by John Fox
XIX
And still farther into that far silence about which she used to dreamat the base of the big Pine, went little June. At dusk, weary andtravel-stained, she sat in the parlours of a hotel--a great graycolumned structure of stone. She was confused and bewildered and herhead ached. The journey had been long and tiresome. The swift motion ofthe train had made her dizzy and faint. The dust and smoke had almoststifled her, and even now the dismal parlours, rich and wonderful asthey were to her unaccustomed eyes, oppressed her deeply. If she couldhave one more breath of mountain air!
The day had been too full of wonders. Impressions had crowded on hersensitive brain so thick and fast that the recollection of them was asthrough a haze. She had never been on a train before and when, asit crashed ahead, she clutched Hale's arm in fear and asked how theystopped it, Hale hearing the whistle blow for a station, said:
"I'll show you," and he waved one hand out the window. And he repeatedthis trick twice before she saw that it was a joke. All day he hadsoothed her uneasiness in some such way and all day he watched her withan amused smile that was puzzling to her. She remembered sadly watchingthe mountains dwindle and disappear, and when several of her own peoplewho were on the train were left at way-stations, it seemed as though alllinks that bound her to her home were broken. The face of the countrychanged, the people changed in looks, manners and dress, and she shrankcloser to Hale with an increasing sense of painful loneliness. Theselevel fields and these farm-houses so strangely built, so varied incolour were the "settlemints," and these people so nicely dressed, soclean and fresh-looking were "furriners." At one station a crowdof school-girls had got on board and she had watched them with keeninterest, mystified by their incessant chatter and gayety. And at lasthad come the big city, with more smoke, more dust, more noise, moreconfusion--and she was in HIS world. That was the thought that comfortedher--it was his world, and now she sat alone in the dismal parlourswhile Hale was gone to find his sister--waiting and trembling at theordeal, close upon her, of meeting Helen Hale.
Below, Hale found his sister and her maid registered, and a few minuteslater he led Miss Hale into the parlour. As they entered June rosewithout advancing, and for a moment the two stood facing each other--thestill roughly clad, primitive mountain girl and the exquisite modernwoman--in an embarrassment equally painful to both.
"June, this is my sister."
At a loss what to do, Helen Hale simply stretched out her hand, butdrawn by June's timidity and the quick admiration and fear in her eyes,she leaned suddenly forward and kissed her. A grateful flush overspreadthe little girl's features and the pallor that instantly succeeded wentstraight-way to the sister's heart.
"You are not well," she said quickly and kindly. "You must go to yourroom at once. I am going to take care of you--you are MY little sisternow."
June lost the subtlety in Miss Hale's emphasis, but she fell withinstant submission under such gentle authority, and though she could saynothing, her eyes glistened and her lips quivered, and without lookingto Hale, she followed his sister out of the room. Hale stood still.He had watched the meeting with apprehension and now, surprised andgrateful, he went to Helen's parlour and waited with a hopeful heart.When his sister entered, he rose eagerly:
"Well--" he said, stopping suddenly, for there were tears of vexation,dismay and genuine distress on his sister's face.
"Oh, Jack," she cried, "how could you! How could you!"
Hale bit his lips, turned and paced the room. He had hoped too much andyet what else could he have expected? His sister and June knew as littleabout each other and each other's lives as though they had occupieddifferent planets. He had forgotten that Helen must be shocked by June'sinaccuracies of speech and in a hundred other ways to which he hadbecome accustomed. With him, moreover, the process had been gradual and,moreover, he had seen beneath it all. And yet he had foolishly expectedHelen to understand everything at once. He was unjust, so very wisely heheld himself in silence.
"Where is her baggage, Jack?" Helen had opened her trunk and was liftingout the lid. "She ought to change those dusty clothes at once. You'dbetter ring and have it sent right up."
"No," said Hale, "I will go down and see about it myself."
He returned presently--his face aflame--with June's carpet-bag.
"I believe this is all she has," he said quietly.
In spite of herself Helen's grief changed to a fit of helpless laughterand, afraid to trust himself further, Hale rose to leave the room. Atthe door he was met by the negro maid.
"Miss Helen," she said with an open smile, "Miss June say she don't wantNUTTIN'." Hale gave her a fiery look and hurried out. June was seatedat a window when he went into her room with her face buried in her arms.She lifted her head, dropped it, and he saw that her eyes were red withweeping. "Are you sick, little girl?" he asked anxiously. June shook herhead helplessly.
"You aren't homesick, are you?"
"No." The answer came very faintly.
"Don't you like my sister?" The head bowed an emphatic "Yes--yes."
"Then what is the matter?"
"Oh," she said despairingly, between her sobs, "she--won't--like--me. Inever--can--be--like HER."
Hale smiled, but her grief was so sincere that he leaned over her andwith a tender hand soothed her into quiet. Then he went to Helen againand he found her overhauling dresses.
"I brought along several things of different sizes and I am going to tryat any rate. Oh," she added hastily, "only of course until she can getsome clothes of her own."
"Sure," said Hale, "but--" His sister waved one hand and again Hale keptstill.
June had bathed her eyes and was lying down when Helen entered, andshe made not the slightest objection to anything the latter proposed.Straightway she fell under as complete subjection to her as she had doneto Hale. Without a moment's hesitation she drew off her rudely fashioneddress and stood before Helen with the utmost simplicity--her beautifularms and throat bare and her hair falling about them with the rich goldof a cloud at an autumn sunset. Dressed, she could hardly breathe,but when she looked at herself in the mirror, she trembled. Magictransformation! Apparently the chasm between the two had been bridgedin a single instant. Helen herself was astonished and again her heartwarmed toward the girl, when a little later, she stood timidly underHale's scrutiny, eagerly watching his face and flushing rosywith happiness under his brightening look. Her brother had notexaggerated--the little girl was really beautiful. When they went downto the dining-room, there was another surprise for Helen Hale, forJune's timidity was gone and to the wonder of the woman, she was clothedwith an impassive reserve that in herself would have been little lessthan haughtiness and was astounding in a child. She saw, too, that thechange in the girl's bearing was unconscious and that the presence ofstrangers had caused it. It was plain that June's timidity sprang fromher love of Hale--her fear of not pleasing him and not pleasing her, hissister, and plain, too, that remarkable self-poise was little June's tocommand. At the table June kept her eyes fastened on Helen Hale. Not amovement escaped her and she did nothing that was not done by one of theothers first. She said nothing, but if she had to answer a question, shespoke with such care and precision that she almost seemed to be usinga foreign language. Miss Hale smiled but with inward approval, and thatnight she was in better spirits.
"Jack," she said, when he came to bid her good-night, "I think we'dbetter stay here a few days. I thought of course you were exaggerating,but she is very, very lovely. And that manner of hers--well, it passesmy understanding. Just leave everything to me."
Hale was very willing to do that. He had all trust in his sister'sjudgment, he knew her dislike of interference, her love of autocraticsupervision, so he asked no questions, but in grateful relief kissed hergood-night.
The sister sat for a long time at her window after he was gone. Herbrother had been long away from civilization; he had become infatuated,the girl loved him, he was honourable and in his heart he meant to marryher--that was to her
the whole story. She had been mortified by themisstep, but the misstep made, only one thought had occurred to her--tohelp him all she could. She had been appalled when she first saw thedusty shrinking mountain girl, but the helplessness and the lonelinessof the tired little face touched her, and she was straightway responsiveto the mute appeal in the dark eyes that were lifted to her ownwith such modest fear and wonder. Now her surprise at her brother'sinfatuation was abating rapidly. The girl's adoration of him, her wildbeauty, her strange winning personality--as rare and as independent ofbirth and circumstances as genius--had soon made that phenomenon plain.And now what was to be done? The girl was quick, observant, imitative,docile, and in the presence of strangers, her gravity of manner gavethe impression of uncanny self-possession. It really seemed as thoughanything might be possible. At Helen's suggestion, then, the threestayed where they were for a week, for June's wardrobe was sadly in needof attention. So the week was spent in shopping, driving, and walking,and rapidly as it passed for Helen and Hale it was to June the longestof her life, so filled was it with a thousand sensations unfelt by them.The city had been stirred by the spirit of the new South, but the charmof the old was distinct everywhere. Architectural eccentricities hadstartled the sleepy maple-shaded rows of comfortable uniform dwellingshere and there, and in some streets the life was brisk; but it wasstill possible to see pedestrians strolling with unconscious good-humouraround piles of goods on the sidewalk, business men stopping for asocial chat on the streets, street-cars moving independent of time,men invariably giving up their seats to women, and, strangers or not,depositing their fare for them; the drivers at the courteous personalservice of each patron of the road--now holding a car and placidlywhistling while some lady who had signalled from her doorway went backindoors for some forgotten article, now twisting the reins around thebrakes and leaving a parcel in some yard--and no one grumbling! But whatwas to Hale an atmosphere of amusing leisure was to June bewilderingconfusion. To her his amusement was unintelligible, but though inconstant wonder at everything she saw, no one would ever have suspectedthat she was making her first acquaintance with city scenes. At firstthe calm unconcern of her companions had puzzled her. She could notunderstand how they could walk along, heedless of the wonderful visionsthat beckoned to her from the shop-windows; fearless of the strangenoises about them and scarcely noticing the great crowds of people,or the strange shining vehicles that thronged the streets. But she hadquickly concluded that it was one of the demands of that new life tosee little and be astonished at nothing, and Helen and Hale surprised inturn at her unconcern, little suspected the effort her self-suppressioncost her. And when over some wonder she did lose herself, Hale wouldsay:
"Just wait till you see New York!" and June would turn her dark eyes toHelen for confirmation and to see if Hale could be joking with her.
"It's all true, June," Helen would say. "You must go there some day.It's true." But that town was enough and too much for June. Her headbuzzed continuously and she could hardly sleep, and she was glad whenone afternoon they took her into the country again--the Bluegrasscountry--and to the little town near which Hale had been born, and whichwas a dream-city to June, and to a school of which an old friend ofhis mother was principal, and in which Helen herself was a temporaryteacher. And Rumour had gone ahead of June. Hale had found her dashingabout the mountains on the back of a wild bull, said rumour. She was asbeautiful as Europa, was of pure English descent and spoke the languageof Shakespeare--the Hon. Sam Budd's hand was patent in this. She hadsaved Hale's life from moonshiners and while he was really in lovewith her, he was pretending to educate her out of gratitude--andhere doubtless was the faint tracery of Miss Anne Saunder's naturalsuspicions. And there Hale left her under the eye of his sister--lefther to absorb another new life like a thirsty plant and come back to themountains to make his head swim with new witcheries.