instinct of sacrednumbers, and in her soul felt a vague hunger after what might becontained in those loose papers--into which she did not even peep,instinctively knowing it dishonorable. She trembled yet more atrecognizing the beautiful youth in the same house with her, to whom shedid service, as himself one of those gifted creatures whom most sherevered--a poet, perhaps another such as Milton! Neither are all ladies,nor all servants of ladies, honorable like Annie, or fit as she to beleft alone with a man's papers.
Hector knew very well how his mother would regard such an alliance ashad now begun to absorb every desire and thought of his heart, and wasthe more careful to watch and repress every sign of the same, foreseeingthat, at the least suspicion of the fact, she would lay all the blameupon Annie, at once dismiss her from the house, and remain foreverconvinced that she had entered it with the design in her heart to makehim fall in love with her. He therefore avoided ever addressing her,except with a distant civility, the easier to him that his mind wasknown only to himself, while all the time the consciousness of herpresence in it enveloped the house in a rosy cloud. For a long time hedid not even dream of attempting a word with her alone, fondly imaginingthat thus he gave his mother time to know and love Annie beforediscovering anything between them to which she might object. But he didnot yet know how incapable that mother was of any simple affection,being, indeed, one of the commonest-minded of women. He believed alsothat the least attempt to attract Annie's attention would but scare her,and make her incapable of listening to what he might try to say.
In the meantime, Annie, under the influence of more and better food, andthat freedom from care which came of the consciousness that she was doingher best both for her mother and for her own moral emancipation, lookedsweeter and grew happier every day; no cloudy sense, no doubt ofapproaching danger had yet begun to heave an ugly shoulder above herhorizon, neither had Hector begun to fret against the feeling that hemust not speak to her; in such a silence and in such a presence he felthe could live happy for ages; he moved in a lovely dream of stillcontent.
And it was natural also that he should begin to burgeon spiritually andmentally, to grow and flourish beyond any experience in the past. Withina few such days of hidden happiness, the power of verse, and of thoughtsworthy of verse, came upon him with as sure an inspiration of theAlmighty as can ever descend upon a man, accompanied by a deeper senseof the being and the presence of God, and a stronger desire to do thewill of the Father, which is surely the best thing God himself cankindle in the heart of any man. For what good is there in creation butthe possibility of being yet further created? And what else is growthbut more of the will of God?
Something fresh began to stir in his mind; even as in the spring, awayin far depths of beginning, the sap gives its first upward throb in thetree, and the first bud, as yet invisible, begins to jerk itself forwardto break from the cerements of ante-natal quiescence, and become agrowing leaf, so a something in Hector that was his very life and soulbegan to yield to unseen creative impulse, and throb with a dim, divineconsciousness. The second evening after thus recognizing its presence hehurried up the stair from the office to his own room, and there, sittingdown, began to write--not a sonnet to his charmer, neither any dreamabout her, not even some sweet song of the waking spring which he feltmoving within him, but the first speech of a dramatic poem. It was abold beginning, but all beginners are daring, if not presumptuous.Hector's aim was to embody an ideal of check, of rousing, of revival, ofnew energy and fresh start. All that evening he wrote with running pen,forgot the dinner-bell after its first summons, and went on until Annieknocked at his door, dispatched to summon him to the meal. There was inHector, indeed, as a small part of the world came by-and-by to know, themaking of a real poet, for such there are in the world at alltimes--yea, even now--although they may not be recognized, or evenintended to ripen in the course of one human season. I think Annieherself was one of such--so full was she of receptive and responsivefaculty in the same kind, and I remain in doubt whether the genuineenjoyment of verse be not a fuller sign of the presence of what is mostvaluable in it than even some power of producing it. For Hector, Iimagine, it gave strong proof of his being a poet indeed that, when heopened the door to her knock, the appearance of Annie herself, insteadof giving him a thrill of pleasure, occasioned him a little annoyance bythe evanishment of a just culminating train of thought into the vastand seething void, into which he gazed after it in vain. And Annieherself, although all the time in Hector's thought, revealed herselfonly, after the custom of celestials, at the very moment of herdisappearance; her message delivered, she went back to her duties at thetable; and then first Hector woke to the knowledge that she had been athis door, and was there no more. During the last few days he had beengradually approaching the resolve to keep silence no longer, but be boldand tell Annie how full his heart was of her. One moment he might havedone so; one moment more, and he could not!
He followed close upon her steps, but not a word with her was possible,and it seemed to Hector that she sped from him like a very wraith toavoid his addressing her. Had she, then, he asked himself, some dimsuspicion of his feelings toward her, or was she but making haste from asense of propriety?
Now that very morning Mrs. Macintosh had been talking kindly toAnnie--as kindly, that is, as her abominable condescension wouldpermit--and, what to Annie was of far greater consequence, had paid herher wages, rather more than she had expected, so that nothing now laybetween her and the fall of her burden from her heavy-laden conscience,except, indeed, her preliminary confession. Dinner, therefore, beingover, her mistress gone to the drawing room to prepare the coffee, andher master to his room to write a letter suddenly remembered, Hector wasleft alone with Annie. Whereupon followed an amusing succession ofdisconnected attempt and frustration. For no sooner had Mr. Macintoshleft the room than Annie darted from it after him, and Hector dartedafter Annie, determined at length to speak to her. When Annie, however,reached the foot of the stair, her master was already up the firstflight, and Annie's courage failing her, she, turning sharply round,almost ran against Hector, who was close behind her. The look ofdisappointment on her face, to the meaning of which he had no clew,quenching his courage next, he returned in silence to the dining room,where Annie was now hovering aimlessly about the table, until, upon hisre-entrance, she settled herself behind Hector's chair. He turnedhalf-round, and would have said something to her, but, seeing her paleand troubled, he lapsed into a fit of brooding, and no longer daredspeak to her. Besides, his mother might come to the dining room at anymoment!
Then Annie, thinking she heard her master's re-descending step, hurriedagain from the room; but only at once to return afresh, which set Hectorwondering yet more. Why on earth should she be lying in ambush for hisfather? He did not know that she was equally anxious to avoid the eyesof her mistress. And while Annie was anxious to keep her secret from thetongue of Mrs. Macintosh, Hector was as anxious to keep his from theeyes of his mother until a fit moment should arrive for its disclosure.But he imagined, I believe, that Annie saw he wanted to speak to her,and thought she was doing what she could to balk his intention.
But the necessity for disclosure was strongest in Annie, and drove herto encounter what risk might be involved. So when at last she heard acertain step of the stair creak, she darted to the door, and left theroom even while the hand of her mistress, coming to say the coffee wasready, was on that which communicated with the drawing room.
"I thought I heard Annie at the sideboard: is she gone?" she said.
"She left the room this moment, I believe," answered Hector.
"What is she gone for?"
"I cannot say, mother," replied Hector indifferently, in the act himselfof leaving the room also, determined on yet another attempt to speak toAnnie. In the meantime, however, Annie had found her opportunity. Shehad met Mr. Macintosh halfway down the last flight of stairs, and hadlifted to him such a face of entreaty that he listened at once to herprayer for a private interview, and, turning, led the way up a
gain tothe room he had just left. There he shut the door, and said to herpleasantly:
"Well, Annie, what is it?"
I am afraid his man-imagination had led him to anticipate some complaintagainst Hector: he certainly was nowise prepared for what the poorself-accusing girl had to say.
For one moment she stood unable to begin; the next she had recovered herresolution: her face filled with a sudden glow; and ere her master hadtime to feel shocked, she was on her knees at his feet, holding up tohim a new pound-note, one of those her mistress had just given her.Familiar, however, as her master was with the mean-looking things inwhich lay almost all his dealings, he did not at first recognize theobject she offered him; while what connection with his wife'sparlor-maid it could represent was naturally inconceivable to him. Hestood for a moment staring at the note, and then dropped a pair of dull,questioning eyes on the face of the kneeling
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