Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 12, August, 1863, No. 70 by Various

V >> Various >> Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 12, August, 1863, No. 70

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"Look, Aunt Pen! what lovely shells and moss I've got! Such a splendid
scramble over the rocks as I've had with Mrs. Duncan's boys! It seemed
so like home to run and sing with a troop of topsy-turvy children that
it did me good; and I wish you had all been there to see," cried Debby,
running into the drawing-room, one day, where Mrs. Carroll and a circle
of ladies sat enjoying a dish of highly flavored scandal, as they
exercised their eyesight over fancy-work.

"My dear Dora, spare my nerves; and if you have any regard for the
proprieties of life, don't go romping in the sun with a parcel of noisy
boys. If you could see what an object you are, I think you would try to
imitate Miss Clara, who is always a model of elegant repose."

Miss West primmed up her lips, and settled a fold in her ninth flounce,
as Mrs. Carroll spoke, while the whole group fixed their eyes with
dignified disapproval on the invader of their refined society. Debby had
come like a fresh wind into a sultry room; but no one welcomed the
healthful visitant, no one saw a pleasant picture in the bright-faced
girl with wind-tossed hair and rustic hat heaped with moss and
many-tinted shells; they only saw that her gown was wet, her gloves
forgotten, and her scarf trailing at her waist in a manner no well-bred
lady could approve. The sunshine faded out of Debby's face, and there
was a touch of bitterness in her tone, as she glanced at the circle of
fashion-plates, saying, with an earnestness which caused Miss West to
open her pale eyes to their widest extent,--

"Aunt Pen, don't freeze me yet,--don't take away my faith in simple
things, but let me be a child a little longer,--let me play and sing and
keep my spirit blithe among the dandelions and the robins while I can;
for trouble comes soon enough, and all my life will be the richer and
the better for a happy youth."

Mrs. Carroll had nothing at hand to offer in reply to this appeal, and
four ladies dropped their work to stare; but Frank Evan looked in from
the piazza, saying, as he beckoned like a boy,--

"I'll play with you, Miss Dora; come and make sand pies upon the shore.
Please let her, Mrs. Carroll; we'll be very good, and not wet our
pinafores or feet."

Without waiting for permission, Debby poured her treasures into the lap
of a certain lame Freddy, and went away to a kind of play she had never
known before. Quiet as a chidden child, she walked beside her companion,
who looked down at the little figure, longing to take it on his knee and
call the sunshine back again. That he dared not do; but accident, the
lover's friend, performed the work, and did him a good turn beside. The
old Frenchman was slowly approaching, when a frolicsome wind whisked off
his hat and sent it skimming along the beach. In spite of her late
lecture, away went Debby, and caught the truant chapeau just as a wave
was hurrying up to claim it. This restored her cheerfulness, and when
she returned, she was herself again.

"A thousand thanks; but does Mademoiselle remember the forfeit I might
demand to add to the favor she has already done me?" asked the gallant
old gentleman, as Debby took the hat off her own head, and presented it
with a martial salute.

"Ah, I had forgotten that; but you may claim it, Sir,--indeed, you may;
I only wish I could do something more to give you pleasure"; and Debby
looked up into the withered face which had grown familiar to her, with
kind eyes, full of pity and respect.

Her manner touched the old man very much; he bent his gray head before
her, saying, gratefully,--

"My child, I am not good enough to salute these blooming cheeks; but I
shall pray the Virgin to reward you for the compassion you bestow on the
poor exile, and I shall keep your memory very green through all my
life."

He kissed her hand, as if it were a queen's, and went on his way,
thinking of the little daughter whose death left him childless in a
foreign land.

Debby softly began to sing, "Oh, come unto the yellow sands!" but
stopped in the middle of a line, to say,--

"Shall I tell you why I did what Aunt Pen would call a very unladylike
and improper thing, Mr. Evan?"

"If you will be so kind"; and her companion looked delighted at the
confidence about to be reposed in him.

"Somewhere across this great wide sea I hope I have a brother," Debby
said, with softened voice and a wistful look into the dim horizon. "Five
years ago he left us, and we have never heard from him since, except to
know that he landed safely in Australia. People tell us he is dead; but
I believe he will yet come home; and so I love to help and pity any man
who needs it, rich or poor, young or old, hoping that as I do by them
some tender-hearted woman far away will do by Brother Will."

As Debby spoke, across Frank Evan's face there passed the look that
seldom comes but once to any young man's countenance; for suddenly the
moment dawned when love asserted its supremacy, and putting pride,
doubt, and fear underneath its feet, ruled the strong heart royally and
bent it to its will. Debby's thoughts had floated across the sea; but
they came swiftly back when her companion spoke again, steadily and
slow, but with a subtile change in tone and manner which arrested them
at once.

"Miss Dora, if you should meet a man who had known a laborious youth, a
solitary manhood, who had no sweet domestic ties to make home beautiful
and keep his nature warm, who longed most ardently to be so blessed, and
made it the aim of his life to grow more worthy the good gift, should it
ever come,--if you should learn that you possessed the power to make
this fellow-creature's happiness, could you find it in your gentle heart
to take compassion on him for the love of 'Brother Will'?"

Debby was silent, wondering why heart and nerves and brain were stirred
by such a sudden thrill, why she dared not look up, and why, when she
desired so much to speak, she could only answer, in a voice that sounded
strange to her own ears,--

"I cannot tell."

Still, steadily and slow, with strong emotion deepening and softening
his voice, the lover at her side went on,--

"Will you ask yourself this question in some quiet hour? For such a man
has lived in the sunshine of your presence for eight happy weeks, and
now, when his holiday is done, he finds that the old solitude will be
more sorrowful than ever, unless he can discover whether his summer
dream will change into a beautiful reality. Miss Dora, I have very
little to offer you; a faithful heart to cherish you, a strong arm to
work for you, an honest name to give into your keeping,--these are all;
but if they have any worth in your eyes, they are most truly yours
forever."

Debby was steadying her voice to reply, when a troop of bathers came
shouting down the bank, and she took flight into her dressing-room,
there to sit staring at the wall, till the advent of Aunt Pen forced her
to resume the business of the hour by assuming her aquatic attire and
stealing shyly down into the surf.

Frank Evan, still pacing in the footprints they had lately made, watched
the lithe figure tripping to and fro, and, as he looked, murmured to
himself the last line of a ballad Debby sometimes sang,--

"Dance light! for my heart it lies under your feet, love!"

Presently a great wave swept Debby up, and stranded her very near him,
much to her confusion and his satisfaction. Shaking the spray out of her
eyes, she was hurrying away, when Frank said,--

"You will trip, Miss Dora; let me tie these strings for you"; and,
suiting the action to the word, he knelt down and began to fasten the
cords of her bathing-shoe.

Debby stood looking down at the tall head bent before her, with a
curious sense of wonder that a look from her could make a strong man
flush and pale, as he had done; and she was trying to concoct some
friendly speech, when Frank, still fumbling at the knots, said, very
earnestly and low,--

"Forgive me, if I am selfish in pressing for an answer; but I must go
to-morrow, and a single word will change my whole future for the better
or the worse. Won't you speak it, Dora?"

If they had been alone, Debby would have put her arms about his neck,
and said it with all her heart; but she had a presentiment that she
should cry, if her love found vent; and here forty pairs of eyes were on
them, and salt water seemed superfluous. Besides, Debby had not breathed
the air of coquetry so long without a touch of the infection; and the
love of power, that lies dormant in the meekest woman's breast, suddenly
awoke and tempted her.

"If you catch me before I reach that rock, perhaps I will say 'Yes,'"
was her unexpected answer; and before her lover caught her meaning, she
was floating leisurely away.

Frank was not in bathing-costume, and Debby never dreamed that he would
take her at her word; but she did not know the man she had to deal with;
for, taking no second thought, he flung hat and coat away, and dashed
into the sea. This gave a serious aspect to Debby's foolish jest. A
feeling of dismay seized her, when she saw a resolute face dividing the
waves behind her, and thought of the rash challenge she had given; but
she had a spirit of her own, and had profited well by Mr. Joe's
instructions; so she drew a long breath, and swam as if for life,
instead of love. Evan was incumbered by his clothing, and Debby had much
the start of him; but, like a second Leander, he hoped to win his Hero,
and, lending every muscle to the work, gained rapidly upon the little
hat which was his beacon through the foam. Debby heard the deep
breathing drawing nearer and nearer, as her pursuer's strong arms cleft
the water and sent it rippling past her lips. Something like terror took
possession of her; for the strength seemed going out of her limbs, and
the rock appeared to recede before her; but the unconquerable blood of
the Pilgrims was in her veins, and "_Nil desperandum_" her motto; so,
setting her teeth, she muttered, defiantly,--

"I'll not be beaten, if I go to the bottom!"

A great splashing arose, and when Evan recovered the use of his eyes,
the pagoda-hat had taken a sudden turn, and seemed making for the
farthest point of the goal. "I am sure of her now," thought Frank; and,
like a gallant sea-god, he bore down upon his prize, clutching it with a
shout of triumph. But the hat was empty, and like a mocking echo came
Debby's laugh, as she climbed, exhausted, to a cranny in the rock.

"A very neat thing, by Jove! Deuse take me if you a'n't 'an honor to
your teacher, and a terror to the foe,' Miss Wilder," cried Mr. Joe, as
he came up from a solitary cruise and dropped anchor at her side. "Here,
bring along the hat, Evan; I'm going to crown the victor with
appropriate what-d'-ye-call-'ems," he continued, pulling a handful of
sea-weed that looked like well-boiled greens.

Frank came up, smiling; but his lips were white, and in his eye a look
Debby could not meet; so, being full of remorse, she naturally assumed
an air of gayety, and began to sing the merriest air she knew, merely
because she longed to throw herself upon the stones and cry violently.

"It was 'most as exciting as a regatta, and you pulled well, Evan; but
you had too much ballast aboard, and Miss Wilder ran up false colors
just in time to save her ship. What was the wager?" asked the lively
Joseph, complacently surveying his marine millinery, which would have
scandalized a fashionable mermaid.

"Only a trifle," answered Debby, knotting up her braids with a
revengeful jerk.

"It's taken the wind out of your sails, I fancy, Evan, for you look
immensely Byronic with the starch minus in your collar and your hair in
a poetic toss. Come, I'll try a race with you; and Miss Wilder will
dance all the evening with the winner. Bless the man, what's he doing
down there? Burying sunfish, hey?"

Frank had been sitting below them on a narrow strip of sand, absently
piling up a little mound that bore some likeness to a grave. As his
companion spoke, he looked at it, and a sudden flush of feeling swept
across his face, as he replied,--

"No, only a dead hope."

"Deuse take it, yes, a good many of that sort of craft founder in these
waters, as I know to my sorrow"; and, sighing tragically, Mr. Joe turned
to help Debby from her perch, but she had glided silently into the sea,
and was gone.

For the next four hours the poor girl suffered the sharpest pain she had
ever known; for now she clearly saw the strait her folly had betrayed
her into. Frank Evan was a proud man, and would not ask her love again,
believing she had tacitly refused it; and how could she tell him that
she had trifled with the heart she wholly loved and longed to make her
own? She could not confide in Aunt Pen, for that worldly lady would have
no sympathy to bestow. She longed for her mother; but there was no time
to write, for Frank was going on the morrow,--might even then be gone;
and as this fear came over her, she covered up her face and wished that
she were dead. Poor Debby! her last mistake was sadder than her first,
and she was reaping a bitter harvest from her summer's sowing. She sat
and thought till her cheeks burned and her temples throbbed; but she
dared not ease her pain with tears. The gong sounded like a Judgment-Day
trump of doom, and she trembled at the idea of confronting many eyes
with such a telltale face; but she could not stay behind, for Aunt Pen
must know the cause. She tried to play her hard part well; but wherever
she looked, some fresh anxiety appeared, as if every fault and folly of
those months had blossomed suddenly within the hour. She saw Frank Evan
more sombre and more solitary than when she met him first, and cried
regretfully within herself, "How could I so forget the truth I owed
him?" She saw Clara West watching with eager eyes for the coming of
young Leavenworth, and sighed, "This is the fruit of my wicked vanity!"
She saw Aunt Pen regarding her with an anxious face, and longed to say,
"Forgive me, for I have not been sincere!" At last, as her trouble grew,
she resolved to go away and have a quiet "think,"--a remedy which had
served her in many a lesser perplexity; so, stealing out, she went to a
grove of cedars usually deserted at that hour. But in ten minutes Joe
Leavenworth appeared at the door of the summer-house, and, looking in,
said, with a well-acted start of pleasure and surprise,--

"Beg pardon, I thought there was no one here. My dear Miss Wilder, you
look contemplative; but I fancy it wouldn't do to ask the subject of
your meditations, would it?"

He paused with such an evident intention of remaining that Debby
resolved to make use of the moment, and ease her conscience of one care
that burdened it; therefore she answered his question with her usual
directness,--

"My meditations were partly about you."

Mr. Joe was guilty of the weakness of blushing violently and looking
immensely gratified; but his rapture was of short duration, for Debby
went on very earnestly,--

"I believe I am going to do what you may consider a very impertinent
thing; but I would rather be unmannerly than unjust to others or untrue
to my own sense of right. Mr. Leavenworth, if you were an older man, I
should not dare to say this to you; but I have brothers of my own, and,
remembering how many unkind things they do for want of thought, I
venture to remind you that a woman's heart is a perilous plaything, and
too tender to be used for a selfish purpose or an hour's pleasure. I
know this kind of amusement is not considered wrong; but it _is_ wrong,
and I cannot shut my eyes to the fact, or sit silent while another woman
is allowed to deceive herself and wound the heart that trusts her. Oh,
if you love your own sisters, be generous, be just, and do not destroy
that poor girl's happiness, but go away before your sport becomes a
bitter pain to her!"

Joe Leavenworth had stood staring at Debby with a troubled countenance,
feeling as if all the misdemeanors of his life were about to be paraded
before him; but, as he listened to her plea, the womanly spirit that
prompted it appealed more loudly than her words, and in his really
generous heart he felt regret for what had never seemed a fault before.
Shallow as he was, nature was stronger than education, and he admired
and accepted what many a wiser, worldlier man would have resented with
auger or contempt. He loved Debby with all his little might; he meant to
tell her so, and graciously present his fortune and himself for her
acceptance; but now, when the moment came, the well-turned speech he had
prepared vanished from his memory, and with the better eloquence of
feeling he blundered out his passion like a very boy.

"Miss Dora, I never meant to make trouble between Clara and her lover;
upon my soul, I didn't, and wish Seguin had not put the notion into my
head, since it has given you pain. I only tried to pique you into
showing some regret, when I neglected you; but you didn't, and then I
got desperate and didn't care what became of any one. Oh, Dora, if you
knew how much I loved you, I am sure you'd forgive it, and let me prove
my repentance by giving up everything that you dislike. I mean what I
say; upon my life I do; and I'll keep my word, if you will only let me
hope."

If Debby had wanted a proof of her love for Frank Evan, she might have
found it in the fact that she had words enough at her command now, and
no difficulty in being sisterly pitiful toward her second suitor.

"Please get up," she said; for Mr. Joe, feeling very humble and very
earnest, had gone down upon his knees, and sat there entirely regardless
of his personal appearance.

He obeyed; and Debby stood looking up at him with her kindest aspect, as
she said, more tenderly than she had ever spoken to him before,--

"Thank you for the affection you offer me, but I cannot accept it, for I
have nothing to give you in return but the friendliest regard, the most
sincere good-will. I know you will forgive me, and do for your own sake
the good things you would have done for mine, that I may add to my
esteem a real respect for one who has been very kind to me."

"I'll try,--indeed, I will, Miss Dora, though it will be powerful hard
without yourself for a help and a reward."

Poor Joe choked a little, but called up an unexpected manliness, and
added, stoutly,--

"Don't think I shall be offended at your speaking so, or saying 'No' to
me,--not a bit; it 's all right, and I'm much obliged to you. I might
have known you couldn't care for such a fellow as I am, and don't blame
you, for nobody in the world is good enough for you. I'll go away at
once, I'll try to keep my promise, and I hope you'll be very happy all
your life."

He shook Debby's hands heartily, and hurried down the steps, but at the
bottom paused and looked back. Debby stood upon the threshold with
sunshine dancing on her winsome face, and kind words trembling on her
lips; for the moment it seemed impossible to part, and, with an
impetuous gesture, he cried to her,--

"Oh, Dora, let me stay and try to win you! for everything is possible to
love, and I never knew how dear you were to me till now!"

There were sudden tears in the young man's eyes, the flush of a genuine
emotion on his cheek, the tremor of an ardent longing in his voice, and,
for the first time, a very true affection strengthened his whole
countenance. Debby's heart was full of penitence; she had given so much
pain to more than one that she longed to atone for it,--longed to do
some very friendly thing, and soothe some trouble such as she herself
had known. She looked into the eager face uplifted to her own and
thought of Will, then stooped and touched her lover's forehead with the
lips that softly whispered, "No."

If she had cared for him, she never would have done it; poor Joe knew
that, and murmuring an incoherent "Thank you!" he rushed away, feeling
very much as he remembered to have felt when his baby sister died and he
wept his grief away upon his mother's neck. He began his preparations
for departure at once, in a burst of virtuous energy quite refreshing to
behold, thinking within himself, as he flung his cigar-case into the
grate, kicked a billiard-ball into a corner, and suppressed his favorite
allusion to the Devil,--

"This is a new sort of thing to me, but I can bear it, and upon my life
I think I feel the better for it already."

And so he did; for though he was no Augustine to turn in an hour from
worldly hopes and climb to sainthood through long years of inward
strife, yet in after-times no one knew how many false steps had been
saved, how many small sins repented of, through the power of the memory
that far away a generous woman waited to respect him, and in his secret
soul he owned that one of the best moments of his life was that in which
little Debby Wilder whispered "No," and kissed him.

As he passed from sight, the girl leaned her head upon her hand,
thinking sorrowfully to herself,--

"What right had I to censure him, when my own actions are so far from
true? I have done a wicked thing, and as an honest girl I should undo
it, if I can. I have broken through the rules of a false propriety for
Clara's sake; can I not do as much for Frank's? I will. I'll find him,
if I search the house,--and tell him all, though I never dare to look
him in the face again, and Aunt Pen sends me home to-morrow."

Full of zeal and courage, Debby caught up her hat and ran down the
steps, but, as she saw Frank Evan coming up the path, a sudden panic
fell upon her, and she could only stand mutely waiting his approach.

It is asserted that Love is blind; and on the strength of that popular
delusion novel heroes and heroines go blundering through three volumes
of despair with the plain truth directly under their absurd noses: but
in real life this theory is not supported; for to a living man the
countenance of a loving woman is more eloquent than any language, more
trustworthy than a world of proverbs, more beautiful than the sweetest
love-lay ever sung.

Frank looked at Debby, and "all her heart stood up in her eyes," as she
stretched her hands to him, though her lips only whispered very low,--

"Forgive me, and let me say the 'Yes' I should have said so long ago."

Had she required any assurance of her lover's truth, or any reward for
her own, she would have found it in the change that dawned so swiftly in
his face, smoothing the lines upon his forehead, lighting the gloom of
his eye, stirring his firm lips with a sudden tremor, and making his
touch as soft as it was strong. For a moment both stood very still,
while Debby's tears streamed down like summer rain; then Frank drew her
into the green shadow of the grove, and its peace soothed her like a
mother's voice, till she looked up smiling with a shy delight her glance
had never known before. The slant sunbeams dropped a benediction on
their heads, the robins peeped, and the cedars whispered, but no rumor
of what further passed ever went beyond the precincts of the wood; for
such hours are sacred, and Nature guards the first blossoms of a human
love as tenderly as she nurses May-flowers underneath the leaves.

* * * * *

Mrs. Carroll had retired to her bed with a nervous headache, leaving
Debby to the watch and ward of friendly Mrs. Earle, who performed her
office finely by letting her charge entirely alone. In her dreams Aunt
Pen was just imbibing a copious draught of Champagne at the
wedding-breakfast of her niece, "Mrs. Joseph Leavenworth," when she was
roused by the bride elect, who passed through the room with a lamp and a
shawl in her hand.

"What time is it, and where are you going, dear?" she asked, dozily
wondering if the carriage for the wedding-tour was at the door so soon.

"It's only nine, and I am going for a sail, Aunt Pen."

As Debby spoke, the light flashed full into her face, and a sudden
thought into Mrs. Carroll's mind. She rose up from her pillow, looking
as stately in her nightcap as Maria Theresa is said to have done in like
unassuming head-gear.

"Something has happened, Dora! What have you done? What have you said? I
insist upon knowing immediately," she demanded, with somewhat startling
brevity.

"I have said 'No' to Mr. Leavenworth and 'Yes' to Mr. Evan; and I should
like to go home to-morrow, if you please," was the equally concise
reply.

Mrs. Carroll fell flat in her bed, and lay there stiff and rigid as
Morlena Kenwigs. Debby gently drew the curtains, and stole away, leaving
Aunt Pen's wrath to effervesce before morning.

The moon was hanging luminous and large on the horizon's edge, sending
shafts of light before her till the melancholy ocean seemed to smile,
and along that shining pathway happy Debby and her lover floated into
that new world where all things seem divine.

* * * * *

WET-WEATHER WORK.

BY A FARMER.

III.

Will any of our artists ever give us, on canvas, a good, rattling, saucy
shower? There is room in it for a rare handling of the brush:--the
vague, indistinguishable line of hills, (as I see them to-day,)--the
wild scud of gray, with fine gray lines, slanted by the wind, and
trending eagerly downward,--the swift, petulant dash into the little
pools of the highway, making fairy bubbles that break as soon as they
form,--the land smoking with excess of moisture,--and the pelted leaves
all wincing and shining and adrip.

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