by Bret Harte
Bly."
The fair owner of the rustling skirt, which turned out to be a prettyFrench print, had appeared at the doorway. She was a tall, slimblonde, with a shy, startled manner, as of a penitent nun who wassuffering for some conventual transgression--a resemblance that washeightened by her short-cut hair, that might have been cropped as iffor punishment. A certain likeness to her mother suggested that shewas qualifying for that saint's ascetic shawl--subject, however, torebellious intervals, indicated in the occasional sidelong fires of hergray eyes. Yet the vague impression that she knew more of the worldthan her mother, and that she did not look at all as if her name wasCherubina, struck Bly in the same momentary glance.
"Mr. Bly is naturally pleased with what he has seen of our dearTappington's appointments; and as I gather from Mr. Carstone's letterthat he is anxious to enter at once and make the most of the dear boy'sabsence, you will see, my dear Cherry, that Ellen has everything readyfor him?"
Before the unfortunate Bly could explain or protest, the young girllifted her gray eyes to his. Whether she had perceived and understoodhis perplexity he could not tell; but the swift shy glance was at onceappealing, assuring, and intelligent. She was certainly unlike hermother and brother. Acting with his usual impulsiveness, he forgot hisprevious resolution, and before he left had engaged to begin hisoccupation of the room on the following day.
The next afternoon found him installed. Yet, after he had unpacked hismodest possessions and put them away, after he had placed his few bookson the shelves, where they looked glaringly trivial and frivolousbeside the late tenant's severe studies; after he had set out hisscanty treasures in the way of photographs and some curious mementoesof his wandering life, and then quickly put them back again with asudden angry pride at exposing them to the unsympathetic incongruity ofthe other ornaments, he, nevertheless, felt ill at ease. He glanced invain around the pretty room. It was not the delicately floweredwall-paper; it was not the white and blue muslin window-curtainsgracefully tied up with blue and white ribbons; it was not the spotlessbed, with its blue and white festooned mosquito-net and flouncedvalances, and its medallion portrait of an unknown bishop at the back;it was not the few tastefully framed engravings of certain cardinalvirtues, "The Rock of Ages," and "The Guardian Angel"; it was not thecasts in relief of "Night" and "Morning"; it was certainly not the cosydimity-covered arm-chairs and sofa, nor yet the clean-swept polishedgrate with its cheerful fire sparkling against the chill afternoonsea-fogs without; neither was it the mere feminine suggestion, for thattouched a sympathetic chord in his impulsive nature; nor the religiousand ascetic influence, for he had occupied a monastic cell in a schoolof the padres at an old mission, and slept profoundly;--it was none ofthose, and yet a part of all. Most habitations retain a cast or shellof their previous tenant that, fitting tightly or loosely, is stillable to adjust itself to the newcomer; in most occupied apartmentsthere is still a shadowy suggestion of the owner's individuality; therewas nothing here that fitted Bly--nor was there either, strange to say,any evidence of the past proprietor in this inhospitality of sensation.It did not strike him at the time that it was this very LACK ofindividuality which made it weird and unreal, that it was strange onlybecause it was ARTIFICIAL, and that a REAL Tappington had neverinhabited it.
He walked to the window--that never-failing resource of the unquietmind--and looked out. He was a little surprised to find, that, owingto the grading of the house, the scrub-oaks and bushes of the hill werenearly on the level of his window, as also was the adjoining sidestreet on which his second door actually gave. Opening this, the suddeninvasion of the sea-fog and the figure of a pedestrian casually passingalong the disused and abandoned pavement not a dozen feet from where hehad been comfortably seated, presented such a striking contrast to thestudious quiet and cosiness of his secluded apartment that he hurriedlyclosed the door again with a sense of indiscreet exposure. Returningto the window, he glanced to the left, and found that he was overlookedby the side veranda of another villa in the rear, evidently on its wayto take position on the line of the street. Although in actual anddeliberate transit on rollers across the backyard and still occulting apart of the view, it remained, after the reckless fashion of theperiod, inhabited. Certainly, with a door fronting a thoroughfare, anda neighbor gradually approaching him, he would not feel lonely or lackexcitement.
He drew his arm-chair to the fire and tried to realize theall-pervading yet evasive Tappington. There was no portrait of him inthe house, and although Mrs. Brooks had said that he "favored" hissister, Bly had, without knowing why, instinctively resented it. He hadeven timidly asked his employer, and had received the vague reply thathe was "good-looking enough," and the practical but discomposingretort, "What do you want to know for?" As he really did not know why,the inquiry had dropped. He stared at the monumental crystal ink-standhalf full of ink, yet spotless and free from stains, that stood on thetable, and tried to picture Tappington daintily dipping into it tothank the fair donors--"daughters of Rebecca." Who were they? and whatsort of man would they naturally feel grateful to?
What was that?
He turned to the window, which had just resounded to a slight tap orblow, as if something soft had struck it. With an instinctivesuspicion of the propinquity of the adjoining street he rose, but asingle glance from the window satisfied him that no missile would havereached it from thence. He scanned the low bushes on the level beforehim; certainly no one could be hiding there. He lifted his eyes towardthe house on the left; the curtains of the nearest window appeared tobe drawn suddenly at the same moment. Could it have come from there?Looking down upon the window-ledge, there lay the mysterious missile--alittle misshapen ball. He opened the window and took it up. It was asmall handkerchief tied into a soft knot, and dampened with water togive it the necessary weight as a projectile.
Was it apparently the trick of a mischievous child? or--
But here a faint knock on the door leading into the hall checked hisinquiry. He opened it sharply in his excitement, and was embarrassedto find the daughter of his hostess standing there, shy, startled, andevidently equally embarrassed by his abrupt response.
"Mother only wanted me to ask you if Ellen had put everything torights," she said, making a step backwards.
"Oh, thank you. Perfectly," said Herbert with effusion. "Nothingcould be better done. In fact"--
"You're quite sure she hasn't forgotten anything? or that there isn'tanything you would like changed?" she continued, with her eyes leveledon the floor.
"Nothing, I assure you," he said, looking at her downcast lashes. Asshe still remained motionless, he continued cheerfully, "Wouldyou--would you--care to look round and see?"
"No; I thank you."
There was an awkward pause. He still continued to hold the door open.Suddenly she moved forward with a school-girl stride, entered the room,and going to the harmonium, sat down upon the music-stool beside it,slightly bending forward, with one long, slim, white hand on top of theother, resting over her crossed knees.
Herbert was a little puzzled. It was the awkward and brusque act of avery young person, and yet nothing now could be more gentle andself-composed than her figure and attitude.
"Yes," he continued, smilingly; "I am only afraid that I may not beable to live quite up to the neatness and regularity of the example Ifind here everywhere. You know I am dreadfully careless and not at allorderly. I shudder to think what may happen; but you and your mother,Miss Brooks, I trust, will make up your minds to overlook and forgive agood deal. I shall do my best to be worthy of Mr. Tap--of mypredecessor--but even then I am afraid you'll find me a great bother."
She raised her shy eyelids. The faintest ghost of a long-buried dimplecame into her pale cheek as she said softly, to his utter consternation:
"Rats!"
Had she uttered an oath he could not have been more startled than hewas by this choice gem of Western saloon-slang from the pure lips ofthis Evangeline-like figure before him. He sat gazing at h
er with awild hysteric desire to laugh. She lifted her eyes again, swept himwith a slightly terrified glance, and said:
"Tap says you all say that when any one makes-believe politeness toyou."
"Oh, your BROTHER says that, does he?" said Herbert, laughing.
"Yes, and sometimes 'Old rats.' But," she continued hurriedly, "HEdoesn't say it; he says YOU all do. My brother is very particular, andvery good. Doctor Stout loves him. He is thought very much of in allChristian circles. That book-mark was given to him by one of hisclasses."
Every trace of her dimples had vanished. She looked so sweetly grave,and withal so maidenly, sitting there slightly smoothing the lengths ofher pink fingers, that Herbert was somewhat embarrassed.
"But I assure you,