American Gothic, page 35
“Are we there?” I cried; and looking out saw that we were ascending an avenue which swept up to a pile of buildings that rose tall and dark against the sky, with here and there a gleam along its gray front.
“Home at last, thank heaven!” And springing out with the agility of a young man, my uncle led me over a terrace into a long hail, light and warm, and odorous with the breath of flowers blossoming here and there in graceful groups. A civil, middle-aged maid received and took me to my room, a bijou of a place, which increased my wonder when told that my uncle had chosen all its decorations and superintended their arrangement. “He understands women,” I thought, handling the toilet ornaments, trying luxurious chair and lounge, and ending by slipping my feet into the scarlet-and-white Turkish slippers, coquettishly turning up their toes before the fire. A few moments I gave to examination, and, having expressed my satisfaction, was asked by my maid if I would be pleased to dress, as “the master” never allowed dinner to wait for anyone. This recalled to me the fact that I was doubtless to meet my future husband at that meal, and in a moment every faculty was intent upon achieving a grand toilette for this first interview. The maid possessed skill and taste, and I a wardrobe lately embellished with Parisian gifts from my uncle which I was eager to display in his honor.
When ready, I surveyed myself in the long mirror as I had never done before, and saw there a little figure, slender, yet stately, in a dress of foreign fashion, ornamented with lace and carnation ribbons which enhanced the fairness of neck and arms, while blond hair, wavy and golden, was gathered into an antique knot of curls behind, with a carnation fillet, and below a blooming dark-eyed face, just then radiant with girlish vanity and eagerness and hope.
“I’m glad I’m pretty!”
“So am I, Sybil.”
I had unconsciously spoken aloud, and the echo came from the doorway where stood my uncle, carefully dressed, looking comelier and cooler than ever. The disagreeable smile flitted over his lips as he spoke, and I started, then stood abashed, till beckoning, he added in his most courtly manner, –
“You were so absorbed in the contemplation of your charming self that Janet answered my tap and took herself away unheard. You are mistress of my table now. It waits; will you come down?”
With a last touch to that unruly hair of mine, a last, comprehensive glance and shake, I took the offered arm and rustled down the wide staircase, feeling that the romance of my life was about to begin. Three covers were laid, three chairs set, but only two were occupied, for no Guy appeared. I asked no questions, showed no surprise, but tried to devour my chagrin with my dinner, and exerted myself to charm my uncle into the belief that I had forgotten my cousin. It was a failure, however, for that empty seat had an irresistible fascination for me, and more than once, as my eye returned from its furtive scrutiny of napkin, plate, and trio of colored glasses, it met my uncle’s and fell before his penetrative glance. When I gladly rose to leave him to his wine – for he did not ask me to remain – he also rose, and, as he held the door for me, he said, –
“You asked me to describe your cousin. You have seen one trait of his character tonight; does it please you?”
I knew he was as much vexed as I at Guy’s absence, so quoting his own words, I answered saucily, –
“Yes, for I’d rather see the hawk free than coming tamely at your call, Uncle.”
He frowned slightly, as if unused to such liberty of speech, yet bowed when I swept him a stately little curtsy and sailed away to the drawing room, wondering if my uncle was as angry with me as I was with my cousin. In solitary grandeur I amused myself by strolling through the suite of handsome rooms henceforth to be my realm, looked at myself in the long mirrors, as every woman is apt to do when alone and in costume, danced over the mossy carpets, touched the grand piano, smelled the flowers, fingered the ornaments on étagère and table, and was just giving my handkerchief a second drench of some refreshing perfume from a filigree flask that had captivated me when the hall door was flung wide, a quick step went running upstairs, boots tramped overhead, drawers seemed hastily opened and shut, and a bold, blithe voice broke out into a hunting song in a tone so like my uncle’s that I involuntarily flew to the door, crying, –
“Guy is come!”
Fortunately for my dignity, no one heard me, and hurrying back I stood ready to skim into a chair and assume propriety at a minute’s notice, conscious, meanwhile, of the new influence which seemed suddenly to gift the silent house with vitality, and add the one charm it needed – that of cheerful companionship. “How will he meet me? And how shall I meet him?” I thought, looking up at the bright-faced boy, whose portrait looked back at me with a mirthful light in the painted eyes and a trace of his father’s disdainful smile in the curves of the firm-set lips. Presently the quick steps came flying down again, past the door, straight to the dining room opposite, and, as I stood listening with a strange flutter at my heart, I heard an imperious young voice say rapidly, –
“Beg pardon, sir, unavoidably detained. Has she come? Is she bearable?”
“I find her so. Dinner is over, and I can offer you nothing but a glass of wine.”
My uncle’s voice was frostily polite, making a curious contrast to the other, so impetuous and frank, as if used to command or win all but one.
“Never mind the dinner! I’m glad to be rid of it; so I’ll drink your health, Father, and then inspect our new ornament.”
“Impertinent boy!” I muttered, yet at the same moment resolved to deserve his appellation, and immediately grouped myself as effectively as possible, laughing at my folly as I did so. I possessed a pretty foot, therefore one little slipper appeared quite naturally below the last flounce of my dress; a bracelet glittered on my arm as it emerged from among the lace and carnation knots; that arm supported my head. My profile was well cut, my eyelashes long, therefore I read with face half averted from the door. The light showered down, turning my hair to gold; so I smoothed my curls, retied my snood, and, after a satisfied survey, composed myself with an absorbed aspect and a quickened pulse to await the arrival of the gentlemen.
Soon they came. I knew they paused on the threshold, but never stirred till an irrepressible “You are right, sir!” escaped the younger. Then I rose prepared to give him the coldest greeting, yet I did not. I had almost expected to meet the boyish face and figure of the picture; I saw instead a man comely and tall. A dark moustache half hid the proud mouth; the vivacious eyes were far kinder, though quite as keen as his father’s; and the freshness of unspoiled youth lent a charm which the older man had lost forever. Guy’s glance of pleased surprise was flatteringly frank, his smile so cordial, his “Welcome, cousin!” such a hearty sound that my coldness melted in a breath, my dignity was all forgotten, and before I could restrain myself I had offered both hands with the impulsive exclamation, –
“Cousin Guy, I know I shall be very happy here! Are you glad I have come?”
“Glad as I am to see the sun after a November fog.”
And bending his tall head, he kissed my hand in the graceful foreign fashion he had learned abroad. It pleased me mightily, for it was both affectionate and respectful. Involuntarily I contrasted it with my uncle’s manner, and flashed a significant glance at him as I did so. He understood it, but only nodded with the satirical look I hated, shook out his paper, and began to read. I sat down again, careless of myself now; and Guy stood on the rug, surveying me with an expression of surprise that rather nettled my pride.
“He is only a boy, after all; so I need not be daunted by his inches or his airs. I wonder if he knows I am to be his wife, and likes it.”
The thought sent the color to my forehead, my eyes fell, and despite my valiant resolution I sat like any bashful child before my handsome cousin. Guy laughed a boyish laugh as he sat down on his father’s footstool, saying, while he warmed his slender brown hands, –
“I beg your pardon, Sybil. (We won’t be formal, will we?) But I haven’t seen a lady for a month, so I stare like a boor at sight of a silk gown and highbred face. Are those people coming, sir?”
“If Sybil likes, ask her.”
“Shall we have a flock of people here to make it gay for you, Cousin, or do you prefer our quiet style better; just riding, driving, lounging, and enjoying life, each in his own wave. Henceforth it is to be as you command in such matters.”
“Let things go on as they have done then. I don’t care for society, and strangers wouldn’t make it gay to me, for I like freedom; so do you, I think.”
“Ah, don’t I!”
A cloud flitted over his smiling face, and he punched the fire, as if some vent were necessary for the sudden gust of petulance that knit his black brows into a frown, and caused his father to tap him on the shoulder with the bland request, as he rose to leave the room, –
“Bring the portfolios and entertain your cousin; I have letters to write, and Sybil is too tired to care for music to-night.”
Guy obeyed with a shrug of the shoulder his father touched, but lingered in the recess till my uncle, having made his apologies to me, had left the room; then my cousin rejoined me, wearing the same cordial aspect I first beheld. Some restraint was evidently removed, and his natural self appeared. A very winsome self it was, courteous, gay, and frank, with an undertone of deeper feeling than I thought to find. I watched him covertly, and soon owned to myself that he was all I most admired in the ideal hero every girl creates in her romantic fancy; for I no longer looked upon this young man as my cousin, but my lover, and through all our future intercourse this thought was always uppermost, full of a charm that never lost its power.
Before the evening ended Guy was kneeling on the rug beside me, our two heads close together, while he turned the contents of the great portfolio spread before us, looking each other freely in the face, as I listened and he described, both breaking into frequent peals of laughter at some odd adventure or comical mishap in his own travels, suggested by the pictured scenes before us. Guy was very charming, I my blithest, sweetest self, and when we parted late, my cousin watched me up the stairs with still another “Good night, Sybil,” as if both sight and sound were pleasant to him.
“Is that your horse Sultan?” I called from my window next morning, as I looked down upon my cousin, who was coming up the drive from an early gallop on the moors.
“Yes, bonny Sybil; come and admire him,” he called back, hat in hand, and a quick smile rippling over his face.
I went, and standing on the terrace, caressed the handsome creature, while Guy said, glancing up at his father’s undrawn curtains, –
“If your saddle had come, we would take a turn before ‘my lord’ is ready for breakfast. This autumn air is the wine you women need.”
I yearned to go, and when I willed the way soon appeared; so careless of bonnetless head and cambric gown, I stretched my hands to him, saying boldly, –
“Play young Lochinvar, Guy; I am little and light; take me up before you and show me the sea.”
He liked the daring feat, held out his hand, I stepped on his boot toe, sprang up, and away we went over the wide moor, where the sun shone in a cloudless heaven, the lark soared singing from the green grass at our feet, and the September wind blew freshly from the sea. As we paused on the upland slope, that gave us a free view of the country for miles, Guy dismounted, and standing with his arm about the saddle to steady me in my precarious seat, began to talk.
“Do you like your new home, Cousin?”
“More than I can tell you!”
“And my father, Sybil?”
“Both yes and no to that question, Guy; I hardly know him yet.”
True, but you must not expect to find him as indulgent and fond as many guardians would be to such as you. It’s not his nature. Yet you can win his heart by obedience, and soon grow quite at ease with him.”
“Bless you! I’m that already, for I fear no one. Why, I sat on his knee yesterday and smoked a cigarette of his own offering, though madame would have fainted if she had seen me; then I slept on his arm an hour, and he was fatherly kind, though I teased him like a gnat.”
“The deuce he was!” with which energetic expression Guy frowned at the landscape and harshly checked Sultan’s attempt to browse, while I wondered what was amiss between father and son, and resolved to discover; but finding the conversation at an end, started it afresh by asking, –
“Is any of my property in this part of the country, Guy? Do you know I am as ignorant as a baby about my own affairs; for, as long as every whim was gratified and my purse full, I left the rest to madame and uncle, though the first hadn’t a bit of judgment, and the last I scarcely knew. I never cared to ask questions before, but now I am intensely curious to know how matters stand.”
“All you see is yours, Sybil” was the brief answer.
“What, that great house, the lovely gardens, these moors, and the forest stretching to the sea? I’m glad! I’m glad! But where, then, is your home, Guy?”
“Nowhere.”
At this I looked so amazed that his gloom vanished in a laugh, as he explained, but briefly, as if this subject were no pleasanter than the first, –
“By your father’s will you were desired to take possession of the old place at eighteen. You will be that soon; therefore, as your guardian, my father has prepared things for you, and is to share your home until you marry.”
“When will that be, I wonder?” And I stole a glance from under my lashes, wild to discover if Guy knew of the compact and was a willing party to it. His face was half averted, but over his dark cheek I saw a deep flush rise, as he answered, stooping to pull a bit of heather, –
“Soon, I hope, or the gentleman sleeping there below will be tempted to remain a fixture with you on his knee as madame my wife. He is not your own uncle, you know.”
I smiled at the idea, but Guy did not see it; and seized with a whim to try my skill with the hawk that seemed inclined to peck at its master, I said demurely, –
“Well, why not? I might be very happy if I learned to love him, as I should, if he were always in that kindest mood of his. Would you like me for a little mamma, Guy?”
“No!” short and sharp as a pistol shot.
“Then you must marry and have a home of your own, my son.”
“Don’t, Sybil! I’d rather you didn’t see me in a rage, for I’m not a pleasant sight, I assure you; and I’m afraid I shall be in one if you go on. I early lost my mother, but I love her tenderly, because my father is not much to me, and I know if she had lived I should not be what I am.”
Bitter was his voice, moody his mien, and all the sunshine gone at once. I looked down and touched his black hair with a shy caress, feeling both penitent and pitiful.
“Dear Guy, forgive me if I pained you. I’m a thoughtless creature, but I’m not malicious, and a word will restrain me if kindly spoken. My home is always yours, and when my fortune is mine you shall never want, if you are not too proud to accept help from your own kin. You are a little proud, aren’t you?”
“As Lucifer, to most people. I think I should not be to you, for you understand me, Sybil, and with you I hope to grow a better man.”
He turned then, and through the lineaments his father had bequeathed him I saw a look that must have been his mother’s, for it was womanly, sweet, and soft, and lent new beauty to the dark eyes, always kind, and just then very tender. He had checked his words suddenly, like one who has gone too far, and with that hasty look into my face had bent his own upon the ground, as if to hide the unwonted feeling that had mastered him. It lasted but a moment, then his old manner returned, as he said gaily, –
“There drops your slipper. I’ve been wondering what kept it on. Pretty thing! They say it is a foot like this that oftenest tramples on men’s hearts. Are you cruel to your lovers, Sybil?”
“I never had one, for madame guarded me like a dragon, and I led the life of a nun; but when I do find one I shall try his mettle well before I give up my liberty.”
“Poets say it is sweet to give up liberty for love, and they ought to know,” answered Guy, with a sidelong glance.
I liked that little speech, and recollecting the wistful look he had given me, the significant words that had escaped him, and the variations of tone and manner constantly succeeding one another, I felt assured that my cousin was cognizant of the family league, and accepted it, yet with the shyness of a young lover, knew not how to woo. This pleased me, and quite satisfied with my morning’s work, I mentally resolved to charm my cousin slowly, and enjoy the romance of a genuine wooing, without which no woman’s life seems complete, – in her own eyes at least. He had gathered me a knot of purple heather, and as he gave it I smiled my sweetest on him, saying, –
“I commission you to supply me with nosegays, for you have taste, and I love wild flowers. I shall wear this at dinner in honor of its giver. Now take me home; for moors, though beautiful, are chilly, and I have no wrapper but this microscopic handkerchief.”
Off went his riding jacket, and I was half smothered in it. The hat followed next, and as he sprang up behind I took the reins, and felt a thrill of delight in sweeping down the slope with that mettlesome creature tugging at the bit, that strong arm around me, and the happy hope that the heart I leaned on might yet learn to love me.
