The Quality of Mercy Part 42

"I won't condescend to answer your unjust nonsense, my dear," said Mrs.

Hilary. "I will merely ask you if you wish to marry Mr. Maxwell--"

"I will take care of myself!" cried the girl, in open, if not definite rebellion. She flung from the room, and ran upstairs to her chamber, which looked across at the chamber where Maxwell's light was burning.

She dropped on her knees beside the window, and bowed herself to the light, that swam on her tears, a golden mist, and pitied and entreated it, and remained there, till the lamp was suddenly quenched, and the moon possessed itself of the night in unbroken splendor.

After breakfast, which she made late the next morning, she found Maxwell waiting for her on the piazza.

"Are you going over to the camp?" she asked.

"I was, after I had said good-by," he answered.

"Oh, we're not going for several hours yet. We shall take the noon train, mamma's decided." She possessed herself of the cus.h.i.+on, stuffed with spruce sprays, that lay on the piazza-steps, and added, "I will go over with you." They had hitherto made some pretence, one to the other, for being together at the camp; but this morning neither feigned any reason for it. Louise stopped, when she found he was not keeping up with her, and turned to him, and waited for him to reach her. "I wanted to speak with you, Mr. Maxwell, and I expect you to be very patient and tractable." She said this very authoritatively; she ended by asking, "Will you?"

"It depends upon what it is. I am always docile if I like a thing."

"Well, you ought to like this."

"Oh, that's different. That's often infuriating."

They went on, and then paused at the low stone wall between the pasture and the pines.

"Before I say it, you must _promise_ to take it in the right way," she said.

He asked, teasingly, "Why do you think I won't?"

"Because--because I wish you to so much!"

"And am I such a contrary-minded person that you can't trust me to behave myself, under ordinary provocation?"

"You may think the provocation is extraordinary."

"Well, let's see." He got himself over the wall, and allowed her to scramble after him.

She asked herself whether, if he had the traditions of a society man, he would have done that; but somehow, when she looked at his dreamy face, rapt in remote thought that beautified it from afar, she did not care for his neglect of small attentions. She said to herself that if a woman could be the companion of his thoughts that would be enough; she did not go into the details of arranging a.s.sociation with thoughts so far off as Maxwell's; she did not ask herself whether it would be easy or possible.

She put the cus.h.i.+on into the hammock for a pillow, but he chose to sit beside her on the bench between the pine-tree boles, and the hammock swayed empty in the light breeze that woke the sea-song of the boughs over them.

"I don't know exactly how to begin," she said, after a little silence.

"If you'll tell me what you want to say," he suggested, "I'll begin for you."

"No, thank you, I'll begin myself. Do you remember, the other day, when we were here, and were talking of the difference in peoples' pride?"

"Purse pride and poverty pride? Yes, I remember that."

"I didn't like what you said, then; or, rather, what you were."

"Have you begun now? Why didn't you?"

"Because--because you seemed very worldly."

"And do you object to the world? I didn't make it," said Maxwell, with his scornful smile. "But I've no criticisms of the Creator to offer. I take the world as I find it, and as soon as I get a little stronger, I'm going back to it. But I thought you were rather worldly yourself, Miss Hilary."

"I don't know. I don't believe I am, very. Don't you think the kind of life Matt's trying to live is better?"

"Your brother is the best man I ever knew--"

"Oh, isn't he? Magnificent!"

"But life means business. Even literary life, as I understand it, means business."

"And can't you think--can't you wish--for anything better than the life that means business?" she asked, she almost entreated. "Why should you ever wish to go back to the world? If you could live in the country away from society, and all its vanity and vexation of spirit, why wouldn't you rather lead a literary life that didn't mean business?"

"But how? Are you proposing a public subscription, or a fairy G.o.dmother?" asked Maxwell.

"No; merely the golden age. I'm just supposing the case," said Louise.

"You were born in Arcady, you know," she added, with a wistful smile.

"Arcady is a good place to emigrate from," said Maxwell, with a smile that was not wistful. "It's like Vermont, where I was born, too. And if I owned the whole of Arcady, I should have no use for it till I had seen what the world had to offer. Then I might like it for a few months in the summer."

"Yes," she sighed faintly, and suddenly she rose, and said, "I must go and put the finis.h.i.+ng touches. Good-by, Mr. Maxwell"--she mechanically gave him her hand. "I hope you will soon be well enough to get back to the world again."

"Thank you," he said, in surprise. "But the great trial you were going to make of my patience, my docility--"

She caught away her hand. "Oh, that wasn't anything. I've decided not.

Good-by! Don't go through the empty form of coming back to the house with me. I'll take your adieus to mamma." She put the cus.h.i.+on into the hammock. "You had better stay and try to get a nap, and gather strength for the battle of life as fast as you can."

She spoke so gayly and lightly, that Maxwell, with all his subtlety, felt no other mood in her. He did not even notice, till afterwards, that she had said nothing about their meeting again. He got into the hammock, and after a while he drowsed, with a delicious, poetic sense of her capricious charm, as she drifted back to the farmhouse, over the sloping meadow. He visioned a future in which fame had given him courage to tell her his love.

Mrs. Hilary knew from her daughter's face that something had happened; but she knew also that it was not what she dreaded.

PART THIRD.

I.

Matt Hilary saw Pinney, and easily got at the truth of his hopes and possibilities concerning Northwick. He found that the reporter really expected to do little more than to find his man, and make a newspaper sensation out of his discovery. He was willing to forego this in the interest of Northwick's family, if it could be made worth his while; he said he had always sympathized with his family, and Mrs. Pinney had, and he would be glad to be of use to them. He was so far from conceiving that his account of the defalcation in the _Events_ could have been displeasing to them, that he bore them none of an offender's malice. He referred to his masterpiece in proof of his interest, and he promptly agreed with Matt as to the terms of his visit to Canada, and its object.

It was, in fact, the more practicable, because, since he had written to Maxwell, there had been a change in his plans and expectations. Pinney was disappointed in the _Events'_ people; they had not seen his proposed excursion as he had; the failure of Northwick's letter, as an enterprise, had dashed their interest in him; and they did not care to invest in Pinney's scheme, even so far as to guarantee his expenses.

This disgusted Pinney, and turned his thoughts strongly toward another calling. It was not altogether strange to him; he had already done some minor pieces of amateur detective work, and acquitted himself with gratifying success; and he had lately seen a private detective, who attested his appreciation of Pinney's skill by offering him a partners.h.i.+p. His wife was not in favor of his undertaking the work, though she could not deny that he had some distinct qualification for it. The air of confidence which he diffused about him unconsciously, and which often served him so well in newspaper life, was in itself the most valuable property that a detective could have. She said this, and she did not object to the profession itself, except for the dangers that she believed it involved. She did not wish Pinney to incur these, and she would not be laughed out of her fears when he told her that there were lines of detective work that were not half so dangerous, in the long run, as that of a reporter subject to a.s.signment. She only answered that she would much rather he kept along on the newspaper. But this offer to look up Northwick in behalf of his family, was a different affair. That would give them a chance for their outing in Canada, and pay them better than any newspaper enterprise. They agreed to this, and upon how much good it would do the baby, and they imagined how Mrs. Pinney should stay quietly at Quebec, while Pinney went about, looking up his man, if that was necessary.

"And then," he said, "if I find him, and all goes well, and I can get him to come home with me by moral suasion, I can b.u.t.ter my bread on both sides. There's a reward out for him; and I guess I will just qualify as a detective before we start, so as to be prepared for emergencies--"