lavender.
When Evelina was nearly seventy years old the old nurse who had livedwith her her whole life died. People wondered then what she would do."She can't live all alone in that great house," they said. But shedid live there alone six months, until spring, and people used towatch her evening lamp when it was put out, and the morning smokefrom her kitchen chimney. "It ain't safe for her to be there alone inthat great house," they said.
But early in April a young girl appeared one Sunday in the oldSquire's pew. Nobody had seen her come to town, and nobody knew whoshe was or where she came from, but the old people said she lookedjust as Evelina Adams used to when she was young, and she must besome relation. The old man who had used to look across themeeting-house at Evelina, over forty years ago, looked across now atthis young girl, and gave a great start, and his face paled under hisgray beard stubble. His old wife gave an anxious, wondering glance athim, and crammed a peppermint into his hand. "Anything the matter,father?" she whispered; but he only gave his head a half-surly shake,and then fastened his eyes straight ahead upon the pulpit. He hadreason to that day, for his only son, Thomas, was going to preach hisfirst sermon therein as a candidate. His wife ascribed hisnervousness to that. She put a peppermint in her own mouth and suckedit comfortably. "That's all 't is," she thought to herself. "Fatheralways was easy worked up," and she looked proudly up at her sonsitting on the hair-cloth sofa in the pulpit, leaning his handsomeyoung head on his hand, as he had seen old divines do. She neverdreamed that her old husband sitting beside her was possessed of aninner life so strange to her that she would not have known him hadshe met him in the spirit. And, indeed, it had been so always, andshe had never dreamed of it. Although he had been faithful to hiswife, the image of Evelina Adams in her youth, and that one love-lookwhich she had given him, had never left his soul, but had given it aguise and complexion of which his nearest and dearest knew nothing.
It was strange, but now, as he looked up at his own son as he arosein the pulpit, he could seem to see a look of that fair youngEvelina, who had never had a son to inherit her beauty. He hadcertainly a delicate brilliancy of complexion, which he could havegotten directly from neither father nor mother; and whence came thatlittle nervous frown between his dark blue eyes? His mother had blueeyes, but not like his; they flashed over the great pulpit Bible witha sweet fire that matched the memory in his father's heart.
But the old man put the fancy away from him in a minute; it was onewhich his stern common-sense always overcame. It was impossible thatThomas Merriam should resemble Evelina Adams; indeed, people alwayscalled him the very image of his father.
The father tried to fix his mind upon his son's sermon, but presentlyhe glanced involuntarily across the meeting-house at the young girl,and again his heart leaped and his face paled; but he turned his eyesgravely back to the pulpit, and his wife did not notice. Now and thenshe thrust a sharp elbow in his side to call his attention to a grandpoint in their son's discourse. The odor of peppermint was strong inhis nostrils, but through it all he seemed to perceive the rose andlavender scent of Evelina Adams's youthful garments. Whether it waswith him simply the memory of an odor, which affected him like theodor itself, or not, those in the vicinity of the Squire's pew wereplainly aware of it. The gown which the strange young girl wore was,as many an old woman discovered to her neighbor with loud whispers,one of Evelina's, which had been laid away in a sweet-smelling chestsince her old girlhood. It had been somewhat altered to suit thefashion of a later day, but the eyes which had fastened keenly uponit when Evelina first wore it up the meeting-house aisle could notmistake it. "It's Evelina Adams's lavender satin made over," onewhispered, with a sharp hiss of breath, in the other's ear.
The lavender satin, deepening into purple in the folds, swept in arich circle over the knees of the young girl in the Squire's pew. Shefolded her little hands, which were encased in Evelina'scream-colored silk mitts, over it, and looked up at the youngminister, and listened to his sermon with a grave and innocentdignity, as Evelina had done before her. Perhaps the resemblancebetween this young girl and the young girl of the past was more oneof mien than aught else, although the type of face was the same. Thisgirl had the same fine sharpness of feature and delicately brightcolor, and she also wore her hair in curls, although they were tiedback from her face with a black velvet ribbon, and did not veil itwhen she drooped her head, as Evelina's used to do.
The people divided their attention between her and the new minister.Their curiosity goaded them in equal measure with their spiritualzeal. "I can't wait to find out who that girl is," one womanwhispered to another.
The girl herself had no thought of the commotion which she awakened.When the service was over, and she walked with a gentle maidenstateliness, which seemed a very copy of Evelina's own, out of themeeting-house, down the street to the Squire's house, and entered it,passing under the stately Corinthian pillars, with a last purplegleam of her satin skirts, she never dreamed of the eager attentionthat followed her.
It was several days before the village people discovered who she was.The information had to be obtained, by a process like mentalthumb-screwing, from the old man who tended Evelina's garden, but atlast they knew. She was the daughter of a cousin of Evelina's on thefather's side. Her name was Evelina Leonard; she had been named forher father's cousin. She had been finely brought up, and had attendeda Boston school for young ladies. Her mother had been dead manyyears, and her father had died some two years ago, leaving her withonly a very little money, which was now all gone, and Evelina Adamshad invited her to live with her. Evelina Adams had herself told theold gardener, seeing his scant curiosity was somewhat awakened by thesight of the strange young lady in the garden, but he seemed to havealmost forgotten it when the people questioned him.
"She'll leave her all her money, most likely," they said, and theylooked at this new Evelina in the old Evelina's perfumed gowns withawe.
However, in the space of a few months the opinion upon this matterwas divided. Another cousin of Evelina Adams's came to town, and thistime an own cousin--a widow in fine black bombazine, portly andflorid, walking with a majestic swell, and, moreover, having with hertwo daughters, girls of her own type, not so far advanced. This womanhired one of the village cottages, and it was rumored that EvelinaAdams paid the rent. Still, it was considered that she was not veryintimate with these last relatives. The neighbors watched, and saw,many a time, Mrs. Martha Loomis and her girls try the doors of theAdams house, scudding around angrily from front to side and back, andknock and knock again, but with no admittance. "Evelina she won't letnone of 'em in more 'n once a week," the neighbors said. It was oddthat, although they had deeply resented Evelina's seclusion on theirown accounts, they were rather on her side in this matter, and felt acertain delight when they witnessed a crestfallen retreat of thewidow and her daughters. "I don't s'pose she wants them Loomisesmarchin' in on her every minute," they said.
The new Evelina was not seen much with the other cousins, and shemade no acquaintances in the village. Whether she was to inherit allthe Adams property or not, she seemed, at any rate, heiress to allthe elder Evelina's habits of life. She worked with her in thegarden, and wore her old girlish gowns, and kept almost as close athome as she. She often, however, walked abroad in the early dusk,stepping along in a grave and stately fashion, as the elder Evelinahad used to do, holding her skirts away from the dewy roadside weeds,her face showing out in the twilight like a white flower, as if ithad a pale light of its own.
Nobody spoke to her; people turned furtively after she had passed andstared after her, but they never spoke. This young Evelina did notseem to expect it. She passed along with the lids cast down over herblue eyes, and the rose and lavender scent of her garments came backin their faces.
But one night when she was walking slowly along, a full half-milefrom home, she heard rapid footsteps behind, and the young minister,Thomas Merriam, came up beside her and spoke.
"Good-evening," said he, and his voice was a little hoarse th
roughnervousness.
Evelina started, and turned her fair face up towards his."Good-evening," she responded, and courtesied as she had been taughtat school, and stood close to the wall, that he might pass; butThomas Merriam paused also.
"I--" he began, but his voice broke. He cleared his throat angrily,and went on. "I have seen you in meeting," he said, with a kind ofdefiance, more of himself than of her. After all, was he not theminister, and had he not the right to speak to everybody in thecongregation? Why should he embarrass himself?
"Yes, sir," replied Evelina. She stood drooping her head before him,and yet there was a certain delicate hauteur about her. Thomas wasafraid to speak again. They both stood silent for a
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