The Dark Star Part 34

I am to study drawing and painting at a studio for women. The kind Princess has arranged it. I am also to study piano and voice culture.

This I did not suppose would be possible with the money I have, but the Princess Mistchenka, who has asked me to let her take charge of my money and my expenses, says that I can easily afford it. She knows, of course, what things cost, and what I am able to afford; and I trust her willingly because she is so dear and sweet to me, but I am a little frightened at the dresses she is having made for me. They _can't_ be inexpensive!--Such lovely clothes and shoes and hats--and other things about which I never even heard in Brookhollow.

I ought to be happy, Mr. Neeland, but everything is so new and strange--even Sunday is not restful; and how different is Notre Dame de Paris and Saint Eustache from our church at Gayfield! The high arches and jewelled windows and the candles and the dull roar of the organ drove from my mind those quiet and solemn thoughts of G.o.d which always filled my mind so naturally and peacefully in our church at home. I couldn't think of Him; I couldn't even try to pray; it was as though an ocean were rolling and thundering over me where I lay drowned in a most deep place.

Well, I must close, because _dejeuner_ is ready--you see I know _one_ French word, after all! And one other--"_Bonjour, monsieur!_"--which counts _two_, doesn't it?--or three in all.

It has made me feel better to write to you. I hope you will not think it a presumption.

And now I shall say thank you for your great kindness to me in your studio on that most frightful night of my life. It is one of those things that a girl can never, never forget--your aid in my hour of need. Through all my shame and distress it was your help that sustained me; for I was so stunned by my disgrace that I even forgot G.o.d himself.

But I _will_ prove that I am thankful to Him, and worthy of your goodness to me; I _will_ profit by this dreadful humiliation and devote my life to a more worthy and lofty purpose than merely getting married just because a man asked me so persistently and I was too young and ignorant to continue saying no! Also, I _did_ want to study art. How stupid, how immoral I was!

And now n.o.body would ever want to marry me again after this--and also it's against the law, I imagine. But I don't care; I never, never desire to marry another man. All I want is to learn how to support myself by art; and some day perhaps I shall forget what has happened to me and perhaps find a little pleasure in life when I am very old.

With every wish and prayer for your happiness and success in this world of sorrow, believe me your grateful friend,

Rue Carew.

Every nave and laboured line of the stilted letter touched and amused and also flattered Neeland; for no young man is entirely insensible to a young girl's grat.i.tude. An agreeable warmth suffused him; it pleased him to remember that he had been a.s.sociated in the moral and social rehabilitation of Rue Carew.

He meant to write her some kind, encouraging advice; he had every intention of answering her letter. But in New York young men are very busy; or think they are. For youth days dawn and vanish in the s.p.a.ce of a fire-fly's lingering flash; and the moments swarm by like a flight of distracted golden b.u.t.terflies; and a young man is ever at their heels in breathless chase with as much chance of catching up with the elusive moment as a squirrel has of outstripping the wheel in which he whirls.

So he neglected to reply--waited a little too long. Because, while her childish letter still remained unanswered, came a note from the Princess Mistchenka, enclosing a tremulous line from Rue:

_Mon cher_ James:

Doubtless you have already heard of the sad death of Ruhannah's parents--within a few hours of each other--both stricken with pneumonia within the same week. The local minister cabled her as Mrs.

Brandes in my care. Then he wrote to the child; the letter has just arrived.

My poor little _protegee_ is prostrated--talks wildly of going back at once. But to what purpose now, _mon ami_? Her loved ones will have been in their graves for days before Ruhannah could arrive.

No; I shall keep her here. She is young; she shall be kept busy every instant of the day. That is the only antidote for grief; youth and time its only cure.

Please write to the Baptist minister at Gayfield, James, and find out what is to be done; and have it done. Judge Gary, at Orangeville, had charge of the Reverend Mr. Carew's affairs. Let him send the necessary papers to Ruhannah here. I enclose a paper which she has executed, conferring power of attorney. If a guardian is to be appointed, I shall take steps to qualify through the good offices of Lejeune Brothers, the international lawyers whom I have put into communication with Judge Gary through the New York representatives of the firm.

There are bound to be complications, I fear, in regard to this mock marriage of hers. I have consulted my attorneys here and they are not very certain that the ceremony was not genuine enough to require further legal steps to free her entirely. A suit for annulment is possible.

Please have the house at Brookhollow locked up and keep the keys in your possession for the present. Judge Gary will have the keys sent to you.

James, dear, I am very deeply indebted to you for giving to me my little friend, Ruhannah Carew. Now, I wish to make her entirely mine by law until the inevitable day arrives when some man shall take her from me.

Write to her, James; don't be selfish.

Yours always, Naa.

The line enclosed from Ruhannah touched him deeply:

I cannot speak of it yet. Please, when you go to Brookhollow, have flowers planted. You know where our plot is. Have it made pretty for them.

Rue.

He wrote at once exactly the sort of letter that an impulsive, warm-hearted young man might take time to write to a bereaved friend.

He was genuinely grieved and sorry for her, but he was glad when his letter was finished and mailed, and he could turn his thoughts into other and gayer channels.

To this letter she replied, thanking him for what he had written and for what he had done to make the plot in the local cemetery "pretty."

She asked him to keep the keys to the house in Brookhollow. Then followed a simple report of her quiet and studious daily life in the home of the Princess Mistchenka; of her progress in her studies; of her hopes that in due time she might become sufficiently educated to take care of herself.

It was a slightly dull, laboured, almost emotionless letter. Always willing to s.h.i.+rk correspondence, he persuaded himself that the letter called for no immediate answer. After all, it was not to be expected that a very young girl whom a man had met only twice in his life could hold his interest very long, when absent. However, he meant to write her again; thought of doing so several times during the next twelve months.

It was a year before another letter came from her. And, reading it, he was a little surprised to discover how rapidly immaturity can mature under the shock of circ.u.mstances and exotic conditions which tend toward forced growth.

Mon cher ami:

I was silly enough to hope you might write to me. But I suppose you have far more interesting and important matters to occupy you.

Still, don't you sometimes remember the girl you drove home with in a sleigh one winter night, ages ago? Don't you sometimes think of the girl who came creeping upstairs, half dead, to your studio door? And don't you sometimes wonder what has become of her?

Why is it that a girl is always more loyal to past memories than a man ever is? Don't answer that it is because she has less to occupy her than a man has. You have no idea how busy I have been during this long year in which you have forgotten me.

Among other things I have been busy growing. I am taller by two inches than when last I saw you. Please be impressed by my five feet eight inches.

Also, I am happy. The greatest happiness in the world is to have the opportunity to learn about that same world.

I am happy because I now have that opportunity. During these many months since I wrote to you I have learned a little French; I read some, write some, understand pretty well, and speak a little. What a pleasure, _mon ami_!

Piano and vocal music, too, occupy me; I love both, and I am told encouraging things. But best and most delightful of all I am learning to draw and compose and paint from life in the Academie Julian! Think of it! It is difficult, it is absorbing, it requires energy, persistence, self-denial; but it is fascinating, satisfying, glorious.

Also, it is very trying, _mon ami_; and I descend into depths of despair and I presently soar up out of those depressing depths into intoxicating alt.i.tudes of aspiration and self-confidence.

You yourself know how it is, of course. At the criticism today I was lifted to the seventh heaven. "_Pas mal_," he said; "_continuez, mademoiselle_." Which is wonderful for him. Also my weekly sketch was chosen from among all the others, and I was given number one. That means my choice of _tabourets_ on Monday morning, _voyez vous_? So do you wonder that I came home with Suzanne, walking on air, and that as soon as _dejeuner_ was finished I flew in here to write to you about it?

Suzanne is our maid--the maid of Princess Naa, of course--who walks to and from school with me. I didn't wish her to follow me about at first, but the Princess insisted, and I'm resigned to it now.

The Princess Mistchenka is such a darling! I owe her more than I owe anybody except mother and father. She simply took me as I was, a young, stupid, ignorant, awkward country girl with no experience, no _savoir-faire_, no clothes, and even no knowledge of how to wear them; and she is trying to make out of me a fairly intelligent and presentable human being who will not offend her by _gaucheries_ when with her, and who will not disgrace her when in the circle of her friends.