Sir Christopher: A Romance of a Maryland Manor in 1644. Goodwin Maud Wilder

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СКАЧАТЬ the victory in the war of words. Good-night, Sir Priest!"

      For answer the father only folded his cloak about him and slipped out of the door as quietly as though he were to re-enter in an hour.

      Father White followed Mistress Brent to the hall, from the window of which she strove to watch the retreating figure of Father Mohl. Neville thus found himself alone with Elinor Calvert once more. He regarded her with some anxiety, an anxiety justified by her bearing. The full round chin was held an inch higher than its wont, the nostrils were dilated and the eyelids half closed. A wise man would have been careful how he offered a vent for her scorn; but to her lover it seemed that any utterance would be better than this contemptuous silence.

      "You are very angry – " ventured Neville, timidly.

      "I have cause."

      " – and ashamed of me."

      "I have a right to be."

      "Thank Heaven for that!"

      "If you thank Heaven for the shame you cause you are like enough to spend your life on your knees."

      "I deprecate your scorn, madam. Yet I cannot take back the saying."

      "Make it good, then!"

      "Why, so I will. None feel shame save when they feel responsibility. None feel responsibility for those who are neither kith nor kin save where they – "

      "Where they what?" flashed Elinor, turning her great angry eyes full upon him.

      "Save where they love, Mistress Calvert."

      It was out now and Neville felt better. Elinor clenched her hands and began an angry retort, and then all of a sudden broke down, and bending her head over the back of the high oak chair, stood sobbing silently.

      "I pray you be angry," pleaded Neville; "your wrath was hard to bear; but 'twas naught to this."

      "Oh, yes," answered Elinor between her sobs, "it is much you care either for my anger or your grief, that the first proof you give of your boasted love is to offend those whom I hold in affection and reverence."

      "'Twas he provoked me to it," answered Neville, sullenly, "with his tales of my friend yonder, as honest a fellow as walks the earth. Is a man to sit still and listen in silence to a pack of lies told about his friend?"

      "Say no more!" commanded Elinor. "I see a man is bound to bear all things for the man to whom he has professed friendship – nothing for the woman to whom he has professed love."

      There was little logic in the argument, but it made its mark, for it was addressed not to the mind but to the heart.

      "Forgive me!" cried Neville – which was by far the best thing he could have said.

      If a woman has anything to forgive, the granting of pardon is a necessity. If she has nothing to forgive, it is a luxury.

      "I do," she murmured.

      "Perhaps I was rougher of manner than need was."

      "Yet 'twas but nature."

      "Yes, but nature must be held in check."

      Thus did these inconsistent beings oppose each other, each taking the ground occupied a few minutes since by the other, and as hot for the defence as they had been but now for the attack.

      Neville seized Elinor's hand and kissed it passionately; then snatching up his hat and cloak he exclaimed, "I will go after Mohl and make my peace. Henceforth I swear what is dear to you shall be held at least beyond reproach by me."

      Elinor turned upon him such a glance that he scarcely dared look upon her lest he be struck blind by the ecstasy of his own soul.

      "At last!" he whispered as he passed out into the night.

      Was it luck or fate that guided him? Who shall say? Luck is the pebble on which the traveller trips and slides into quicksands or sands of gold. Fate is the cliff against which he leans, or dashes himself to death. Yet the pebble was once part of the cliff.

      CHAPTER III

      BLESSING AND BANNING

      "Mother! Moth-er!"

      It was Cecil's voice on the landing, and Cecil's white nightgowned figure hanging over the balustrade.

      "Yes, Poppet, what is it?"

      "Thou didtht not come upstairs as thou didtht promise when the nuts were served…"

      "Dearest, I could not. I was in talk with Sir Christopher."

      "But thou didtht promise, and how oft have I heard thee say, 'A promise is a promise'?"

      Elinor started from her chair to go toward the stair; but Father White stayed her with uplifted finger.

      "Let me deal with him," he said under his breath; "'tis time the lad learned the difference between the failure which is stuff o' the conscience, and that which is the fault of circumstances." Then aloud, "Cecil, wilt thou close thine eyes and come down to me when thou hast counted a hundred?"

      "Ay, that will I."

      "Without fail?"

      "Why, surely! There is naught I would love better than toathting my toeth by the great fire."

      "Very well, then; shut thine eyes and begin!"

      Cecil counted faithfully to the stroke of a hundred, and then springing to his feet with a shout, started down the stair, but to his surprise the priest was nowhere to be seen. Cecil searched behind the settle and under the table as if one could fancy Father White's stately figure in such undignified hiding-place! At length the child gave up the search and called aloud, —

      "Where art thou?"

      "Here, in this little room," answered a muffled voice, and Cecil ran to the door only to find it securely fastened by a bolt within.

      "Come in," cried the voice.

      "I cannot; it ith bolted."

      "But you promised – "

      "But the door ith fatht."

      "What of that? 'A promise is a promise.'"

      By this time Cecil, perceiving that jest and lesson were both pointed at him, stood with quivering lip, ready at a single further word to burst into tears; but the kind father, flinging wide the door, caught him in his arms, saying, "We must not hold each other responsible, my boy, for promises which God and man can make impossible of fulfilment. We must be gentle and charitable and easy to be entreated for forgiveness; and so good-night to mother, and I will lay thee again in thy trundle-bed."

      "Has Sir Christopher Neville left us also?" asked Mary Brent, as Father White came down from Cecil's room and joined her and Elinor at the fire.

      "He has."

      "A strange man!" said Father White.

      Elinor colored.

      "Ay," answered Mary Brent; "I cannot make out why Giles hath taken such a liking СКАЧАТЬ