Books: The Maid of Maiden Lane

A >> Amelia E. Barr >> The Maid of Maiden Lane

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"To take offence is a great folly, and to give offence is a great folly--
I know not which is the greater, Arenta."

"Oh, indeed, father," she answered, "if I am hurt and angry, I shall
take the liberty to say so. Anger that is hidden cannot be gratified;
and if people use me badly, it is my way to tell them I am aware of it.
One may be obliged to eat brown bread, but I, for one, will say it is
brown bread, and not white."

"Your own way you will take, until into some great trouble you stumble."

"And then my own way I shall take, until out of it I stumble."

"I have told Rem what he must do. Like a man he must say, 'I did wrong,
and I am sorry for it,' and so well I think of those he has wronged, as
to be sure they will answer, 'It is forgiven.'"

"And forgotten."

"That is different. To forgive freely, is what we owe to our enemy; to
forget not, is what we owe to ourselves."

"But if Rem's fault is forgiven, and not forgotten, what good will it do
him? I have seen that every one forgives much in themselves that they
find unpardonable in other people."

"In so far, Arenta, we are all at fault."

"I think it is cruel, father, to ask Rem to speak truth to his own
injury. Even the law is kinder than you, it asks no man to accuse
himself."

"Right wrongs no man. Till others move in this matter, you be quiet. If
you talk, evil words you will say; and mind this, Arenta, the evil that
comes out of your lips, into your own bosom will fall. All my life I
have seen this."

But Arenta could not be quiet. She would sow thorns, though she had to
walk unshod; and her father's advice moved her no more than a breath
moves a mountain. In the same afternoon she saw Madame Jacobus going to
Doctor Moran's, and the hour she remained there, was full of misery to
her impetuous self-adoring heart. She was sure they were talking of Rem
and herself; and as she had all their conversation to imagine, she came
to conclusions in accord with her suspicions.

But she met her aunt at the door and brought her eagerly into the
parlour. She had had no visitors that day, and was bored and restless
and longing for conversation. "I saw you go to the Doctor's an hour ago,
aunt," she said. "I hope the Captain is well."

"Jacobus is quite well, thank God and Doctor Moran--and Cornelia. I have
been looking at some of her wedding gowns. A girl so happy, and who
deserves to be so happy, I never saw. What a darling she is!"

"It is now the fashion to rave about her. I suppose they found time
enough to abuse poor Rem. And you could listen to them! I would not have
done so! No! not if listening had meant salvation for the whole Moran
family."

"You are a remarkably foolish young woman. They never named Rem. People
so happy, do not remember the bringer of sorrow. He has been shut out--
in the darkness and cold. But I heard from Madame Van Heemskirk why
Cornelia and that delightful young man were not married two years ago. I
am ashamed of Rem. I can never forgive him. He is a disgrace to the
family. And that is why I came here to-day. I wish you to make Rem
understand that he must not come near his Uncle Jacobus. When Jacobus is
angry, he will call heaven and earth and hell to help him speak his
mind, and I have nearly cured him of a habit which is so distressing to
me, and such a great wrong to his own soul. The very sight of Rem would
break every barrier down, and let a flood of words loose, that would
make him suffer afterwards. I will not have Jacobus led into such
temptation. I have not heard an oath from him for six months."

"I suppose you would never forgive Jacobus, if you did hear one?"

"That is another matter. I hope I have a heart to forgive whatever
Jacobus does, or says--he is my husband."

"It is then less wicked to blaspheme Almighty God, than to keep one of
Lord Hyde's love letters. One fault may be forgiven, the other is
unpardonable. Dear me! how religiously ignorant I am. As for my uncle
swearing--and the passions that thus express themselves--everybody knows
that anything that distantly resembles good temper, will suit Captain
Jacobus."

"You look extremely handsome when you are scornful, Arenta; but it is
not worthwhile wasting your charms on me. I am doing what I can to help
Jacobus to keep his tongue clean, and I will not have Rem lead him into
temptation. As for Rem, he is guilty of a great wrong; and he must now
do what his father told him to do--work day and night, as men work, when
a bridge is broken down. The ruin must be got out of the way, and the
bridge rebuilt, then it will be possible to open some pleasant and
profitable traffic with human beings again--not to speak of heaven."

"You are right--not to speak of heaven, I think heaven would be more
charitable. Rem will not trouble Captain Jacobus. For my part I think a
man that cannot bear temptation is very poorly reformed. If my uncle
could see Rem, and yet keep his big and little oaths under bonds, I
should believe in his clean tongue."

"Arenta, you are tormenting yourself with anger and ill-will, and above
all with jealousy. In this way you are going to miss a deal of pleasure.
I advise you not to quarrel with Cornelia. She will be a great resource.
I myself am looking forward to the delightful change Jacobus may have at
Hyde Manor. It will make a new life for him, and also for me. This
afternoon something is vexing you. I shall take no offence. You will
regret your bad temper to-morrow."

To-morrow Arenta did regret; but people do not always say they are
sorry, when they feel so. She sat in the shadow of her window curtains
and watched the almost constant stream of visitors, and messengers, and
tradespeople at Doctor Moran's house; and she longed to have her hands
among the lovely things, and to give her opinion about the delightful
events sure to make the next few weeks full of interest and pleasure.
And after she had received a letter from Rem, she resolved to humble
herself that she might be exalted.

"Rem is already fortunate, and I can't help him by fighting his battle.
Forgetfulness, is the word. For this wrong can have no victory, and to
be forgotten, is the only hope for it. Beside, Cornelia had her full
share in my happiness, and I will not let myself be defrauded of my
share in her happiness--not for a few words--no! certainly not."

This reflection a few times reiterated resulted in the following note--

MY DEAR CORNELIA:
I want to say so much, that I cannot say anything but--forgive me. I am
shaken to pieces by my dreadful sufferings, and sometimes, I do not know
what I say, even to those I love. Blame my sad fortune for my bad words,
and tell me you long to forgive me, as I long to be forgiven.
Your ARENTA.

"That will be sufficient," she reflected; "and after all, Cornelia is a
sweet girl. I am her first and dearest friend, and I am determined to
keep my place. It has made me very angry to see those Van Dien girls,
and those Sherman girls, running in and out of the Moran house as if
they owned Cornelia. Well then, if I have had to eat humble pie, I have
had my say, and that takes the bitter taste out of my mouth--and a
sensible woman must look to her future. I dare warrant, Cornelia is now
answering my letter. I dare warrant, she will forgive me very sweetly."

She spent half-an-hour in such reflections, and then Cornelia entered
with a smiling face. She would not permit Arenta to say another word of
regret; she stifled all her self-reproaches in an embrace, and she took
her back with her to her own home. And no further repentance embarrassed
Arenta. She put her ready wit, and her clever hands to a score of
belated things; and snubbed and contradicted the Van Dien and Sherman
girls into a respectful obedience to her earlier friendship, and wider
experience. Everything that she directed, or took charge of, went with
an unmistakable vigour to completion; and even Madame Van Heemskirk was
delighted with her ability, and grateful for her assistance.

"The poor Arenta!" she said to Mrs. Moran; "very helpful she is to us,
and for her brother's fault she is not to blame. Wrong it would be to
visit it on her."

And Arenta not only felt this gracious justice for herself, she looked
much further forward, for she said to her father, "It is really for
Rem's sake I am so obliging. By and by people will say 'there is no
truth in that letter story. The Marquise is the friend of Lady Hyde;
they are like clasped hands, and that could not be so, if Rem Van Ariens
had done such a dreadful thing. It is all nonsense.' And if I hear a
word about it, I shall know how to smile, and lift my shoulders, and
kill suspicion with contempt. Yes, for Rem's sake, I have done the best
thing."

So happily the time went on, that it appeared wonderful when Christmas
was close at hand. Every preparation was then complete. The Manor House
was a very picture of splendid comfort and day by day Cornelia's
exquisite wardrobe came nearer to perfection. It was a very joy to go
into the Moran house. The mother, with a happy light upon her face, went
to-and-fro with that habitual sweet serenity, which kept the temperature
of expectant pleasure at a degree not too exhausting for continuance.
The doctor was so satisfied with affairs, that he was often heard timing
his firm, strong steps to snatches of long forgotten military songs; and
Cornelia, knowing her lover was every day coming nearer and nearer, was
just as happy as a girl loving and well beloved, ought to be. Sorrow was
all behind her, and a great joy was coming to meet her. Until mortal
love should become immortal, she could hope for no sweeter interlude in
life.

Her beauty had increased wonderfully; hope had more than renewed her
youth, and confident love had given to her face and form, a splendour of
colour and expression, that captivated everybody; though why, or how,
they never asked--she charmed, because she charmed. She was the love,
the honey, the milk of sweetest human nature.

One day the little bevy of feminine councillors looked at their work,
and pronounced all beautiful, and all finished; and then there was a
lull in the busy household, and then every one was conscious of being a
little weary; and every one also felt, that it would be well to let
heart, and brain, and fingers, and feet rest. In a few days there would
likely be another English letter, and they could then form some idea as
to when Lord Hyde would arrive. The last letter received from him had
been written in London, and the ship in which he was to sail, was taking
on her cargo, while he impatiently waited at his hotel for notice of her
being ready to lift her anchor. The doctor thought it highly probable
Hyde would follow this letter in a week, or perhaps less.

During this restful interval, Doctor and Mrs. Moran drove out one
afternoon to Hyde Manor House. A message from Madame Van Heemskirk asked
this favour from them; she wished naturally that they should see how
exquisitely beautiful and comfortable was the home, which her Joris had
trusted her to prepare for his bride. But she did not wish Cornelia to
see it, until the bride-groom himself took her across its threshold. "An
old woman's fancy it is," she said to Mrs. Moran; "but no harm is there
in it, and not much do I like women who bustle about their houses, and
have no fancies at all."

"Nor I," answered Mrs. Moran with a merry little laugh. "Do you know,
that I told John to buy my wedding ring too wide, because I often heard
my mother say that a tight wedding ring was unlucky." Then both women
smiled, and began delightedly to look over together the stores of fine
linen and damask, which the mother of Joris had laid up for her son's
use.

It was a charming visit, and the sweet pause in the vivid life of the
past few weeks, was equally charming to Cornelia. She rested in her room
till the short daylight ended; then she went to the parlour and drank a
cup of tea, and closed the curtains, and sat down by the hearth to wait
for her father and mother. It was likely they would be a little late,
but the moon was full and the sleighing perfect, and then she was sure
they would have so much to tell her, when they did reach home.

So still was the house, so still was the little street, that she easily
went to the land of reverie, and lost herself there. She thought over
again all her life with her lover; recalled his sweet spirit, his loyal
affection, his handsome face, and enchanting manner. "Heaven has made me
so fortunate," she thought, "and now my fortune has arrived at my
wishes. Even his delay is sweet. I desire to think of him, until all
other thoughts are forgotten! Oh, what lover could be loved as I love
him!"

Then with a soft but quick movement the door flew open, she lifted her
eyes, to fill them with love's very image and vesture; and with a cry of
joy flew to meet the bliss so long afar, but now so near. "O lovely and
beloved! O my love!" Hyde cried, and then there was a twofold silence;
the very ecstasy that no mortal words can utter. The sacred hour for
which all their lives had longed, was at last dropt down to them from
heaven. Between their kisses they spoke of things remembered, and of
things to be, leaning to each other in visible sweetness, while

"Love breathed in sighs and silences
Through two blent souls, one rapturous undersong."

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