Three millions! or, The way of the world
“You distort my meaning. I speak not of simple friendship or mere
regard. Do you love me, Julia?”
“I do not.”
Dr. Lynch sprang from his chair. He seemed to be furious in his
disappointment; like one of those sunny-clime lovers who, refused, clap
a pistol to their heads, and blow out their brains, or find a grave in
the deepest waters that flow within their reach. He indulged in sharp,
impatient, convulsive movements; his eyes glared out the window, at the
floor, at the ceiling. And Julia was calm as a summer rainbow while the
lightnings gleam and the thunder roars in the opposite horizon. This
is something which some men must have, as some children must have the
whooping cough. It is really terrible, but nothing can be done.
“Julia,” cried the doctor, suddenly dashing across the room to the
place where she sat,--“Julia, _can_ you ever love me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you permit me to hope?”
“I fear it would be useless to anticipate such a conclusion of the
whole matter,” she replied, smiling.
The doctor demonstrated again for a few moments. She was as cold as an
iceberg.
“You close the door of hope against me?”
“I do not.”
“You permit me to hope?”
“Yes, if you will.”
“Forgive me, Julia; do you love another?”
“Not even my best friend may ask me such a question.”
She blushed deeply.
“You love Mr. Birch; and he is worthy of you,” groaned the doctor.
“Mr. Birch never spoke a word to me on such a subject; never even
hinted at it.”
“Do you not love him?”
“I will not answer.”
“If you do, Julia, it is right that you should say so to me.”
“I have said all that I would say, even to my own mother, concerning
Mr. Birch. Neither you, nor any one, has the right to catechise me on
that which every woman must conceal until it reveals itself.”
“I did not ask for the purpose of impertinently prying into your
affairs, Miss Hungerford,” continued the doctor, rather coldly. “If you
love Mr. Birch, any attentions from me would be an annoyance to you.”
“I wish to meet you as we have always met. I regard you as a strong
personal friend, to whom I am under no common obligations.”
“Do not speak of obligations.”
“It gives me great satisfaction to acknowledge them. Any attentions you
may be disposed to bestow upon me will always be gratefully received.”
“You do not accept the issue as it is. I love you. I have committed
myself both by word and deed. I have given you the power to say you
have rejected me.”
“I have not rejected you; if I had, I could not mention it.”
“You have not?”
“No.”
“You have said that you regard my suit as hopeless.”
“That is my opinion.”
“If Mr. Birch----”
“No more of Mr. Birch, if you please. I am committed to no one. I
have decided nothing. I am as ignorant of the future as you are. I am
content to let events take their course. Am I a flirt? No. I will marry
no man unless I love him well enough to be his wife.”
“You neither accept nor reject me.”
“I do not. I hope to meet you as a friend.”
“Julia, this is misery for me.”
“I have told you the simple truth. I am passive. I cannot control my
heart. I will obey its dictates as I shall those of my conscience.”
If Dr. Lynch was not satisfied with the result of this interview, it
certainly was not Julia’s fault. Nothing was decided, and the doctor
joined Eugene and Dick Birch in the library without a very clear
apprehension of his own position. It looked rather hopeless from one
point of view, but the gates of paradise had not been closed against
him. Of course he believed that Birch had all the advantage now, though
it appeared that he had not been forward to avail himself of his
opportunity.
There was a stranger in the library when he entered--a plainly-dressed,
but very good-looking lady of twenty-five. She was introduced to the
doctor as Miss Thompson.
“This lady is to be our new missionary,” said Eugene. “I find we need
such a person.”
“There is plenty for her to do,” replied the doctor, who did not
appear to have much interest just then in missions or missionaries.
The doctor did not say much, and in a short time took his leave. Miss
Thompson was to take the place of Mary, whose approaching marriage
would soon deprive the chapel enterprise of her valuable services.
Eugene had spoken of the loss which would thus be involved, and Dick
had mentioned this lady as one residing with his family for a brief
period. She was said to be a poor girl, of excellent character and a
Christian spirit, who would be glad to do anything to help herself.
Dick said nothing of her antecedents; indeed, he carefully avoided
telling more about her than was absolutely necessary. Eugene was
not very curious, any farther than to satisfy himself that she was
qualified for the position for which she was wanted.
She had arrived at Poppleton while Dr. Lynch was pleading his cause
before Julia. Eugene had conversed with her for half an hour. Her
manners were pretty, as well as her face, and her speech was modest,
and indicated intelligence. Eugene was entirely satisfied with her.
“I have the buggy at the door, and I will drive Miss Thompson down to
the Port and over to the Mills. I suppose you are going to The Great
Bell,” said Dick.
“I am; I will tell Mary to meet Miss Thompson to-morrow, and point out
to her the duties of her office,” replied Eugene.
“Very well. Where is Julia?”
“The last I heard of her, she was with the doctor in the sitting-room.”
“With the doctor!”
“Between us, Dick, I think he has proposed to her, for he certainly
looked like a man who had been rejected,” added Eugene, in a low tone.
“I doubt whether we see him here again.”
“I hope we shall.”
“So do I; but it was hard work to get him here, and I think he will
not come unless he finds it pleasant to do so. My mother thinks so much
of the doctor that she will be likely to plead his cause for him.”
Julia entered the library just as Dick was going out. Miss Thompson was
warmly greeted, and Eugene looked for any change which might have come
over his sister since her interview with the doctor. There was none.
She was as placid as a summer sea.
Dick drove off with the new missionary. He explained to her what his
friend was doing for the poor of Poppleton; he described the chapel,
and gave John Porter an excellent character. Miss Thompson was sad,
silent, and thoughtful. She listened attentively to all that was said
to her until they came to the burying-ground.
“Was he buried there?” she asked, with much emotion.
“He was.”
“Has any stone been erected over his grave?”
“Not yet.”
“That shall be my first duty.”
“He was placed in the tomb first, and efforts were made to find his
friends. As no one claimed the body, it was buried last summer.”
“Do you know where the grave is?”
“I do.”
“Would it be asking too much of you to show me the way?”
“By no means; but do you think it would be best for you to visit the
spot?”
“I would like to do so.”
Dick hitched the horse at the gate of the cemetery, and conducted her
to the grave of Eliot Buckstone. Miss Thompson stood in silence gazing
at the mound capped with turf. A bunch of flowers which Eugene had
gathered for her in the conservatory--for he could not judge of her
fitness to do missionary work until he knew whether she really loved
flowers--was placed at the head of the grave.
Dick retired from the spot, and presently she knelt down, and bowed her
head. There were tears in her eyes; they were the first that had been
shed at the grave of the murdered man.
“Father in heaven, forgive him for the wrong he has done to me and to
others,” murmured she.
She rose, wiped away her tears, placed the bunch of flowers on the sod
above the breast of the sleeper beneath, and turned away.
“Mr. Birch, you have been very kind to me; may I dare to ask one more
favor of you?”
“Certainly.”
“Will you have a white marble stone placed at the head of his grave? I
will pay for it with the first money I earn.”
“We will select one at the Port to-day.”
“Thank you. I cannot bear to think of his sleeping there without a
stone to mark his resting-place.”
“Every thing you desire shall be done; but you must not even mention
his name.”
“I will not.”
They went to the marble works, and the stone was ordered. In a few
days it was erected. It bore no record but the name, age, and date of
his death. Through the summer that followed, a bunch of fresh flowers
was occasionally found on the grave of the murdered man; but no one
was seen to place them there, and no one but Dick Birch knew that the
female missionary of Eugene Hungerford had ever been interested in the
clay beneath the stone.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE RUSTIC BRIDGE.
Pine Hill blazed with glory on the evening of the fifteenth of May.
Eugene and Mary were married. The ceremony had been performed at the
farm-house on The Great Bell, at six o’clock, in presence of the two
families, and a few intimate personal friends. Dick Birch and Julia,
Dr. Lynch and Miss Perkins, were groomsmen and bridesmaids. At half
past six several gayly-decorated barges, prepared for the occasion by
Ross Kingman, bore the party over the channel, and by seven o’clock the
festivities at the Pine Hill mansion were fairly inaugurated.
For certain cogent reasons, Eugene, generally opposed to much display,
favored a universal gathering; and the most elaborate preparations had
been made to celebrate the joyous occasion. Mary had been under the ban
of public displeasure; she had been frowned upon, had been neglected
and despised. Her husband wished to make this her triumph. If it was
the way of the world to cast her off when in poverty and subjected to
odious suspicions, it was also the way of the world to smile upon those
whom fortune favored. Brilliant lights, gorgeous dresses, inspiring
music, a sumptuous feast, put the world in excellently good humor with
itself.
Men from the city--caterers, decorators, fire-kings--had been at Pine
Hill for a week. The house, large as it was, was not large enough
to hold the multitude; for all Poppleton was bidden to the feast.
Thousands of fantastic lamps and Chinese lanterns flashed among the
trees of the grounds. Pyrotechnic fires, of all colors, illuminated the
scene, and one might see to read fine print anywhere between the house
and the river. A vast pavilion had been erected for the supper, and a
small army of cooks and waiters were as busy as bees in their temporary
quarters. The Poppleton Brass Band played near the river, and the
Germania, from the city, on the lawn before the house.
At seven o’clock, when the guests began to arrive, Eugene and the bride
stood at the head of the great drawing-room. Mary had been subjected
to the manipulations of Madame La Somebody, from Paris, and her dress
of white satin was the perfection of the mode. Nothing more beautiful
in human form could be conceived of than Mrs. Eugene Hungerford, and
the admiration bestowed upon her was unmeasured and unstinted. She
was happy; the clouds had rolled away, and behind their dense volume,
paradise had opened to her. Earth had become heaven. The fondest dream
that ever gladdened the heart of woman was realized in that blissful
hour. She was the wife of the man she loved--who loved her. This was
joy enough without the gorgeous surroundings with which she passed to
her estate of bliss.
Eugene Hungerford, tall, well formed, and elegant in his manner, never
looked better, and never felt happier. Even the thought that she who
stood by his side had been another’s for a brief period, was forgotten.
His cup was full; the one dreg at the bottom could not be seen.
Parkinson was master of ceremonies in the house, and he ushered the