 CHAPTER XI They got through the supper without any trouble, and the ants went home in the early twilight, each with her bonnet-strings tied precisely, her lace mitts drawn smoothly over her bony hands, and her little knitting-bag over her right arm. They walked decorously up the shaded, elm-domed street, each mindful of her aristocratic instep, and trying to walk erect as in the days when they were gazed upon with admiration, knowing that still an era of former greatness hovered about them wherever they went. They had brightened considerably at the supper-table under the genial influence of David's presence. They came as near to worshiping David, as one can possibly come to worshiping a human being. David, desirous above all things of blinding their keen, sure to say, I told you so, old eyes, roused to be his former gay self with them, and pleased them so that they did not notice how little lover-like reference he made to his bride, who was decidedly in the background for the time. The aunts perhaps purposely desiring to show her a wife's true place, at least the true place of a wife of a David. They had allowed her to bring their things and help them on with capes and bonnets, and when they were ready to leave, Aunt Amelia put out a lifeless hand that felt in its silk mitt like a dead fish in a net, and said to Marcia, Our sister Clarinda is desirous of seeing David's wife. She wished us most particularly to give you her love, and say to you that she wishes you to come to her at the earliest possible moment. You know she is lame and cannot easily get about. Young folks should always be ready to wait upon their elders, said Aunt Hortense grimly. Come as soon as you can, that is, if you think you can stand the smell of salt rising." Marcia's face flushed painfully, and she glanced quickly at David to see if he had noticed what his aunt had said, but David was already anticipating the moment when he would be free to lay aside his mask and bury his face in his hands and his thoughts in sadness. Marcia's heart sank as she went about clearing off the supper things. Was life always to be thus? Would she be forever under the espionage of those two grim specters of women who seemed to her girlish imagination to have nothing about them warm or loving or woman-like? She seemed to herself to be standing outside of a married life and looking on at it as one might gaze on a panorama. It was all new and painful, and she was one of the central figures expected to act on through all the pictures, taking another's place, yet doing it as if it were her own. She glanced over at David's pale, gray face, sat in its sadness, and a sharp pain went through her heart. Would he ever get over it? Would life never be more cheerful than it now was? He spoke to her occasionally in a pleasant abstracted way as to one who understood him and was kind not to trouble his sadness, and he lighted a candle for her when the work was done, and said he hoped she would rest well, that she must still be weary from the long journey, and so she went up to her room again. She did not go to bed at once, but sat down by the window looking out on the moonlit street. There had been some sort of a meeting at the church across the way, and the people were filing out and taking their various ways home, calling pleasant good nights and speaking cheerily of the morrow. The moon, though beginning to wane, was bright and cast sharp shadows. Marshall lunged to get out into the night. If she could have got downstairs without being heard, she would have slipped out into the garden, but downstairs she could hear David pacing back and forth like some hurt-caged thing. Steadily dully he walked from the front hall back into the kitchen and back again. There was no possibility of escaping his notice. Marshall felt as if she might breathe freer in the open air, so she leaned far out of her window and looked up and down the street and thought. Finally, her heart swelled to bursting as young hearts with their first little troubles will do. She leaned down her dark head upon the window-seat and wept and wept alone. It was the next morning at breakfast that David told her of the festivities that were planned in honor of their homecoming. He spoke as if they were a great trial through which they both must pass in order to have any peace, and expressed his gratitude once more that she had been willing to come here with him and pass through it. Marshall had the impression, after he was done speaking and had gone away to the office, that he felt that she had come here merely for these few days of ceremony, and after they were passed she was dismissed, her duty done, and she might go home. A great lump arose in her throat, and she suddenly wished very much indeed that it were so. For if it were, how much, how very much, she would enjoy queening it for a few days, except for David's sadness. But already there had begun to be an element to her in that sadness which in spite of herself she resented. It was a heavy burden which she began dimly to see would be harder and harder to bear as the days went by. She had not begun to think of the time before her in years. They were to go to the ants to tea that evening, and after tea a company of David's old friends, or rather the old friends of David's ants, were coming in to meet them. This the ants had planned, but it seemed they had not counted her worthy to be told of the plans, and had only divulged them to David. Tasha had not thought that a little thing could annoy her so much, but she found it vexed her more and more as she thought upon it going about her work. There was not so much to be done in the house that morning after the breakfast things were cleared away. Dinners and suppers would not be much of a problem for some days to come, for the house was well stocked with good things. The bed's done, and the rooms left in dainty order with the sweet summer breeze blowing the green tassels on the window shades, Marcia went softly down like some half-guilty creature to the piano. She opened it and was forthwith lost in delight of the sounds her own fingers brought forth. She had been playing perhaps half an hour when she became conscious of another presence in the room. She looked up with a start, feeling that someone had been there for some time, she could not tell just how long. Coming into the shadowy room lighted only from the window behind her, she made out ahead looking in at the door, the face almost hidden by a capacious sun-bonnet. She was not long in recognizing her visitor of the day before. It was like a sudden dropping from a lofty mountain height down into a valley of annoyance to hear Miranda's sharp metallic voice. Morning, she curtsied, coming in as soon as she perceived that she was seen. Added again, I've been listening some time. It's as pretty as Silas Drew's harmonica when he comes home evenings behind the cows. Marcia drew her hands sharply from the keys as if she had been struck. Somehow Miranda and music were inharmonious. She scarcely knew what to say. She felt as if her morning were spoiled. But Miranda was too full of her own errand to notice the clouded face and cool welcome. Say, you can't guess how I got over here. I'll tell you. You're going over to the Spafford house tonight, ain't you? And there's going to be a lot of folks there. Of course, we all know all about it. It's been planned for months. And my cousin Hannah Heath has an invite. You can't think how fond Miss Amelia and Miss Hortense are of her. They tried their level best to make David pay attention to her, but it didn't work. Well, she was talking about what she'd wear. She's had three new frocks made last week, all frilled and fancy. You see, she don't want to let folks think she is down in the mouth the least bit about David. She'll likely make up to you, to your face a whole lot, and pretend she's the best friend you've got in the world. But I've just got this to say. Don't you be too sure of her friendship. She's smooth as butter, but she can give you a slap in the face if you don't serve her purpose. I don't mind telling you, for she's given me many a one. And the pale eyes snapped in unison with the color of her hair. Well, you see, I heard her talking to Grandma, and she said she'd give anything to know what you were going to wear tonight. How curious, said Marcia, surprised. I'm sure I do not see why she should care. There was the coolness born of utter indifference in her reply, which filled the younger girl with admiration. Perhaps, too, there was the least might of haughtiness in her manner, born of the knowledge that she belonged to an old and honored family, and that she had in her possession a trunk full of clothes that could buy with any that Hannah Heath could display. Miranda wished silently that she could convey that cool manner and that wide-eyed indifference to the sight of her cousin Hannah. Hmm, giggled Miranda. Well, she does. If you were going to wear blue, you'd see she'd put on her green. She's got one that'll kill any blue that's in the same room with it, no matter if it's on the other side. It's just sickening to see them together, and she looks real well in it, too. So when she said she wanted to know so bad, Grandma said she'd send me over to know if you'd accept a jar of her fresh pickle lily, and maybe I could find out about your clothes. The pickle lily's on the kitchen table. I left it when I came through. It's good, but there ain't any love in it. And Miranda laughed a hard, mirthless laugh, and then settled down to her subject again. Now, you needn't be a mite afraid to tell me about it. I won't tell it straight, you know. I'd just like to see what you are going to wear so I could keep her out of her tricks for once. Is your frock blue? Now it is true that the trunk upstairs contained a goodly amount of the color blue. For Kate Skyler had been her baniest in blue, and the particular frock that had been made with reference to this very first significant gathering was blue. Marsha had accepted the fact as unalterable. The garment was made for a purpose, and its mission must be fulfilled, however much she might wish to wear something else. But suddenly, as Miranda spoke, there came to her mind the thought of rebellion. Why should she be bound down to do exactly as Kate would do in her place? If she had accepted the sacrifice of living Kate's life for her, she might at least have the privilege of living it in the pleasantest possible way, and surely the matter of dress was when she might be allowed to settle for herself if she was old enough at all to be trusted away from home. Knowing the pretty things that Kate had made was a sweet rose pink silk tissue. Madame Skyler had frowned upon it as frivolous, and besides, she did not think it be coming to Kate. She had a fixed theory that people with blue eyes and gold hair should never wear pink or red. But Kate, as usual, had her own way, and with her wild rose complexion had succeeded in looking like the wild rose itself in spite of blue eyes and golden hair. Marcia knew in her heart, in fact, she had known from the minute the lovely pink thing had come into the house, that it was the very thing to set her off. Her dark eyes and hair made a charming contrast with the rose, and her complexion was even fresher than Kate's. Her heart grew suddenly eager to don this dainty frilly thing, and outshine Hannah Heath beyond any chance of further trying. There were other frocks, too, in the trunk. Why should she be confined to the stately blue one that had been marked out for this occasion? Marcia, with sudden inspiration, answered calmly, just as though all these tumultuous possibilities of clothes had not been whirling through her brain in that half-second's hesitation. I have not quite decided what I shall wear. It is not an important matter, I am sure. Let us go and see the pickle lily. I am very much obliged to your grandmother, I am sure. It was kind of her. Somewhat odd, Miranda followed her hostess into the kitchen. She could not reconcile this girl's face with the stately little heirs that she wore, but she liked her, and forthwith she told her so. I like you, she said fervently. You remind me of one of Grandma's stursions bright and independent and lively, with a spice and a color to them. And Hannah makes you think of one of them tall spikes of gladiolus all filled up without any smell. Marcia tried to smile over this doubtful compliment. Somehow there was something about Miranda that reminded her of Mary Ann, poor Mary Ann, dear Mary Ann. For suddenly she realized that everything that reminded her of the precious life of her childhood, left behind forever, was dear. If she could see Mary Ann at this moment, she would throw her arms about her neck and call her dear Mary Ann, and say, I love you to her. Perhaps this feeling made her more gentle with the annoying Miranda than she might have been. When Miranda was gone, the precious play-hour was gone too. Marcia had only time to steal hurriedly into the parlor, close the instrument, and then fly about getting her dinner ready. But as she worked, she had other thoughts to occupy her mind. She was becoming adjusted to her new environment, and she found many unexpected things to make it hard. Here for instance was Hannah Heath. Why did there have to be a Hannah Heath? And what was Hannah Heath to her? Kate might feel jealous indeed, but not she, not the unloved, unreal wife of David. She would rather pity Hannah Heath that David had not loved her instead of Kate, or pity David that he had not. But somehow she did not, somehow she could not. Somehow Hannah Heath had become a living, breathing enemy to be met and conquered. Marcia felt her fighting blood rising, felt the skiler in her coming to the front. However little there was of her waifood, its name at least was hers. The tale that Miranda had told was enough, if it were true, to put any woman, however young she might be, into battle array. Marcia was puzzling her mind over the question that had been more or less of a weary burden to every woman since the fatal day that Eve made her great mistake. David was silent and abstracted at the dinner table, and Marcia absorbed in her own problems, did not feel cut by it. She was trying to determine whether to blossom out in pink, or to be crushed and set aside into insignificance in blue, or to choose a happy medium and wear neither. She ventured a timid little question before David went away again. Did he, would he, that is, was there anything, any word he would like to say to her? Would she have to do anything tonight? David looked at her in surprise. Why, no, he knew of nothing. Just go and speak pleasantly to everyone. He was sure she knew what to do. He had always thought her very well behaved. She had manners like any woman. She need not feel shy. No one knew of her peculiar position, and he felt reasonably sure that the story would not soon get around. Her position would be thoroughly established before it did at least. She need not feel uncomfortable. He looked down at her, thinking he had said all that could be expected of him, but somehow he felt the trouble in the girl's eyes and asked her gently if there was anything more. No, she said slowly, unless, perhaps, I don't suppose you know what it would be proper for me to wear. Oh, that does not matter in the least, he replied promptly. Anything, you always look nice. Why, I'll tell you where the frock you had on the night I came. Then he suddenly remembered the reason why that was a pleasant memory to him, and that it was not for her sake at all, but for the sake of one who was lost to him forever. His face contracted with sudden pain, and Marcia, cut to the heart, read the meaning, and felt sick and sore, too. Oh, I could not wear that, she said sadly. It is only chins. It would not be nice enough, but thank you. I shall be all right, don't trouble about me. And she forced a weak smile to light him from the house, and shut from his pained eyes the knowledge of how he had hurt her, for with those words of his had come the vision of herself that happy night as she stood at the gate in the stillness and moonlight, looking from the portal of her maidenhood into the vista of her womanhood, which had seemed then so far away and bright, and was now upon her in sad reality. Oh, if she could but have cut that sentence of his about her little chins frock to her heart with the joy of possession, and known that he had said it because he, too, had a happy memory about her in it, as she had always felt the coming, misty, dream-expected lover would do. She spread the available frocks out upon the bed after the other things were put neatly away in closet and drawer, and sat down to decide the matter. David's suggestion, while impossible, had given her an idea, and she proceeded to carry it out. There was a soft, sheer white muslin whereon Kate had expended her daintiest embroidering, edged with the finest of little lace frills. It was quaint and simple and girlish, the sweetest, most simple affair in all of Kate's elaborate wardrobe, and yet, perhaps, from an artistic point of view, the most elegant. Mercia soon made up her mind. She dressed herself early, for David had said that he would be home by four o'clock, and they would start as soon after as he could get ready. His aunts wished to show her the old garden before dark. When she came to the arrangement of her hair, she paused. Somehow her soul rebelled at the style of Kate. It did not suit her face. It did not accord with her feeling. It made her seem unlike herself, or unlike the self she would ever wish to be. It suited Kate well, but not her. With sudden determination, she pulled it all down again from the top of her head, and loosened its rich waves about her face, then loosely twisted it behind, low on her neck, falling over her delicate ears, until her head looked like that of an old Greek statue. It was not fashion. It was pure instinct the child was following out, and there was enough conformity to one of the fashionable modes of the day to keep her from looking odd. It was lovely. Mercia could not help seeing herself that it was much more becoming than the way she had arranged it for her marriage, though then she had had the wedding veil to soften the tightly drawn outlines of her head. She put on the sheer white embroidered frock then, and as a last touch pinned the bit of black velvet about her throat with a single pearl that had been her mother's. It was the bit of black velvet she had worn the night David came. It gave her pleasure to think that in so far she was conforming to his suggestion. She had just completed her toilet when she heard David's step coming up the walk. David coming in out of the sunshine and beholding this beautiful girl in the coolness and shadow of the hall, awaiting him shyly, almost started back as he rubbed his eyes and looked at her again. She was beautiful. He had to admit it to himself, even in the midst of his sadness, and he smiled at her and felt another pang of condemnation that he had taken this beauty from some other man's lot, perhaps, and appropriated it to shield himself from the world's exclamation about his own lonely life. You have done it admirably. I do not see that there is anything left to be desired. He said in his pleasant voice that used to make her girl heart flutter with pride that her new brother to be was pleased with her. David fluttered now, but there was a wider sweep to its wings and a longer flight ahead of the thought. Quite demurely the young wife accepted her compliment, and then she meekly folded her little white muslin cape with its dainty frills about her pretty shoulders, drew on the new lace mitts, and tied beneath her chin the white strings of a sheared gauze bonnet with tiny rose buds nestling in the rushing of tulle about the face. This more the bride walked down the world, the observed of all observers, the gazed at of the town, only this time it was brick pavement, not oaken stairs she trod, and most of the eyes that looked upon her were sheltered behind green jealousies. Nonetheless, however, was she conscious of them as she made her way to the house of solemn feasting with David by her side. Her eyes rested upon the ground or glanced quietly at things in the distance when they were not lifted for a moment in wifely humility to her husband's face at some word of his. Just as she imagined a hundred times in her girlish thoughts that her sister Kate would do, so did she, and after what seemed to her an interminable walk, though in reality it was but four village blocks, they arrived at the house of Spafford. CHAPTER XII This is your Aunt Clarinda. There was challenge in the severely spoken pronoun Aunt Hortense used. It seemed to Marcia that she wished to remind her that all her old life and relations were passed away and she had nothing now but David's, especially David's relatives. She shrank from lifting her eyes expecting to find the third aunt, who was older, as much sourer and sharper in proportion to the other two, but she controlled herself and lifted her flower face to meet a gentle, meek, old face set in soft white frills of a cap with white ribbons flying, and though the old lady leaned upon a crutch, she managed to give the impression that she had fairly flown in her gladness to welcome her new niece. There was the lighting of a repressed nature let free in her kind old face as she looked with true pleasure upon the lovely young one, and Marcia felt herself folded in truly loving arms in an embrace which her own passionate, much repressed, loving nature returned with heartiness. At last she had found a friend. She felt it every time she spoke more and more. They walked out into the garden almost immediately, and Aunt Clarinda insisted upon hobbling along by Marcia's side, though her sisters both protested that it would be too hard for her that warm afternoon. Every time that Marcia spoke, she felt the kind old eyes upon her, and she knew that at least one of the aunts was satisfied with her as a wife for David. For her eyes would travel from David to Marcia and back again to David, and when they met Marcia's there was not a shade of disparagement in them. It was rather a tiresome walk through a tiresome old garden laid out in the ways of the past generation and bordered with much funereal box. The sisters, Amelia and Hortense, took the new member of the family conscientiously through every path, and faithfully told how each spot was associated with some happening in the family history. Occasionally there was a solemn pause for the purpose of properly impressing the new member of the house, and Amelia wiped her eyes with her carefully folded handkerchief. Marcia felt extremely like laughing. She was sure that if Kate had been obliged to pass through this ordeal, she would have giggled out at once and said some shockingly funny thing that would have horrified the aunts beyond forgiveness. The thought of this nerfed her to keep a sober face. She wondered what David thought of it all, but when she looked at him she wondered no longer, for David stood as one waiting for a certain ceremony to be over, a ceremony which he knew to be inevitable, but which was wholly and familiarly uninteresting. He did not even see how it must strike the girl who was going through it all for him, for David's thoughts were out on the flood tide of sorrow, drifting against the rocks of the might have been. They went into tea presently, just when the garden was growing loveliest with the tinge of the setting sun, and Marcia longed to run up and down the little paths, like a child, and call to them all to catch her if they could. The house was dark and stately and gloomy. You are coming up to my room for a few minutes after supper, whispered Aunt Clarinda encouragingly as they passed into the dark hall. The supper table was alight with a fine old silver candelabra, whose many wavering lights cast a solemn grotesque shadow on the different faces. Beside her plate the young bride saw an ostentatious plate of puffy soda biscuits, and involuntarily her eyes searched the table for the bread plate. Aunt Clarinda almost immediately pounced upon the bread plate and passed it with a smile to Marcia, and as Marcia with an answering smile took a generous slice, she heard the two other aunts exclaim in chorus, Oh, don't pass her the bread, Clarinda. Take it away, sister, quick. She does not like salt-rising. It is unpleasant to her. Then with blazing cheeks the girl protested that she wished to keep the bread, that they were mistaken. She had not said it was obnoxious to her, but had merely given them her stepmother's opinion when they asked. They must excuse her for her seeming rudeness, for she had not intended to hurt them. She presumed salt-rising bread was very nice. It looked beautiful. This was a long speech for shy Marcia to make before so many strangers, but David's wondering troubled eyes were upon her, questioning what it all might mean, and she felt she could do anything to save David from more suffering or annoyance of any kind. David said little. He seemed to perceive that there had been an unpleasant prelude to this, and perhaps new from former experience that the best way to do was to change the subject. He launched into a detailed account of their wedding journey. Marcia on her part was grateful to him, for when she took the first brave bite into the very puffy, very white slice of bread she had taken, she perceived that it was much worse than that which had been baked for their homecoming, and not only justified all her stepmother's execrations, but in addition it was sour. For an instant, perceiving down the horoscope of time, whole calendars full of such suppers with the ants and this bread, her soul shuddered and shrank. Could she ever learn to like it? Impossible. Could she ever tolerate it? Could she? She doubted. Then she swallowed bravely and perceived that the impossible had been accomplished once. It could be again, but she must go slowly, else she might have to eat two slices instead of one. David was kind. He had roused himself to help his helper. Perhaps something in her girlish beauty and helplessness, helpless here for his sake, appealed to him. At least his eyes sought hers often with a tender interest to see if she were comfortable, and once when Aunt Emilia asked if they had stopped nowhere for rest on their journey. His eyes sought Marcia's with a twinkling reminder of their roadside nap, and he answered, Once, Aunt Emilia, no, it was not a regular inn. It was quieter than that. Not many people stopping there. Marcia's merry laugh almost bubbled forth, but she suppressed it just in time, horrified to think what Aunt Hortense would say. But somehow after David had said that, her heart felt a trifle lighter, and she took a big bite from the salt rising, and smiled as she swallowed it. There were worse things in the world after all than salt rising, and when one could smother it in Aunt Emilia's peach preserves, it was quite bearable. Aunt Clarinda slipped her off to her own room after supper, and left the other two sisters with their beloved idol, David. In their stately parlor, lighted with many candles in honor of the occasion, they sat and talked in low tones with him, their voices suggesting condolence with his misfortune of having married out of the family, and disapproval with the married state in general. Poor souls! How their hard, loving hearts would have been wrung could they but have known the true state of the case. And strange anomaly, how much deeper would have been their antagonism toward poor, self-sacrificing, loving Marsha? Just because she had dared to think herself fit for David, belonging as she did to her renegade sister, Kate. But they did not know, and for this fact David was profoundly thankful. Those were not the days of rapid transit, of telegraph and telephone, nor even of much letter writing, else the story would probably have reached the ants even before the bride and bridegroom arrived at home. As it was, David had some hope of keeping the tragedy of his life from the ears of his ants forever. Patiently he answered their questions concerning the wedding, questions that were intended to bring out facts showing whether David had received his due amount of respect, and whether the family he had so greatly honored felt the burden of that honor sufficiently. Others in a quaint old-fashioned room, Aunt Clarinda was taking Marsha's face in her two wrinkled hands and looking lovingly into her eyes. Then she kissed her on each rosy cheek and said, Dear child, you look just as I did when I was young. You wouldn't think it from me now, would you? But it's true. I might not have grown to be such a dried-up old thing if I had had somebody like David. I am so glad you've got David. He'll take good care of you. He's a dear boy. He's always been good to me. But you mustn't let the others crush those roses out of your cheeks. They crushed mine out. They wouldn't let me have my life the way I wanted it. And the pink in my cheeks all went back into my heart and burst it a good many years ago. But they can't spoil your life, for you've got David, and that's worth everything. Then she kissed her on the lips and cheeks and eyes and let her go. But that one moment had given Marcia a glimpse into another life story and put her in touch forever with Aunt Clarinda, setting a throb the cord of loving sympathy. When they came into the parlor the other two aunts looked up with a quick suspicious glance from one to the other and then fastened disapproving eyes upon Marcia. They rather resented it that she was so pretty. Aunt Clarinda had been their favorite and Hannah was beautiful in their eyes. They wanted no other to outshine her. Albeit they would be proud enough before their neighbors to have it said that their nephew's wife was beautiful. After a chilling pause in which David was wondering anew at Marcia's beauty, Aunt Hortense asked, as though it were an omission from the former examination, Did you ever make a shirt? Oh, plenty of them, said Marcia with a merry laugh, so relieved that she fairly bubbled. I think I could make a shirt with my eyes shut. And Clarinda beamed on her with delight. A shirt was something she had never succeeded in making right. It was one of the things which her sisters had against her that she could not make good shirts. Anyone who could not make a shirt was deficient. Clarinda was deficient. She could not make a shirt. Meekly had she tried year after year. Humbly had she ripped out gusset and seam and band, having put them on upside down or inside out. Never could she learn the ins and outs of a shirt. But her old heart trembled with delight that the new girl who was going to take the place in her heart of her old dead self and live out all the beautiful things which had been lost to her had mastered this one great accomplishment in which she had failed so supremely. But Aunt Hortense was not pleased. True, it was one of the seven virtues in her mind which a young wife should possess. And she had carefully instructed Hannah Heath for a number of years back, while Hannah bungled out a couple for her father occasionally. But Aunt Hortense had been sure that if Hannah ever became David's wife, she might still have the honor of making most of David's shirts. That had been her happy task ever since David had worn a shirt. And she hoped to hold the position of shirt maker to David until she left this mortal clay. Therefore Aunt Hortense was not pleased, even though David's wife was not lacking. And two, even though she forheard herself telling her neighbors next day how many shirts David's wife had made. Well, David will not need any for some time, she said grimly. I made him a dozen just before he was married. Marcia reflected that it seemed to be impossible to make any headway into the good graces of either Aunt Hortense or Aunt Emilia. Aunt Emilia then took her turn at a question. Hortense, said she, and there was an ominous inflection in the word as if the question were portentious. Have you asked our new niece what name she desires us to call her? I have not, said Miss Hortense solemnly, but I intend to do so immediately. And then both pairs of steely eyes were leveled at the girl. Marcia suddenly was face to face with a question she had not considered. And David started upright from his position on the hair cloth sofa. But if a thunderbolt had fallen from heaven and rendered him utterly unconscious, David would not have been more helpless than he was for the time being. Marcia saw the mingled pain and perplexity in David's face and her own courage gathered itself to brave it out in some way. The color flew to her cheeks and rose slowly in David's through heavy veins that swelled in his neck till he could feel their pulsation against his stock. But his smooth shaven lips were white. He felt that a moment had come which he could not bear to face. Then with a hesitation that was but pardonable and with a shy, sweet look, Marcia answered. And though her voice trembled just the least bit, her true, dear eyes looked into the battalion of steel ones bravely. I would like you to call me Marcia, if you please. Marcia, Miss Hortense snipped the word out as if with scissors of surprise. But there was a distinct relaxation about Miss Amelia's mouth. She heaved a relieved sigh. Marcia was so much better than Kate, so much more classical, so much more to be compared with Hannah, for instance. Well, I'm glad, she allowed herself to remark. David has been calling you Kate till it made me sick. Such a frivolous name and no sense in it either. Marcia sounds quite sensible. I suppose Catherine is your middle name. Do you spell it with a K or a C? But the knocker sounded on the street door and Marcia was spared the torture of a reply. She dared not look at David's face, for she knew there must be pain and mortification mingling there, and she hoped that the trying subject would not come up again for discussion. The guests began to arrive. Old Mrs. Heath and her daughter-in-law and granddaughter came first. Hannah's features were handsome, and she knew exactly how to manage her shapely hands with their long white fingers. The soft, delicate undersleeves fell away from arms white and well-molded, and she carried her height gracefully. Her hair was elaborately stowed upon the top of her head in many puffs, ending in little ringlets carelessly and coquettishly straying over temple or ears or gracefully curved neck. She wore a frock of green and its color sent a pang through the bride's heart to realize that perhaps it had been worn with an unkindly purpose. Nevertheless, Hannah Heath was beautiful and fascinated Marcia. She resolved to try to think the best of her and to make her a friend if possible. Why, after all, should she be to blame for wanting David? Was he not a man to be admired and desired? It was unwomenly, of course, that she had let it be known, but perhaps her relatives were more to blame than herself. At least Marcia made up her mind to try and like her. Hannah's frock was of silk, not a common material in those days, soft and shimmery and green enough to take away the heart from anything blue that was ever made. But Hannah was stately and her skin as white as the lily she resembled in her bright-leaf green. Hannah chose to be effusive and condescending to the bride, giving the impression that she and David had been like brother and sister all their lives and that she might have been his choice if she had chosen. But as she had not chosen, she was glad that David had found someone wherewith to console himself. She did not say all this in so many words, but Marcia found that impression left after the evening was over. With sweet dignity, Marcia received her introductions given in Miss Amelia's most commanding tone. Our niece, Marcia. Marcy, Marcy. The bride heard old Mrs. Heath murmur to Miss Spafford. Why, I thought, was to be Kate. Her name is Marcia, said Miss Amelia in a most satisfied tone. You must have misunderstood. Marcia caught a look in Miss Heath's eyes, alert, keen, questioning, which flashed all over her like something searching and bright, but not friendly. She felt a painful shyness stealing over her and wished that David were by her side. She looked across the room at him. His face had recovered its usual calmness though he looked pale. He was talking on his favorite theme with old Mr. Heath, the newly invented steam engine and its possibilities. He had forgotten everything else for the time and his face lighted with animation as he tried to answer William Heath's arguments against it. Have you read what the Boston courier said, David? Long in June it was, I think. Marcia heard Mr. Heath ask. Indeed, his voice was so large that it filled the room and for the moment, Marcia had been left to herself while some new people were being ushered in. It says, David, that the project of a railroad from Boston to Albany is impracticable as everybody knows who knows the simplest rule of arithmetic and the expense would be little less than the market value of the whole territory of Massachusetts and which, if practicable, every person of common sense knows would be as useless as a railroad from Boston to the moon. There, David, what do you think of that? And William Heath slapped David on the knee with his broad, fat fist and laughed heartily as though he had him in a tight corner. Marcia would have given a good deal to slip in beside David on the sofa and listen to the discussion. She wanted with all her heart to know how he would answer this man who could be so insufferably wise, but there was another work for her and all her attention was brought back to her own uncomfortable part by Hannah Heath's voice. Come right over here, Mr. Skinner, if you want to meet the bride. You must speak very nice to me or I shan't introduce you at all. A tall, lanky man with stiff, sandy hair and a Rubikin'd complexion was making his way around the room. He had a small mouth puckered a little as if he might be going to whistle and his chin had the look of having been pushed back out of the way. A stiff fuzz of sandy whiskers made a hedge down either cheek and but for that he was clean shaven. The skin over his high cheekbones was stretched smooth and tight as if it were a trifle too close a fit for the genial cushion underneath. He did not look brilliant and he certainly was not handsome but there was an inoffensive desire to please about him. He was introduced as Mr. Lemuel Skinner. He bowed low over Marcia's hand, said a few embarrassed stiff sentences and turned to Hannah Heath with relief. It was evident that Hannah was in his eyes a great and shining light to which he fluttered as naturally as does the moth to the candle. But Hannah did not scruple to singe his wings whenever she chose. Perhaps she knew no matter how badly he was burned he would only flutter back again whenever she scintillated. She had turned her back upon him now and left him to Marcia's tender mercies. Hannah was engaged in talking to a younger man. Harry Temple from New York. Lemuel explained to Marcia. The young man Harry Temple had large blazy eyes and heavy dark hair. There was a discontented look in his face and a looseness about the set of his lips that Marcia did not like although she had to admit that he was handsome. Something about him reminded her of Captain Leavenworth and she instinctively shrank from him. But Harry Temple had no mind to talk to anyone but Marcia that evening and he presently so managed it that he and she were ensconced in a corner of the room away from others. Marcia felt perturbed. She did not feel flattered by the man's attentions and she wanted to be at the other end of the room listening to the conversation. She listened as intently as she might between sentences and her keen ears could catch a word or two of what David was saying. After all, it was not so much the new railroad project that she cared about though that was strange and interesting enough but she wanted to watch and listen to David. Harry Temple said a great many pretty things to Marcia. She did not half hear some of them at first but after a time she began to realize that she must have made a good impression and the pretty flesh in her cheeks grew deeper. She did little talking. Mr. Temple did it all. He told her of New York. He asked if she were not dreadfully bored with this little town and its doings and bewailed her lot when he learned that she had not had much experience there. Then he asked if she had ever been to New York and began to tell of some of its attractions. Among other things he mentioned some concerts and immediately Marcia was all attention. Her dark eyes glowed and her speaking face gave eager response to his words. Seeing he had interested her at last, he kept on for he was possessor of a glib tongue and what he did not know he could fabricate without the slightest compunction. He had been about the world and gathered up superficial knowledge enough to help him do this admirably. Therefore he was able to use a few musical terms and to bring before Marcia's vivid imagination the scene of the performance of Handel's great creation given in Boston and of certain musical events that were to be attempted soon in New York. He admitted that he could play a little upon the harpsichord and when he learned that Marcia could play also and that she was the possessor of a piano, one of the latest improved makes, he managed to invite himself to play upon it. Marcia found to her dismay that she actually seemed to have invited him to come some afternoon when her husband was away. She had only said politely that she would like to hear him play some time and expressed her great delight in music and he had done the rest, but in her inexperience somehow it had happened and she did not know what to do. It troubled her a good deal and she turned again toward the other end of the room where the attention of most of the company was riveted upon the group who were discussing the railroad, its pros and cons. David was the center of that group. Let us go over and hear what they are saying, she said, turning to her companion eagerly. Oh, it is all stupid politics and arguments about that ridiculous fairy tale of a railroad scheme. You would not enjoy it, answered the young man, disappointedly. He saw in Marcia a beautiful young soul, the only one who had really attracted him since he had left New York and he wished to become intimate enough with her to enjoy himself. It mattered not to him that she was married to another man. He felt secure in his own attractions. He had ever been able to while away the time with whom he chose. Why should a simple village maiden resist him? And this was an unusual one. The contour of her head was like a Greek statue. Nevertheless, he was obliged to stroll after her once she had spoken. She had suddenly become aware that they had been in their corner together a long time and that Aunt Amelia's cold eyes were fastened upon her in disapproval. The farmers would be ruined, man alive, Mr. Heath was saying, why all the horses would have to be killed because they would be wholly useless if this new Fandango came in and then where would be a market for the wheat and oats? Yes, and I've heard some say the hens wouldn't lay on account of the noise, ventured Lemuel Skinner in his high voice and think of the fires from the sparks of the engine. I tell you it would be dangerous. He looked over at Hannah triumphantly but Hannah was endeavoring to signal Harry Temple to her side and did not see nor hear. I tell you, put in Mr. Heath's heavy voice again. I tell you, Dave, it can't be done. It's impractical. Why, no car could advance against the wind. They told Columbus he couldn't sail around the earth but he did it. There was a sudden stillness in the room for it was Marcia's clear grave voice that had answered Mr. Heath's excited tones and she had not known she was going to speak aloud. It came before she realized it. She had been used to speak her mind sometimes with her father but seldom when there were others by and now she was covered with confusion to think what she had done. The ants, Amelia and Hortense were shocked. It was so unladylike. A woman should not speak on such subjects. She should be silent and leave such topics to her husband. Dear me, she's strong-minded, isn't she? Giggled Hannah Heath to Lemuel who had taken the signals to himself and come to her side. Quite so, quite so, murmured Lemuel, his lips looking puffier and more terrified than ever and his chin flattened itself back till he looked like a frustrated old hen who did not understand the perplexities of life and was clucking to find out after having been startled half out of its senses. But Marcia was not wholly without consolation for David had flashed a look of approval at her and had made room for her to sit down by his side on the sofa. It was almost like belonging to him for a minute or two. Marcia felt her heart glow with something new and pleasant. Mr. William Heath drew his heavy gray brows together and looked at her grimly over his spectacles poking his bristly underlip out in astonishment. He wielded that he should have been answered by a gentle, pretty woman, all frills and sparkle like his own daughter. He had been want to look upon a woman as something like a kitten, that is, a young woman, and suddenly the kitten had lifted a velvet paw and struck him squarely in the face. He had felt there were claws in the blow, too, for there had been a truth behind her words that set the room amocking him. Well, Dave, you've got your wife well trained already. He laughed, concluding it was best to put a smiling front upon the defeat. She knows just when to come in and help when your side's getting weak. They served cake and raspberry vinegar then and a little while after everybody went home. It was later than the hours usually kept in the village and the lights in most of the houses were out or burning dimly in upper stories. The voices of the guests sounded subdued in the misty, waning moonlight air. Marcia could hear Hannah Heath's voice ahead, giggling effectively to Harry Temple and Lemuel Skinner as they walked one on either side of her while her father and mother and grandmother came more slowly. David drew Marcia's hand within his arm and walked with her quietly down the street, making their steps hushed instinctively that they might so seem more removed from the others. They were both tired with the unusual excitement and strain they had been through and each was glad of the silence of the other. But when they reached their own doorstep, David said, you spoke well child, you must have thought about these things. Marcia felt a sob rising in a tide of joy into her throat. Then he was not angry with her and he did not disapprove as the two aunts had done and Clarinda had kissed her good night and murmured, you are a bright little girl, Marcia, and you will make a good wife for David. You will come soon to see me, won't you? And that had made her glad, but these words of David's were so good and so unexpected that Marcia could hardly hide her happy tears. I was afraid I had been forward, murmured Marcia in the shadow of the front stoop. Not at all child, I like to hear a woman speak her mind, that is allowing she has any mind to speak. That can't be said of all women. There's Hannah Heath for instance. I don't believe she would know a railroad project from an essay on ancient art. After that the house seemed a pleasant place, a glow as they entered it and Marcia went up to her rest with a lighter heart. But the child knew not that she had made a great impression that night upon all who saw her as being beautiful and wise. The aunts would not express it even to each other, for they felt in duty bound to discountenance her boldness in speaking out before the men and making herself so prominent joining in their discussions. But each in spite of her convictions felt a deep satisfaction that their neighbors had seen what a beautiful and bright wife David had selected. They even felt triumphant over their favorite Hannah and thought secretly that Marcia compared well with her in every way. But they would not have told this even to themselves. No, not for worlds. So the kindly gossipy town slept and the young bride became a part of its daily life. End of chapter 12. Chapter 13 of Marcia Skyler by Grace Livingston Hill. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 13. Life began to take on a more familiar and interesting aspect to Marcia after that. She had her daily round of pleasant household duties and she enjoyed them. There were many other gatherings in honor of the bride and groom, tea drinkings and evening calls and a few called in to a neighbor's house to meet them. It was very pleasant to Marcia as she became better acquainted with the people and grew to like some of them. Only there was the constant drawback of feeling that it was all a pain and weariness to David. But Marcia was young and it was only natural that she should enjoy her sudden promotion to the privileges of a matron and the marked attention that was paid her. It was a mercy that her head was not turned living as she did to herself and with no one in whom she could confide. For David had shrunk within himself to such an extent that she did not like to trouble him with anything. It was only two days after the evening at the old Spafford house that David came home to tea with ash in face, haggard eyes and white lips. He scarcely tasted his supper and said he would go and lie down that his head ached. Marcia heard him sigh deeply as he went upstairs. It was that afternoon that the post had brought him Cape's letter. Sadly Marcia put away the tea things for she could not eat anything either, though it was an unusually inviting meal she had prepared. Slowly she went up to her room and sat looking out into the quiet, darkening summer night, wondering what additional sorrow had come to David. David's face looked like death the next morning when he came down. He drank a cup of coffee feverishly then took his hat as if he would go to the office but paused at the door and came back saying he would not go if Marcia would not mind taking a message for him. His head felt badly. She need only tell the man to go on with things as they had planned and say he was detained. Marcia was ready at once to do his bidding with quiet sympathy in her manner. She delivered her message with the frank straightforward look of a school girl mingled with a touch of matronly dignity she was trying to assume which added to her charm and she smiled her open smile of comradeship such as she would have dispensed about the old red schoolhouse at home upon boys and girls alike leaving the clerk and typesetters in a most subjected state and ready to do anything in the service of their master's wife. It was to be feared that they almost envied David. They watched her as she moved gracefully down the street and their eyes had a reverent look as they turned away from the window to their work as though they had been looking upon something sacred. Harry Temple watched her come out of the office. She impressed him again as something fresh and different from the common run of matrons in the village. He lazily stepped from the store where he had been lounging and walked down the street to intercept her as she crossed and turned to the corner. Good morning, Mrs. Balford. He said with a courtly grace that was certainly captivating. Are you going to your home? Then our ways lie together. May I walk beside you? Marcia smiled and tried to seem gracious though she would rather have been alone just then for she wanted to enjoy the day and not be bothered with talking. Harry Temple mentioned having a letter from a friend in Boston who had lately heard a great chorus rendered. He could not be quite sure of the name of the composer because he had read the letter hurriedly and his friend was a blind writer but that made no difference to Harry. He could fill in facts enough about the grandeur of the music from his own imagination to make up for the lack of a little matter like the name of a composer. He was keen enough to see that Marcia was more interested in music than in anything he said. Therefore he racked his brains for all the music talk he had ever heard and made up what he did not know which was not hard to do for Marcia was very ignorant on the subject. At the door they paused. Marcia was eager to get in. She began to wonder how David felt and she longed to do something for him. Harry Temple looked at her admiringly noted the dainty set of chin the clear curve of cheek, the lovely sweep of eyelashes and resolved to get better acquainted with this woman so young and so lovely. I have not forgotten my promise to play for you. He said lightly watching to see if the flush of rose would steal into her cheek and that deep light into her expressive eyes. How about this afternoon? Shall you be at home and disengaged? But welcome did not flash into Marcia's face as he had hoped. Instead, a troubled look came into her eyes. I am afraid it will not be possible this afternoon, said Marcia, the trouble in her eyes creeping into her voice. That is, I expect to be at home but I am not sure of being disengaged. Ah, I see. He raised his eyebrows archly looking her meanwhile straight in the eyes. Someone else more fortunate than I. Someone else coming? Although Marcia did not in the least understand his insinuation, the color flowed into her cheeks in a hurry now for she instinctively felt that there was something unpleasant in his tone. Something below her standard of morals or culture, she did not quite know what. But she felt she must protect herself at any cost. She drew up a little mantle of dignity. Oh no, she said quickly. I am not expecting any one at all but Mr. Spafford had a severe headache this morning and I am not sure but the sound of the piano would make it worse. I think it would be better for you to come another time although he may be better by that time. Oh, I see, your husband's at home, said the young man with relief. His manner implied that he had a perfect understanding of something that Marcia did not mean nor comprehend. I understand perfectly. He said with another meaning smile as though he and she had a secret to gather. I'll come some other time. And he took himself very quickly away much to Marcia's relief. But the trouble did not go out of her eyes as she saw him turn the corner. Instead she went in and stood at the dining room window a long time looking out on the heat's hollyhocks beaming in the sun behind the picket fence and wondered what he could have meant and why he smiled in that hateful way. She decided she did not like him and she hoped he would never come. She did not think she would care to hear him play. There was something about him that reminded her of Captain Leavenworth and now that she saw it in him she would dislike to have him about. With a sigh she turned to the getting of a dinner which she feared would not be eaten. Nevertheless she put more dainty thought in it than usual and when it was done and steaming upon the table she went gently up and tapped on David's door. A voice hoarse with emotion and weariness answered. Marcia scarcely heard the first time. "'Dinner is ready, isn't your head any better, David?' There was caressing in his name. It rung David's heart. Oh, if it were but Kate, his Kate, his little bride that were calling him, how his heart would leap with joy, how his headache would disappear and he would be with her in an instant.' For Kate's letter had had its desired effect. All her wrongdoings, her crowning outrage of his noble intentions had been forgotten in the one little plaintive appeal she had managed to breathe in a minor wail throughout that treacherous letter. That treacherous alike to her husband and to her lover. Just as Kate had always been able to do with everyone about her, she had blinded him to her faults and managed to put herself in the light of an abused, troubled maiden who was in a predicament through no fault of her own and sat in sorrow and a baby innocence that was bewilderingly sweet. There had been times when David's anger had been hot enough to waft away this filming mist of fancies that Kate had woven about herself and let him see the true Kate as she really was. At such times, David would confess that she must be wholly heartless. That bright as she was, it was impossible for her to have been so easily persuaded into running away with a man she did not love. He had never found it so easy to persuade her against her will. Did she love him? Had she truly loved him and was she suffering now? His very soul writhed in agony to think of his bride, the wife of another against her will. If he might but go and rescue her, if he might but kill that other man, then his soul would be confronted with the thought of murder. Never before had he felt hate, such hate for a human being. Then again, his heart would soften toward him as he felt how the other must have loved her, Kate, his little wild rose. And there was a fellow feeling between them too, for had she not let him see that she did not half-care a right for that other one, then his mind would stop in a whirl of mingled feeling and he would pause and pray for steadiness to think and know what was right. Around and around through this maze of arguing, he had gone through the long hours of the morning, always coming sharp against the thought that there was nothing he could possibly do in the matter but bear it, and that Kate, after all, the Kate he loved with his whole soul had done it and must therefore be to blame. Then he would read her letter over, burning every word of it upon his brain until the piteous minor appeal would torture him once more. And he would begin again to try to get hold of some thread of thought that would unravel this snarl and bring peace. Like a sound from another world came Marcia's sweet voice, its very sweetness reminding him of that other lost voice whose tantalizing music floated about his imagination like a string of phantom silver bells that Albert sounded and then vanished into silence. And while all this was going on, the spiritual torture, his living, suffering, physical self was able to summon its thoughts to answer gently that he did not want any dinner, that his head was no better, that he thanked her for her thought of him, and that he would take the tea she offered if it was not too much trouble. Gladly, with hurried breath and fingers that almost trembled, Marcia hastened to the kitchen once more and prepared a dainty tray, not even glancing at the dinner table also fine and ready for its guest. And back again she went to his door in eager light in her eyes as if she had obtained audience to a king. He opened the door this time and took the tray from her with a smile. It was a smile of ashen hue and fell like a pall upon Marcia's soul. It was as if she had been permitted for a moment to gaze upon a murdered soul upon the rack. Marcia fled from it and went to her own room where she flung herself on her knees beside her bed and buried her face in the pillows. There she knelt, unmindful of the dinner waiting downstairs, unmindful of the bright day that was droning on its hours. Whether she prayed, she knew not. Whether she was weeping, she could not have told. Her heart was crying out in one great longing to have this cloud of sorrow that had settled upon David lifted. She might have knelt there until night had there not come the sound of a knock upon the front door. It startled her to her feet in an instant and she hastily smoothed her rumpled hair, dashed some water on her eyes and ran down. It was the clerk from the office with a letter for her. The post Chase had brought it that afternoon and he had thought perhaps she would like to have it at once as it was postmarked from her home. Would she tell Mr. Spafford when he returned? He seemed to take it for granted that David was out of town for the day, that everything had been going on all right at the office during his absence and the paper was ready to send to press. He took his departure with a series of bows and smiles and Marcia flew up to her room to read her letter. It was in the round, unformed hand of Mary Ann. Marcia tore it open eagerly. Never had Mary Ann's handwriting looked so pleasant as at that moment. A letter in those days was a rarity at all times and this one to Marcia in her distress of mind seemed little short of a miracle. It began in Mary Ann's abrupt way and opened up to her the world of home since she had left it. But a few short days had passed, scarcely yet numbering into weeks since she left, yet it seemed half a lifetime to the girl promoted so suddenly into womanhood without the accompanying joy of love and close companionship that usually makes desolation impossible. Dear Marsh, the letter ran. I expect you think queer of me to write you so soon. I ain't much on writing you now, but something happened right after you leaving and has kept bright on happening that made me feel like kinder like to tell you. Don't you mind the mistakes I make? I'm thankful to goodness you ain't the schoolteacher or I'd never write slongs I'm living, but anyhow I'm going to tell you all about it. The night you went away, I was standing down by the gate under the old elm. I had on my best things yet from the wedding and I hated to go in and have the day over and have to begin putting on my old calico tomorrow morning again and washing dishes just the same. Seemed as if I couldn't bear to have the world just the same now you was gone away. Well, I heard someone coming down the street and who do you think it was? Why, Hanford Weston. He came right up to the gate and stopped. I don't know if he ever spoke two words to me in my life except that time he stopped the big boys from snowballing me and told me to run along quick and get in the schoolhouse while he fit them. Well, he stopped and spoke and he looked so sad. Seemed like I knew just what he was feeling sad about and I told him all about you getting married instead of your sister. He looked at me like he couldn't move for a while and his face was as white as that marble man in the cemetery over Squire Hancock's grave. He grabbed the gate real hard and I thought he was going to fall. He couldn't even move his lips for a while. I felt just awful sorry for him. Something came in my throat like a big stone and my eyes got all blurred with the moonlight. He looked real handsome. I just couldn't help thinking you ought to see him. By and by he got his voice back again and we talked a lot about you. He told me how he used to watch you when you was a little girl wearing pantalettes. You used to sit in the church pew across from his fathers and he could just see your big eyes over the top of the door. He says he always thought to himself he would marry you when he grew up. Then when you began to go to school and was so bright he tried hard to study and keep up just to have you think him good enough for you. He owned up, he was a bad speller and he tried his level best to do better but it didn't seem to come natural. And he thought maybe if he was a good farmer you wouldn't mind about the spelling. He hired out to his father for the summer and he was trying with all his might to get to be the kind of man twid suit you. And then when he was plowing and planning all what kind of a house with big columns to the front he would build here comes the coach driving by and you in it. He said he thought the sky and fields was all mixed up and his heart was going out of him. He couldn't work anymore and he started out after supper to see what it all meant. That wasn't just the exact way he told it Marsh it was more like poetry that kind in our reader about Lord Ulland's daughter you know. We used to recite it on examination exhibition. I didn't know Hanford could talk like that. His words were real pretty kind of sorrowful you know. And it all came over me that you ought to know about it. You're married of course and can't help it now but taint every girl that has a boy care for her like that from the time she's a baby with a red hood on and you ought to know about it for it wasn't Hanford's fault that he didn't have time to tell you. He's just been living for you for a number of years and it's kind of hard on him. Of course you may not care being you're married and have a fine house and lots of clothes of your own and a good time but it does seem hard for him. It seems as if somebody ought to comfort him. I'd like to try if you don't mind. He does seem to like to talk about you to me and I feel so sorry for him. I guess I could comfort him a little for it seems as if it would be the nicest thing in the world to have someone like you that way for years just as they do in books. Only every time I think about being a comfort to him I think he belongs to you and it ain't right. So Marsh you just speak out and say if you're willing I should try to comfort him a little and make up to him for what he lost in you being as you're married and fixed so nice yourself. Of course I know I ain't pretty like you nor can't hold my head proud and step high as you always did even when you was little but I can feel and perhaps that's something. Anyhow Hanford's been down three times to talk about you to me and if you don't mind I'm going to let him come some more but if you mind the leastest little bit I want you should say so for things are mixed in this world and I don't want to get to trampling on any other person's feelings much less you who have always been my best friend and always will be as long as I live I guess. Remember how we used to play house on the old flat stone in the orchard and you gave me all the prettiest pieces of china with sprigs on them? I ain't forgot that and never will. I shall always say you made the prettiest bride I ever saw no matter how many more I see and I hope you won't forget me. It's lonesome here without you if it wasn't for comforting Hanford I shouldn't care much for anything. I can't think of you a grown-up woman. Do you feel any different? I suppose you wouldn't climb a fence nor run through the pasture lot for anything now. Have you got a lot of new friends? I wish I could see you. And now Marsh I want you to write right off and tell me what to do about comforting Hanford and if you've any message to send to him I think it would be real nice. I hope you've got a good husband and are happy. From your devoted and loving schoolmate, Marianne Father Gill. Marsha laid down the letter and buried her face in her hands. To her too had come a thrust which must search her life and change it. So while David wrestled with his sorrow Marsha entered upon the knowledge of her own heart. There was something in this revelation by Marianne of Hanford Weston's feelings toward her that touched her immeasurably. Had it all happened before she left home had Hanford come to her and told her of his love she would have turned from him in dismay almost disgust and have told him that they were both but children. How could they talk of love? She could never have loved him. She would have felt it instantly and her mocking laugh might have done a good deal toward saving him from sorrow. But now with miles between them with the wall of the solemn marriage vows to separate them forever with her own youth locked up as she supposed until the day of eternity should perhaps set it free with no hope of any bright dream of life such as girls have. Could she turn from even a schoolboy's love without a passing tenderness such as she would never have felt if she had not come away from it all? Told in Marianne's blunt way with her crude attempts at pathos it reached her as it could not otherwise. With her own new view of life she could sympathize better with another's disappointments. Perhaps her own loneliness gave her pity for another. Whatever it was, Marcia's heart suddenly turns toward Hanford Weston with a great throb of gratitude. She felt that she had been loved even though it had been impossible for that love to be returned and that whatever happened she would not go unloved down to the end of her days. Suddenly out of the midst of the perplexity of her thoughts there formed a distinct knowledge of what was lacking in her life, a lack she had never felt before and probably would not have felt now had she not thus suddenly stepped into a place much beyond her years. It seemed to the girl as she sat in the great chin's chair and read and reread that letter as if she lived years that afternoon and all her life was to be changed henceforth. It was not that she was sorry that she could not go back and live out her girlhood and have it crowned with Hanford Weston's love. Not at all. She knew as well now as she ever had known that he could never be anything to her but she knew also or thought she knew that he could have given her something in his clumsy way that now she could never have from any man seeing she was David's and David could not love her that way, of course. Having come to this conclusion she arose and wrote a letter giving and bequeathing to Marianne Fathergill all right, title and claim to the affections of Hanford Weston past, present and future. Sending him a message calculated to smooth his ruffled feelings with her pretty thanks for his youthful adoration comfort his sorrow with the thought that it must have been a hallucination that some day he would find his true ideal which he had only thought he had found in her and send him on his way rejoicing with her blessings and good wishes for a happy life. As for Marianne, for once she received her mead of Marcia's love for homesick Marcia felt more tenderness for her than she had ever been able to feel before and Marcia's loving messages set Marianne in a flutter of delight as she laid her plans for comforting Hanford Weston. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of Marcia Schuyler by Grace Livingston Hill The Slipper Box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 14 David slowly recovered his poise faced by that terrible impenetrable wall of impossibility he stood helpless, his misery eating in upon his soul but there still remained the fact that there was nothing, absolutely nothing which he could possibly do. At times the truth rose to the surface the wretched truth that Kate was at fault that having done the deed she should abide by it and not try to keep a hold upon him but it was not often he was able to think in this way. Most of the time he mourned over and for the lovely girl he had lost. As for Marcia she came and went unobtrusively making quiet comfort for David which he scarcely noticed. At times he roused himself to be polite to her and made a labored effort to do something to amuse her just as if she had been visiting him as a favor and he felt in duty bound to make the time pass pleasantly but she troubled him so little with herself that nearly always he forgot her. Whenever there was any public function to which they were bitten he always told her apologetically as though it must be as much of a bore to her as to him and he regretted that it was necessary to go in order to carry out their mutual agreement. Marcia hailing with delight every chance to go out in search of something which would keep her from thinking the new thoughts which had come to her demurely covered her pleasure and dressed herself dutifully in the robes made for her sister hating them secretly the while and was always ready when he came for her. David had nothing to complain of in his wife so far as outward duty was concerned but he was too busy with his own heart's bitterness to even recognize it. One afternoon of a day when David had gone out of town not expecting to return until late in the evening there came a knock at the door. There was something womanish in the knock Marcia thought as she hastened to answer it and she wondered hurriedly smoothing her shining hair if it could be the ants come to make their fortnightly afternoon penance visit. She gave a hasty glance into the parlor hoping all was right and was relieved to make sure she had closed the piano. The ants would consider it a great breach of housewifely decorum to allow a moment's dust to settle upon its sacred keys. But it was not the ants who stood upon the stoop smiling and bowing with a handsome assurance of his own welcome. It was Harry Temple. Marcia was not glad to see him. A sudden feeling of unreasoning alarm took possession of her. You're all alone this time, sweet lady, aren't you? He asked with easy nonchalance as he lounged into the hall without waiting her bidding. Sir, said Marcia, half frightened, half wondering. But he smiled reassuringly down upon her and took the doorknob in his own hands to close the door. Your good man is out this time, isn't he? He smiled again almost delightfully. His face was very handsome when he smiled. He knew this fact well. Marcia did not smile. Why did he speak as if he knew where David was and seemed to be pleased that he was away? My husband is not in it present, she said guardedly, her innocent eyes searching his face. Did you wish to see him? She was beautiful as she stood there in the wide hall with only the light from the high transom over the door shedding an afternoon glow through its pleaded Swiss oval. She looked more sweet and little girlish than ever and he felt a strong desire to take her in his arms and tell her so. Only he feared from something he saw in those wide, sweet eyes that she might take alarm and run away too soon. So he only smiled and said that his business with her husband could wait until another time. And meantime he had called to fulfill his promise to play for her. She took him into the darkened parlor, gave him the stiffest and statelyest haircloth chair, but he walked straight over to the instrument and with nodded all the reverence she liked to treat it, flung back the coverings through the lid open and sat down. He had white fingers and he ran them over the keys with an air of being at home among them, light little airs dripping from his touch like dew from a glistening grass blade. Marcia felt there were butterflies in the air and buzzing bees and fairy flowers dancing on the slightest of stems with the sky so blue it seemed to be filled with the sound of lily bells. The music he played was of the nature of what could be styled today popular. For this man was master of nothing but having a good time. The quick music with a jingle he played that to the puritanic bread girl suggested nothing but a heart bubbling over with gladness, but he meant it should make her heart flutter and her footbeat timed to the tripping measure. In his world feet were attuned to gay music, but Marcia stood with quiet dignity a little away from the instrument, her lips parted, her eyes bright with the pleasure of the melody, her hands clasped and her breath coming quickly. She was all absorbed with the music. All unknowingly Marcia had placed herself where the light from the window fell full across her face and every flitting expression as she followed the undolent sounds was visible. The young man gazed almost as much pleased with the lovely face as Marcia was with the music. At last he drew a chair quite near his own seat. Come and sit down, he said, and I will sing to you. You did not know I could sing, too, did you? Oh, I can, but you must sit down for I couldn't sing right when you are standing. He ended with his fascinating smile and Marcia shyly sat down, though she drew the chair a bit back from where he had placed it and sat up quite straight and stiff with her shoulders erect and her head up. She had forgotten her distrust of the man in what seemed to her his wonderful music. It was all new and strange to her and she could not know how little there really was to it. She had decided as he played that she liked the kind best that made her think of the birds and the sunny sky rather than the wild, whirly kind that seemed all a mad scramble. She meant to ask him to play over again what he played at the beginning but he struck into a Scotch love ballad. The melody intoxicated her fancy and her face shone with pleasure. She had not noticed the words particularly save that they were of love and she thought with pain of David and Kate and how the pleading tenderness might have been his heart calling to hers not to forget his love for her. But Harry Temple mistook her expression for one of interest in himself. With his eyes still upon hers as a cat might mesmerize a bird he changed into a minor whale of heartbroken love whose sadness brought great tears to Marcia's eyes and deep color to her already burning cheeks while the music throbbed out her own half realized loneliness and sorrow. It was as if the sounds painted for her a picture of what she had missed out of love and set her sorrow flowing tangibly. The last note died away in an impressive diminuendo and the young man turned toward her. His eyes were languishing, his voice gentle persuasive as though it had but been the song come a little nearer. And that is the way I feel toward you, dear, he said and reached out his white hands to where hers lay forgotten in her lap. But his hands had scarcely touched hers before Marcia sprang back in her haste knocking over the chair. Erect her hands snatched behind her frightened alert she stood a moment bewildered all her fears to the front. Ah, but he was used to shy maidens. He was not to be baffled thus. A little coaxing, a little gentle persuasion a little boldness that was all he needed. He had conquered hearts before why should he not this unsophisticated one? Don't be afraid, dear, there is no one about and surely there is no harm in telling you I love you and letting you comfort my poor broken heart to think that I have found you too late. He had arisen and with a passionate gesture put his arms about Marcia and before she could know what was coming had pressed a kiss upon her lips. But she was aroused now. Every angry force within her was fully awake. Every sense of right and justice inherited and taught came flocking forward. Horror unspeakable filled her and wrath that such a dreadful thing should come to her. There was no time to think. She brought her two strong supple hands up and beat him in the face, mouth, cheeks and eyes with all her might until he turned blinded. And then she struggled away crying, you are a wicked man and fled from the room. Out through the hall she sped to the kitchen and flinging wide the door before her, the nearest one at hand, she fairly flew down the garden walk past the nodding dahlias, past the basking pumpkins, past the whispering corn, down through the berry bushes at the lower end of the lot and behind the current bushes. She crouched a moment looking back to see if she were pursued. Then imagining she heard a noise from the open door, she scrambled over the low back fence, the high comb with which her hair was bassined falling out unheeded behind her and all her dark waves of hair coming about her shoulders in wild disarray. She was in a field of wheat now and the tall shocks were like waves all about her, thick and close, kissing her as she passed with their bended stalks. Ahead of her it looked like an endless seed across before she could reach another fence and a bare field and then another fence and the woods. She knew not that in her wake she left a track as clear as if she had set up signals all along the way. She felt that the kind wheat would flow back like real waves and hide the way she had passed over. She only sped on to the woods. In all the wide world there seemed no refuge but the woods. The woods were home to her. She loved the tall shadows, the whispering music in the upper branches, the quiet places underneath, the hushed silence like a city of refuge with cool wings where under to hide and to it as her only friend she was hastening. She went to the woods as she would have flown to the minister's wife at home if she only had been near and buried her face in her lap and sobbed out her horror and shame. Breathless she sped without looking once behind her, now over the next fence and still another. They were nothing to her. She forgot that she was wearing Kate's special sprigged muslin and that it might tear on the rough fences. She forgot that she was a matron and must not run wild through strange fields. She forgot that someone might be watching her. She forgot everything, saved that she must get away and hide her poor shamed face. At last she reached the shelter of the woods and with one wild furtive look behind her to assure herself that she was not pursued, she flung herself into the lap of mother earth and buried her face in the soft moss at the foot of a tree. There she sobbed out her horror and sorrow and loneliness, sobbed till it seemed to her that her heart had gone out with great shudders. Sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. For a time she could not even think clearly. Her brain was confused with the magnitude of what had come to her. She tried to go over the hole happening that afternoon and see if she might have prevented anything. She blamed herself most unmercifully for listening to the foolish music and too after her own suspicions had been aroused, though how could she dream any man in his senses would do a thing like that? Not even Captain Leavenworth would stoop to that, she thought. Poor child, she knew so little of the world and her world had been kept so sweet and pure and free from contamination. She turned cold at the thought of her father's anger if he should hear about this strange young man. She felt sure he would blame her for allowing it. He had tried to teach his girls that they must exercise judgment and discretion and surely, surely, she must have failed in both or this would not have happened. Oh, why had not the ants come that afternoon? Why had they not arrived before this man came? And yet, oh, horror, if they had come after he was there, how disgusting he seemed to her with his smirky smile and slim white fingers. How utterly unfit beside David did he seem to breathe the same air even. David, her David, no, Kate's David. Oh, pity, what a pain the world was. There was nowhere to turn that she might find a trace of comfort for what would David say and how could she ever tell him? Would he find it out if she did not? What would he think of her? Would he blame her? Oh, the agony of it all. What would the ants think of her? Ah, that was worse than all for even now she could see the tilt of Ant Hortense's head and the purse of Ant Amelia's lips. How dreadful if they should have to know of it. They would not believe her unless perhaps Aunt Clarinda might. She did not look wise, but she seemed kind and loving. If it had not been for the other two, she might have fled to Aunt Clarinda. Oh, if she might but flee home to her father's house, how could she ever go back to David's house? How could she ever play on that dreadful piano again? She would always see that hateful smiling face sitting there and think how he had looked at her. Then she shuddered and sobbed harder than ever. And Mother Earth, true to all her children, received the poor child with open arms. There she lay upon the resinous pine needles at the foot of the tall trees and the trees looked down tenderly upon her and consulted in whispers with their heads bent together. The winds blew sweetness from the buckwheat fields in the valley about her, murmuring delicious music in the air above her and even the birds hushed their loud voices and peeped curiously at the tired, sorrowful creature of another kind that had come among them. Marsha's overwrought nerves were having their revenge. Tears had their way until she was worn out and then the angel of sleep came down upon her. There upon the pine needle bed with tear-wet cheeks she lay and slept like a tired child come home to its mother from the tumult of the world. Harry Temple, recovering from his rebuff and left alone in the parlor, looked about him with surprise. Never before in all his short and brilliant career as a heartbreaker had he met with the like and this from a mere child. He could not believe his senses. She must have been in play. He would sit still and presently she would come back with eyes full of mischief and beg his pardon. But even as he sat down to wait her coming, something told him he was mistaken and that she would not come. There had been something beside mischief in the smart wraps whose tingle even now his cheeks and lips felt. The house too had grown strangely hushed as though no one else besides himself were in it. She must have gone out. Perhaps she had been really frightened and would tell somebody how awkward if she should presently return with one of those grim ants or that solemn puritan like husband of hers. Perhaps he had better de-camp while the coast was still clear. She did not seem to be returning and there was no telling what the little fool might do. With a deliberation which suddenly became feverish in his haste to be away, he compelled himself to walk slowly, nonchalantly out through the hall. Still as a thief he opened and closed the front door and got himself down the front steps. But not so still but that a quick ear caught the sound of the latch as it flew back into place in the scrape of a boot on the path and not so invisibly nor so quickly but that a pair of keen eyes saw him. When Harry Temple had made his way toward the Spafford house that afternoon with his dauntless front and conceited smile, Miranda had been sent out to pick raspberries along the fence that separated the Heath Garden from the Spafford Garden. Harry Temple was too new in the town not to excite comment among the young girls wherever he might go and Miranda was always having her eye out for anything new. Not for herself, bless you, no. Miranda never expected anything from a young man for herself but she was keenly interested in what befell other girls. So Miranda crouched behind the berry bushes, watched Harry Temple saunter down the street and saw with surprise that he stopped at the house of her new admiration. Now, although Marcia was a married woman, Miranda felt pleased that she should have the attention of others and a feeling of pride in her idol and of triumph over her cousin Hannah that he had not stopped to see her swelled in her brown calico breast. She managed to bring her picking as near to the region of the Spafford parlor windows as possible and much did her ravished ear delight itself in the music that tinkled through the green shaded window for Miranda had tastes that were greatly appealed to by the gay dance music. She fancied that her idol was the player but then she heard a man's voice and her picking stopped short in so much that her grandmother's strident tones mingled with the liquid tenor of Mr. Temple calling to Miranda to be spry there or the sun will catch you before you get a court. All at once the music ceased and then in a minute or two Miranda heard the Spafford kitchen door thrown violently open and saw Marcia rush forth. She gazed in astonishment too surprised to call out to her or to remember to keep on picking for a moment. She watched her as she fairly flew down between the rows of current bushes saw the comb fly from her hair saw the glow of excitement on her cheek and the fire in her eye saw her mount the first fence then suddenly a feeling of protection arose within her and with a hasty glance toward her grandmother's window to satisfy herself that no one else saw the flying figure she felt a picking with all her might but what went into her pale whether raspberries or green leaves or briars she did not know her eyes were on the flying figure through the wheat and she progressed in her picking very fast toward the lower end of the lot where nothing but runty old sour berries ever grew if any at all. Once hidden behind the tall corn that grew between her and her grandmother's vigilante gaze she hastened to the end of the lot and watched Marcia watched her as she climbed the fences held her breath at the daring leaps from the top rails expecting to see the delicate muslin catch on the rough fence and send the flying figure to the ground senseless perhaps it was like a theater to Miranda this watching the beautiful girl in her flight the long dark here in the wind the graceful untrammeled bounds Miranda watched with unveiled admiration until the dark of the green blue wood had swallowed her up then slowly her eyes traveled back over the path which Marcia had taken back through the meadow and the wheat to the kitchen door left standing wide slowly painfully Miranda set herself to understand it something had happened that was flight with fear behind it fear that left everything else forgotten what had happened Miranda was wiser in her generation than Marcia she began to put two and two together her brows darkened and a look of cunning came into her honest blue eyes stealthily she crept with cat-like quickness along the fence near to the front and there she stood like a red-haired nemesis in a sun bonnet with irate red face confronting the unsuspecting man as he sauntered forth from the unwelcoming roof where he had wild away many a mistaken hour what you've been saying to her it was as if a serpent had stung him so unexpected so direct he jumped aside and turned deadly pale she knew her chance arrow had struck the truth but he recovered himself almost immediately when he saw what a harmless looking creature had attacked him why my dear girl he said patronizingly you quite startled me i'm sure you must have made some mistake i ain't your girl thank goodness snapped Miranda and i guess by your looks there ain't anybody dear to you but yourself but i ain't made a mistake it's you i was asking what you've been in there for there was a blaze of defiance in Miranda's eyes and her stubby forefinger pointed at him like a shotgun before her the bold black eyes quailed for an instant the young man's hand sought his pocket brought out a piece of money and extended it look here my friend he said trying another line you take this and say nothing more about it that's a good girl no harm's been done Miranda looked him in the face with noble scorn and with a sudden motion of her brown hand sent the coin flying on the stone pavement i tell you i'm not your friend and i don't want your money i wouldn't trust its goodness any more than your face as for keeping still i'll do as i see fit about it i intend to know what this means and if you've made her any trouble you'd better leave this town for i'll make it too unpleasant for you to stay here with a stealthy glance about him cautious concerned the young man suddenly hurried down the street he wanted no more parley with this loud voice avenging maiden his fear came back upon him in double force and he was seen to glance at his watch and quicken his pace almost to a run as though a forgotten engagement had suddenly come to mind Miranda scowling stood and watched him disappear around the corner then she turned back and began to pick raspberries with a diligence that would have astonished her grandmother had she not been for the last hour engaged with a calling neighbor in the room at the other side of the house where they were overhauling the character of a fellow church member Miranda picked on and thought on and could not make up her mind what she ought to do from time to time she glanced anxiously toward the woods and then at the lowering sun in the west and half meditated going after marsha but a wholesome fear of her grandmother held her hesitating at length she heard a firm step coming down the street could it be yes it was davids baffled how was it he happened to come home so soon Miranda had heard in a roundabout way as neighbors here and know these things that david had taken the stage that morning presumably on business to new york and was hardly expected to return for several days she had wondered if marsha would stay all night alone in the house or if she would go to the ants but now here was david Miranda looked again over the wheat half expecting to see the flying figure returning in haste but the parted wheat waved on and sang its song of the harvest unmindful and alone with only a fluttering butterfly to give life to the landscape a little rusty throated cricket piped a doleful sentence now and then between the silences davids baffled let himself in at his own door and went in search of marsha he wanted to find marsha for a purpose the business which had taken him away in the morning and which he had hardly expected to accomplish before late that night had been partly transacted at a little tavern where the coach horses had been changed that morning and where he had met most unexpectedly the two men whom he had been going to see who were coming straight to his town so he turned him back with them and came home and they were at this minute attending to some other business in the town while he had come home to announce to marsha that they would take supper with him and perhaps spend the night marsha was nowhere to be found he went upstairs and timidly knocked at her door but no answer came then he thought she might be asleep and knocked louder but only the hummingbird in the honeysuckle outside her window sent back a little humming answer through the latchhole finally he ventured to open the door and peep in but he saw that quiet loneliness reigned there he went downstairs again and searched in the pantry and kitchen and then stood still the back door was stretched open as though it had been thrown back in haste he followed its suggestion and went out looking down the little brick path that led to the garden ah, what was that? something gleamed in the sun with a spot of blue behind it the bit of blue ribbon she had worn at her throat with a tiny gold brooch unclasped, sticking in maranda cut sight of him coming and crouched behind the currents david came on, searching the path on every side a bit of a branch had been torn from a succulent tender plant that leaned over the path and was lying in the way it seemed another blaze along the trail further down where the bushes met a single fragment of a thread waved on a thorn as though it had snatched for more in the passing and had caught only this david hardly knew whether he was following these little things or not but at any rate they were apparently not leading him anywhere for he stopped abruptly in front of the fence and looked both ways behind the bushes that grew along in front of it then he turned to go back again maranda held her breath something touched david's foot in turning and, looking down, he saw marsha's large shell comb lying there in the grass curiously he picked it up and examined it it was like finding fragments of a wreck along the sand all at once maranda arose from her hiding place and confronted him timidly she was not the same maranda who came down upon harry temple, however she ain't in the house she said hoarsely she's gone over there david's bafford turned surprised is that you maranda? oh thank you where do you say she has gone? where? through there, don't you see? and again the stubby forefinger pointed to the rift in the wheat david gazed stupidly at the path in the wheat but gradually it began to dawn upon him that there was a distinct line through it where someone must have gone yes, i see he said, thinking aloud but why would she have gone there? there is nothing over there she went on further, she went to the woods said maranda, looking fearfully around, lest even now her grandmother might be upon her and she was scared, i guess she looked at her hair all come tumbling down when she clummed the fence and she just went flying over like some bird didn't care a feather if she did fall and she never once looked behind her till she come to the woods david's bewilderment was growing uncomfortable there was a shade of alarm in his face and of the embarrassment one feels when a neighbor divulges news about a member of one's own household why surely maranda you must be mistaken maybe it was someone else you saw i do not think mrs. bafford would be likely to run over there that way and what in the world would she have to be frightened at no, i ain't mistaken said maranda half sullenly, netled at his unbelief it was her all right she came flying out the kitchen door when i was picking raspberries and down that path to the fence and never stopped for fence, ner, wheat, nor metterlot but went into them woods there right up to the left of them tall pines and she she looked plumb scared to death as if a whole circus menagerie was after her lions and elephants and all and i guess she had plenty to be scared at if i ain't mistaken that dandy temple-feller went there to call on her and i heard him tinklin that music box and it's my opinion he needs a wallop in you better go after her it's getting late and you'll have hard times finding her in the dark just you follow her path in the wheat and then make for them pines i'd have gone after her myself only grandma'd make such a fuss and have to know it all you needn't be afraid of me i'll keep still by this time david was thoroughly alive to the situation and much alarmed he mounted the fence with alacrity gave one glance with thank you at miranda and disappeared through the wheat miranda watched him till she was sure he was making for the right spot then with a sigh of relief she hastened into the house with her now brimming pale of berries end of chapter fourteen