The Missing Bride Part 15

Thurston's absence was prolonged much beyond the original intention, as has been related; he spent two years at the university, two in travel, and nearly two in the city of Paris.

His grandfather would certainly never have consented to this prolonged absence, had it been at his own cost; but the expenses were met by advances upon Thurston's own small patrimony.

And, in fact, when at last the young gentleman returned to his native country, it was because his property was nearly exhausted, and his remittances were small, few and far between, grudgingly sent, and about to be stopped. Therefore nearly penniless, but perfectly free from the smallest debt or degradation--elegant, accomplished, fastidious, yet truthful, generous, gallant and aspiring--Thurston left the elegant salons and exciting scenes of Paris for the comparative dullness and dreariness of his native place and his grandfather's house.

He had reached his legal majority just before leaving Paris, and soon after his arrival at home he was appointed trustee of poor f.a.n.n.y Laurie's property.

His first act was to visit f.a.n.n.y in the distant asylum in which she was confined, and ascertain her real condition. And having heard her p.r.o.nounced incurable, though perfectly harmless, he determined to release her from the confinement of the asylum, and to bring her home to her native county, where, among the woods and hills and streams, she might find at once that freedom, s.p.a.ce and solitude so desired by the heart-sick or brain-sick, and where also his own care might avail her.

Old Mr. Willc.o.xen, far from offering opposition to this plan, actually favored it--though from the less worthy motive of economy. What was the use of spending money to pay her board, and nursing, and medical attendance, in the asylum, when she might be boarded and nursed and doctored so much cheaper at home? For the old man confidently looked forward to the time when the poor, fragile, failing creature would sink into the grave, and Thurston would become her heir. And he calculated that every dollar they could save of her income would be so much added to the inheritance when Thurston should come into it.

Very soon after Thurston's return home his grandfather gave him to understand the conditions upon which he intended to make him his heir.

They were two in number, viz., first, that Thurston should never leave him again while he lived; and, secondly, that he should never marry without his consent. "For I don't wish to be left alone in my old age, my dear boy; nor do I wish to see you throw yourself away upon any girl whose fortune is less than the estate I intend to bequeath entire to yourself."

CHAPTER XII.

MARIAN, THE INSPIRER.

It was not fortunate for old Mr. Willc.o.xen's plans that his grandson should have met Marian Mayfield. For, on the morning of Thurston's first meeting with the charming girl, when he turned his horse's head from the arched gateway of Old Field Cottage and galloped off, "a haunting shape and image gay" attended him.

It was that of beautiful Marian, with her blooming face and sunny hair, and rounded roseate neck and bosom and arms, all softly, delicately flushed with the pure glow of rich, luxuriant vitality, as she stood in the sunlight, under the arch of azure morning-glories, with her graceful arms raised in the act of binding up the vines.

At first this "image fair" was almost unthought of; he was scarcely conscious of the haunting presence, or the life and light it gradually diffused through his whole being. And when the revelation dawned upon his intellect, he smiled to himself and wondered if, for the first time, he was falling in love; and then he grew grave, and tried to banish the dangerous thought. But when, day after day, amid all the business and the pleasures of his life, the "shape" still pursued him, instead of getting angry with it or growing weary of it, he opened his heart and took it in, and made it at home, and set it upon a throne, where it reigned supreme, diffusing delight over all his nature. But soon, too soon, this bosom's sovereign became the despot, and stung, goaded and urged him to see again this living, breathing, glowing, most beautiful original. To seek her? For what? He did not even try to answer the question.

Thus pa.s.sed one week.

And then, had he been disposed to forget the beautiful girl, he could not have done so. For everywhere where the business of his grandfather took him--around among the neighboring planters, to the villages of B---- or of C----, everywhere he heard of Marian, and frequently he saw her, though at a distance, or under circ.u.mstances that made it impossible for him, without rudeness, to address her. He both saw and heard of her in scenes and society where he could hardly have expected to find a young girl of her insignificant position.

Marian was a regular attendant of the Protestant church at Benedict, where, before the morning service, she taught in the Sunday-school, and before the afternoon service she received a cla.s.s of colored children.

And Thurston, who had been a very careless and desultory attendant, sometimes upon the Catholic chapel, sometimes upon the Protestant church, now became a very regular frequenter of the latter place of wors.h.i.+p; the object of his wors.h.i.+p being not the Creator, but the creature, whom, if he missed from her accustomed seat, the singing, and praying, and preaching for him lost all of its meaning, power and spirituality. In the churchyard he sometimes tried to catch her eye and bow to her; but he was always completely baffled in his aspirations after a nearer communion. She was always attended from the church and a.s.sisted into her saddle by Judge Provost, Colonel Thornton, or some other "potent, grave and reverend seignors," who "hedged her about with a divinity" that it was impossible, without rudeness and intrusion, to break through. The more he was baffled and perplexed, the more eager became his desire to cultivate her acquaintance. Had his course been clear to woo her for his wife, it would have been easy to ask permission of Edith to visit her at her house; but such was not the case, and Thurston, tampering with his own integrity of purpose, rather wished that this much coveted acquaintance should be incidental, and their interviews seem accidental, so that he should not commit himself, or in any way lead her to form expectations which he had no surety of being able to meet. How long this cool and cautious foresight might avail him, if once he were brought in close companions.h.i.+p with Marian, remains to be seen. It happened one Sunday afternoon in October that he saw Marian take leave of her venerable escort, Colonel Thornton, at the churchyard gate, and gayly and alone turn into the forest road that led to her own home. He immediately threw himself into his saddle and followed her, with the a.s.sumed air of an indifferent gentleman pursuing his own path.

He overtook her near one of those gates that frequently intersect the road. Bowing, he pa.s.sed her, opened the gate, and held it open for her pa.s.sage. Marian smiled, and nodded with a pleasant:

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Willc.o.xen," as she went through,

Thurston closed the gate and rode on after her.

"This is glorious weather, Miss Mayfield."

"Glorious, indeed!" replied Marian.

"And the country, too, is perfectly beautiful at this season. I never could sympathize with the poets who call autumnal days 'the melancholy days--the saddest of the year.'"

"Nor I," said Marian; "for to me, autumn, with its refulgent skies, and gorgeous woods, and rich harvest, and its prospect of Christmas cheer and wintry repose has ever seemed a gay and festive season. The year's great work is done, the harvest is gathered, enjoyment is present, and repose at hand."

"In the world of society," said Thurston, "it is in the evening, after the labor or the business of the day is over, that the gayest scenes of festivity occur, just preceding the repose of sleep. So I receive your thought of the autumn--the evening of the year, preceding the rest of winter. Nature's year's work is done; she puts on her most gorgeous robes, and holds a festival before she sinks to her winter's sleep."

Marian smiled brightly upon him.

"Yes; my meaning, I believe, only more pointedly expressed."

That smile--that smile! It lightened through all his nature with electric, life-giving, spirit-realizing power, elevating and inspiring his whole being. His face, too, was radiant with life as he answered the maiden's smile.

But something in his eyes caused Marian's glances to fall, and the rosy clouds to roll up over her cheeks and brow.

Then Thurston governed his countenance--let no ardent or admiring glance escape, and when he spoke again his manner and words were more deferential.

"We spoke of the world of nature, Miss Mayfield; but how is it with the world of man? To many--nay, to most of the human race--autumn is the herald of a season not of festivity and repose, but of continued labor, and increased want and privation and suffering."

"That is because society is not in harmony with nature; man has wandered as far from nature as from G.o.d," said Marian.

"And as much needs a Saviour to lead him back to the one as to the other," replied Thurston.

"You know that--you feel it?" asked Marian, turning upon him one of her soul-thrilling glances.

Thurston trembled with delicious pleasure through all his frame; but, guarding his eyes, lest again they should frighten off her inspiring glances, he answered, fervently:

"I know and feel it most profoundly."

And Thurston thought he spoke the very truth, though in sober fact he had never thought or felt anything about the subject until now that Marian, his inspirer, poured her life-giving spirit into his soul.

She spoke again, earnestly, ardently.

"You know and feel it most profoundly! That deep knowledge and that deep feeling is the chrism oil that has anointed you a messenger and a laborer in the cause of humanity. 'Called and chosen,' be thou also faithful. There are many inspired, many anointed; but few are faithful!"

"Thou, then, art the high priestess that hast poured the consecrated oil on my head. I will be faithful!"

He spoke with such sudden enthusiasm, such abandon, that it had the effect of bringing Marian back to the moderation and _retenue_ of her usual manner. He saw it in the changed expression of her countenance; and what light or shade of feeling pa.s.sed over that beautiful face unmarked of him? When he spoke again it was composedly.

"You speak as the preachers and teachers preach and teach--in general terms. Be explicit; what would you have me to do, Miss Mayfield? Only indicate my work, and tell me how to set about the accomplishment of it, and never knight served liege lady as I will serve you!"

Marian smiled.

"How? Oh, you must make yourself a position from which to influence people! I do not know that I can advise you how; but you will find a way, as--were I a man, I should!"

"Being a woman, you have done wonders!"

"For a woman," said Marian, with a glance full of archness and merriment.

"No, no; for any one, man or woman! But your method, Marian? I beg your pardon, Miss Mayfield," he added, with a blush of ingenuous embarra.s.sment.

"Nay, now," said the frank girl; "do call me Marian if that name springs more readily from your lips than the other. Almost all persons call me Marian, and I like it."

A rush of pleasure thrilled all through his veins; he gave her words a meaning and a value for himself that they did not certainly possess; he forgot that the grace extended to him was extended to all--nay, that she had even said as much in the very words that gave it. He answered: