom of heaven, they struck such bold strokes for freedom as would make common heroes falter."

"Yes," answered Miss Alida, "the Dutch are a religious people, but they have always hated religious rituals. You could not get Antony and Adriana Van Hoosen, after all their American generations, to take an interest in church millinery and such trivialities."

"Race! race! my dear madam. The Dutch do not comprehend the truths hidden in symbols--that is all."

"But why," asked Antony, "should we have symbols when we may have realities?"

"Why? why? Always why! I think I will write a grand treatise on the Martyrs and Heroes of Holland."

"Better, then, begin at once. Miss Witsus contemplates just such a book. She tells me that she is certain she can write it."

"Let her cherish the simple faith to the latest day of her life. Do not encourage her in any audacious attempts to reduce it to practice.

She will only lose a pleasant illusion. For my part, I spoke presumptuously, and I most humbly repent it."

"Let us change the subject. How do you feel about the elections, Professor?" asked Antony.

"I take them as I take the weather, or any other matter beyond my control."