XXVII
During the winter following Mr. Polk's death, Colonel Belmont wasdriving his coach along the beach beyond the Park one afternoon whenHelena, who sat beside him, saw him give a long shudder, then huddle.She grasped the reins of the four swiftly trotting horses and spoke overher shoulder to Alan Rush.
"Pull my father up to the top," she said.
Rush did as he was bid, and the body of Colonel Belmont was laid outbetween the two rows of young people, whose gaiety had frozen to horror.
"Now take the reins," said Helena.
Rush took the reins. Helena followed her father swiftly and stooped totake his head in her arms. But she dropped her ear to his lips instead,then to his heart. For a moment longer she stared at him, while theothers waited for the outburst. But she returned to the front seat, andcaught the reins from Rush's hands.
"I must do something," she said; and he knew better than to answer her,or even to look at her.
It was some time before she could turn the horses, and then she wasseveral miles from home. She drove with steady hands; but when they hadreached the house and Rush lifted her down, she was trembling violently.She pushed him aside.
"Go and get Magdalena," she said.
Magdalena remained with her a week. This was Helena's first real grief,and there was nothing cyclonic about it. "I'll never get over it," shesaid. "Never! And I'll never be quite the same again. Of course I don'tmean that I'll have this awful sense of bereavement and keep on cryingall my life: I know better than that; but I could never forget him, norforget to wish I still had him, if I lived to be a hundred. If I hadanything to reproach myself for--anything serious--I believe I'd go offmy head; but I _was_ good to him; and I am sure mamma never could havetaken better care of him than I did. When he was under doctor's orders Igave him every drop of the medicine myself, and I never would let himeat a thing I thought wouldn't agree with him. He used to say his lifewas a burden, poor darling, but I know he liked it. And who knows?--if Ihadn't watched him so, he might not have lived as long as he did. Thatis my one consolation.... This terrible grief makes everything else seemso paltry; I could not even think of being engaged to Alan Rush anylonger. Poor fellow! I feel sorry for him, but I can't play for a longtime to come. As for papa's wishes in the matter, Mr. Geary and Mr.Washington will take care of my money, and I am quite able to take careof myself. If papa is near me now, he will understand how I feel, andagree with me. I wish I had some heroic destiny. Why has the UnitedStates ceased to make history? I'd like to play some great part. Papaused to say there was bound to be another upheaval some day, but I'mafraid it won't be in my time."
"It may," replied Magdalena. "There's a good deal of history-making,quiet and noisy, going on all the time. I've been reading the newspapersthis last year. They're horrid sensational things, but I manage to get afew ideas from them. No one can tell what may happen ten years hence.You may have a chance to be the heroine of a revolution yet."
"I'm afraid I'll never be anything but a belle, and I'm tired of thatalready, although I never could stand being shelved. But if there is arevolution during my life I'll be a factor in it. Just you rememberthat."
"I really do believe that you were intended for somethingextraordinary."
"I believe I was. That's the reason I'm so restless and dramatic. Idon't feel as if I ever could be so again, though,--not for ages,anyhow."
The old close and affectionate intimacy between the two girls wasrestored during that week. At its end Helena went East to visit heraunt, Mrs. Forbes. She was the untrammelled mistress of something undera million dollars; and as her private car, filled with flowers, bonbons,and books, pulled away from a sorrowing crowd of friends on the Oaklandside of the ferry, it must be confessed she reflected that the futurewould appear several shades darker if she were arranging her belongingsin a half-section, a small quarterly allowance in her pocket.Nevertheless Colonel Belmont had his reward. His daughter's grief wasdeep and lasting; and perhaps he knew.
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