“If Sybil likes, ask her.”
“Shall we have a flock of people here to make it gay for you, Cousin, or do you prefer our quiet style better; just riding, driving, lounging, and enjoying life, each in his own way? Henceforth it is to be as you command in such matters.”
“Let things go on as they have done then. I don’t care for society, and strangers wouldn’t make it gay to me, for I like freedom; so do you, I think.”
“Ah, don’t I!”
A cloud flitted over his smiling face, and he punched the fire, as if some vent were necessary for the sudden gust of petulance that knit his black brows into a frown, and caused his father to tap him on the shoulder with the bland request, as he rose to leave the room, “Bring the portfolios and entertain your cousin; I have letters to write, and Sybil is too tired to care for music tonight.”
Guy obeyed with a shrug of the shoulder his father touched, but lingered in the recess till my uncle, having made his apologies to me, had left the room; then my cousin rejoined me, wearing the same cordial aspect I first beheld. Some restraint was evidently removed, and his natural self appeared. A very winsome self it was, courteous, gay, and frank, with an undertone of deeper feeling than I thought to find. I watched him covertly, and soon owned to myself that he was all I most admired in the ideal hero every girl creates in her romantic fancy; for I no longer looked upon this young man as my cousin, but my lover, and through all our future intercourse this thought was always uppermost, full of a charm that never lost its power.
Before the evening ended Guy was kneeling on the rug beside me, our two heads close together, while he turned the contents of the great portfolio spread before us, looking each other freely in the face, as I listened and he described, both breaking into frequent peals of laughter at some odd adventure or comical mishap in his own travels, suggested by the pictured scenes before us. Guy was very charming, I my blithest, sweetest self, and when we parted late, my cousin watched me up the stairs with still another “Good night, Sybil,” as if both sight and sound were pleasant to him.
“Is that your horse Sultan?” I called from my window next morning, as I looked down upon my cousin, who was coming up the drive from an early gallop on the moors.
“Yes, bonny Sybil; come and admire him,” he called back, hat in hand, and a quick smile rippling over his face.
I went, and standing on the terrace, caressed the handsome creature, while Guy said, glancing up at his fathers undrawn curtains, “If your saddle had come, we would take a turn before my lord' is ready for breakfast. This autumn air is the wine you women need.”
I yearned to go, and when I willed the way soon appeared; so careless of bonnetless head and cambric gown, I stretched my hands to him, saying boldly, “Play young Lochinvar, Guy; I am little and light; take me up before you and show me the sea.”
He liked the daring feat, held out his hand, I stepped on his boot toe, sprang up, and away we went over the wide moor, where the sun shone in a cloudless heaven, the lark soared singing from the green grass at our feet, and the September wind blew freshly from the sea. As we paused on the upland slope, that gave us a free view of the country for miles, Guy dismounted, and standing with his arm about the saddle to steady me in my precarious seat, began to talk.
“Do you like your new home, Cousin?”
“More than I can tell you!”
“And my father, Sybil?”
“Both yes and no to that question, Guy; I hardly know him yet.” “True, but you must not expect to find him as indulgent and fond as many guardians would be to such as you. It's not his nature. Yet you can win his heart by obedience, and soon grow quite at ease with him.” “Bless you! I'm that already, for I fear no one. Why, I sat on his knee yesterday and smoked a cigarette of his own offering, though Madame would have fainted if she had seen me; then I slept on his arm an hour, and he was fatherly kind, though I teased him like a gnat.”
“The deuce he was!”
With which energetic expression Guy frowned at the landscape and harshly checked Sultan’s attempt to browse, while I wondered what was amiss between father and son, and resolved to discover; but finding the conversation at an end, started it afresh by asking, “Is any of my property in this part of the country, Guy? Do you know I am as ignorant as a baby about my own affairs; for, as long as every whim was gratified and my purse full, I left the rest to Madame and Uncle, though the first hadn’t a bit of judgment, and the last I scarcely knew. I never cared to ask questions before, but now I am intensely curious to know how matters stand.”
“All you see is yours, Sybil” was the brief answer.
“What, that great house, the lovely gardens, these moors, and the forest stretching to the sea? I’m glad! I’m glad! But where, then, is your home, Guy?”
“Nowhere.”
At this I looked so amazed that his gloom vanished in a laugh, as he explained, but briefly, as if this subject were no pleasanter than the first, “By your father’s will you were desired to take possession of the old place at eighteen. You will be that soon; therefore, as your guardian, my father has prepared things for you, and is to share your home until you marry.”
“When will that be, I wonder?” And I stole a glance from under my lashes, wild to discover if Guy knew of the compact and was a willing party to it.
His face was half averted, but over his dark cheek I saw a deep flush rise, as he answered, stooping to pull a bit of heather, “Soon, I hope, or the gentleman sleeping there below will be tempted to remain a fixture with you on his knee as ‘Madame my wife.’ He is not your own uncle, you know.”
I smiled at the idea, but Guy did not see it; and seized with a whim to try my skill with the hawk that seemed inclined to peck at its master, I said demurely, “Well, why not? I might be very happy if I learned to love him, as I should, if he were always in that kindest mood of his. Would you like me for a little mamma, Guy?”
“No!” short and sharp as a pistol shot.
“Then you must marry and have a home of your own, my son.”
“Don’t, Sybil! I’d rather you didn’t see me in a rage, for I’m not a pleasant sight, I assure you; and I’m afraid I shall be in one if you go on. I early lost my mother, but I love her tenderly, because my father is not much to me, and I know if she had lived I should not be what I am.”
Bitter was his voice, moody his mien, and all the sunshine gone at once. I looked down and touched his black hair with a shy caress, feeling both penitent and pitiful.
“Dear Guy, forgive me if I pained you. 1'm a thoughtless creature, but Fm not malicious, and a word will restrain me if kindly spoken. My home is always yours, and when my fortune is mine you shall never want, if you are not too proud to accept help from your own kin. You are a little proud, aren't you?”
“As Lucifer, to most people. I think I should not be to you, for you understand me, Sybil, and with you I hope to grow a better man.”
He turned then, and through the lineaments his father had bequeathed him I saw a look that must have been his mother's, for it was womanly, sweet, and soft, and lent new beauty to the dark eyes, always kind, and just then very tender. He had checked his words suddenly, like one who has gone too far, and with that hasty look into my face had bent his own upon the ground, as if to hide the unwonted feeling that had mastered him. It lasted but a moment, then his old manner returned, as he said gaily, “There drops your slipper. I've been wondering what kept it on. Pretty thing! They say it is a foot like this that oftenest tramples on men's hearts. Are you cruel to your lovers, Sybil?”
“I never had one, for Madame guarded me like a dragon, and I led the life of a nun; but when I do find one I shall try his mettle well before I give up my liberty.”
“Poets say it is sweet to give up liberty for love, and they ought to know,” answered Guy, with a sidelong glance.
I liked that little speech, and recollecting the wistful look he had given me, the significant words that had escaped him, and the variations
of tone and manner constantly succeeding one another, I felt assured that my cousin was cognizant of the family league, and accepted it, yet with the shyness of a young lover, knew not how to woo. This pleased me, and quite satisfied with my morning's work, I mentally resolved to charm my cousin slowly, and enjoy the romance of a genuine wooing, without which no woman's life seems complete—in her own eyes at least. He had gathered me a knot of purple heather, and as he gave it I smiled my sweetest on him, saying, “I commission you to supply me with nosegays, for you have taste, and I love wild flowers. I shall wear this at dinner in honor of its giver. Now take me home; for my moors, though beautiful, are chilly, and I have no wrapper but this microscopic handkerchief.”
Off went his riding jacket, and I was half smothered in it. The hat followed next, and as he sprang up behind I took the reins, and felt a thrill of delight in sweeping down the slope with that mettlesome creature tugging at the bit, that strong arm around me, and the happy hope that the heart I leaned on might yet learn to love me.
The day so began passed pleasantly, spent in roving over house and grounds with my cousin, setting my possessions in order, and writing to dear old Madame. Twilight found me in my bravest attire, with Guy’s heather in my hair, listening for his step, and longing to run and meet him when he came. Punctual to the instant he appeared, and this dinner was a far different one from that of yesterday, for both father and son seemed in their gayest and most gallant mood, and I enjoyed the hour heartily. The world seemed all in tune now, and when I went to the drawing room I was moved to play my most stirring marches, sing my blithest songs, hoping to bring one at least of the gentlemen to join me. It brought both, and my first glance showed me a curious change in each. My uncle looked harassed and yet amused; Guy looked sullen and eyed his father with covert glances.
The mornings chat flashed into my mind, and I asked myself, “Is Guy jealous so soon?” It looked a little like it, for he threw himself upon a couch and lay there silent and morose; while my uncle paced to and fro, thinking deeply, while apparently listening to the song he bade me finish. I did so, then followed the whim that now possessed me, for I wanted to try my power over them both, to see if I could restore that gentler mood of my uncle’s, and assure myself that Guy cared whether I was friendliest with him or not.
“Uncle, come and sing with me; I like that voice of yours.”
“Tut, I am too old for that; take this indolent lad instead. His voice is fresh and young, and will chord well with yours.”
“Do you know that pretty chanson about ‘love and wine, and the Seine tomorrow,’ cousin Guy?” I asked, stealing a sly glance at my uncle.
“Who taught you that?” And Guy eyed me over the top of the couch with an astonished expression which greatly amused me.
“No one; Uncle sang a bit of it in the carriage yesterday. I like the air, so come and teach me the rest.”
“It is no song for you, Sybil. You choose strange entertainment for a lady, sir.”
A look of unmistakable contempt was in the son’s eye, of momentary annoyance in the father’s, yet his voice betrayed none as he answered, still pacing placidly along the room, “I thought she was asleep, and unconsciously began it to beguile a silent drive. Sing on, Sybil; that Bacchanalian snatch will do you no harm.”
But I was tired of music now they had come, so I went to him, and passing my arm through his, walked beside him, saying with my most persuasive aspect, “Tell me about Paris, Uncle; I intend to go there as soon as Im of age, if you will let me. Does your guardianship extend beyond that time?”
“Only till you marry.”
“I shall be in no haste, then, for I begin to feel quite homelike and happy here with you, and shall be content without other society; only you’ll soon tire of me, and leave me to some dismal governess, while you and Guy go pleasuring.”
“No fear of that, Sybil; I shall hold you fast till some younger guardian comes to rob me of my merry ward.”
As he spoke, he took the hand that lay upon his arm into a grasp so firm, and turned on me a look so keen, that I involuntarily dropped my eyes lest he should read my secret there. Eager to turn the conversation, I asked, pointing to a little miniature hanging underneath the portrait of his son, before which he had paused, “Was that Guy’s mother, sir?”
“No, your own.”
I looked again, and saw a face delicate yet spirited, with dark eyes, a passionate mouth, and a head crowned with hair as plenteous and golden as my own; but the whole seemed dimmed by age, the ivory was stained, the glass cracked, and a faded ribbon fastened it. My eyes filled as I looked, and a strong desire seized me to know what had defaced this little picture of the mother whom I never knew.
“Tell me about her, Uncle; I know so little, and often long for her so much. Am I like her, sir?”
Why did my uncle avert his eyes as he answered, “You are a youthful image of her, Sybil”?
“Go on, please, tell me more; tell me why this is so stained and worn; you know all, and surely I am old enough now to hear any history of pain and loss.”
Something caused my uncle to knit his brows, but his bland voice never varied a tone as he placed the picture in my hand and gave me this brief explanation:
“Just before your birth your father was obliged to cross the Channel, to receive the last wishes of a dying friend. There was an accident; the vessel foundered, and many lives were lost. He escaped, but by some mistake his name appeared in the list of missing passengers; your mother saw it, the shock destroyed her, and when your father returned he found only a motherless little daughter to welcome him. This miniature, which he always carried with him, was saved with his papers at the last moment; but though the seawater ruined it he would never have it copied or retouched, and gave it to me when he died in memory of the woman I had loved for his sake. It is yours now, my child; keep it, and never feel that you are fatherless or motherless while I remain.”
Kind as was both act and speech, neither touched me, for something seemed wanting. I felt yet could not define it, for then I believed in the sincerity of all I met.
“Where was she buried, Uncle? It may be foolish, but I should like to see my mothers grave.”
“You shall someday, Sybil,” and a curious change came over my uncles face as he averted it.
“I have made him melancholy, talking of Guys mother and my own; now HI make him gay again if possible, and pique that negligent boy,” I thought, and drew my uncle to a lounging chair, established myself on the arm thereof, and kept him laughing with my merriest gossip, both of us apparently unconscious of the long dark figure stretched just opposite, feigning sleep, but watching us through halfclosed lids, and never stirring except to bow silently to my careless “Good night.”
As I reached the stairhead, I remembered that my letter to Madame, full of the frankest criticisms upon people and things, was lying unsealed on the table in the little room my uncle had set apart for my boudoir; fearing servants’ eyes and tongues, I slipped down again to get it. The room adjoined the parlors, and just then was lit only by a ray from the hall lamp.
I had secured the letter, and was turning to retreat, when I heard Guy say petulantly, as if thwarted yet submissive, “I am civil when you leave me alone; I do agree to marry her, but I won’t be hurried or go a-wooing except in my own way. You know I never liked the bargain, for it’s nothing else; yet I can reconcile myself to being sold, if it relieves you and gives us both a home. But, Father, mind this, if you tie me to that girl’s sash too tightly I shall break away entirely, and then where are we?”
“I should be in prison and you a houseless vagabond. Trust me, my boy, and take the good fortune which I secured for you in your cradle. Look in pretty Sybil’s face, and resignation will grow easy; but remember time presses, that this is our forlorn hope, and for God’s sake be cautious, for she is a headstrong creature, and may refuse to fulfill her part if she learns that the contract is not binding against her will.”
“I t
hink she’ll not refuse, sir; she likes me already. I see it in her eyes; she has never had a lover, she says, and according to your account a girls first sweetheart is apt to fare the best. Besides, she likes the place, for I told her it was hers, as you bade me, and she said she could be very happy here, if my father was always kind.”
“She said that, did she? Little hypocrite! For your father, read yourself, and tell me what else she babbled about in that early tete-a-tete of yours.”
“You are as curious as a woman, sir, and always make me tell you all I do and say, yet never tell me anything in return, except this business, which I hate, because my liberty is the price, and my poor little cousin is kept in the dark. Til tell her all, before I marry her, Father.”
“As you please, hothead. I am waiting for an account of the first love passage, so leave blushing to Sybil and begin.”
I knew what was coming and stayed no longer, but caught one glimpse of the pair. Guy in his favorite place, erect upon the rug, half laughing, half frowning as he delayed to speak, my uncle serenely smoking on the couch; then I sped away to my own room, thinking, as I sat down in a towering passion, “So he does know of the baby betrothal and hates it, yet submits to please his father, who covets my fortune—mercenary creatures! I can annul the contract, can I? I’m glad to know that, for it makes me mistress of them both. I like you already, do I, and you see it in my eyes? Coxcomb! Til be the thornier for that. Yet I do like him; I do wish he cared for me, I’m so lonely in the world, and he can be so kind.”
So I cried a little, brushed my hair a good deal, and went to bed, resolving to learn all I could when, where, and how I pleased, to render myself as charming and valuable as possible, to make Guy love me in spite of himself, and then say yes or no, as my heart prompted me.
That day was a sample of those that followed, for my cousin was by turns attracted or repelled by the capricious moods that ruled me. Though conscious of a secret distrust of my uncle, I could not resist the fascination of his manner when he chose to exert its influence over me; this made my little plot easier of execution, for jealousy seemed the most effectual means to bring my wayward cousin to subjection. Full of this fancy, I seemed to tire of his society, grew thorny as a brier rose to him, affectionate as a daughter to my uncle, who surveyed us both with that inscrutable glance of his, and slowly yielded to my dominion as if he had divined my purpose and desired to aid it. Guy turned cold and gloomy, yet still lingered near me as if ready for a relenting look or word. I liked that, and took a wanton pleasure in prolonging the humiliation of the warm heart I had learned to love, yet not to value as I ought, until it was too late.
Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 Page 31