Books: The Maid of Maiden Lane
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Amelia E. Barr >> The Maid of Maiden Lane
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Quite as suddenly, Mrs. Adams divined the motive of Hyde's early visit;
she opened her eyes wide, and looked at him with a comprehension so
clear and real that Hyde was compelled to answer, and acknowledge her
suspicion by a look and movement quite as unequivocal. Yet this
instantaneous understanding contained neither promise nor sympathy; and
he could not tell whether he had gained a friend or simply made a
confession.
Doctor Moran was evidently both astonished and annoyed. He stepped out
of his carriage and joined Mrs. Adams but kept Cornelia by his side, so
that Hyde was compelled to escort Mrs. Smith. And Cornelia, beyond a
very civil "Good-morning, sir," gave him no sign. He could watch her
slight, virginal figure, and the bend of her head in answering Mrs.
Adams gave him transient glimpses of her fair face; but there was no
message in all its changes for him. In fact, in spite of Mrs. Smith's
little rill of social complaining, he felt quite "out" of the inner
circle of the company's interests, and he was also deeply mortified at
Cornelia's apparent indifference.
When the party reached the steps before the house door, though Mrs.
Adams certainly invited him to remain, he had come to the conclusion
that he was just the one person NOT wanted at that time; yet as he had
plenty of self-command he completely hid beneath a gay and charming
manner the chagrin and disappointment that were really tormenting him.
For one moment he caught Cornelia's eyes, but his glance was too rapid
and inquisitive. She was embarrassed, and a little frightened by it; and
with a deep blush turned towards Mrs. Smith and said something trivial
about the weather and the fine view. He could not understand this
attitude. Feelings of tenderness, anger, mortification,--feelings strong
and threefold crowded his beating heart and vivid brain. He longed to
set his restless thoughts to rapid movement--to gallop--to ejaculate--to
do any foolish thing that would relieve his sense of vexation and
defeat. But until he was out of sight and hearing he rode slowly, with
the easy air of a man who was only sensitive to the beauty of his
surroundings, and thoroughly enjoying them.
He kept this pace till quite outside the precincts of Richmond Hill,
then he struck his horse with a passion that astonished the animal and
the next moment shamed himself. He stooped instantly and apologized to
the quivering creature; and was as instantly forgiven. Then he began to
talk to himself in those elliptical, unfinished sentences, which the
inner man understands, and so thoroughly finishes--" If I were not
morally sure--It is as plain as can be--How in the name of wonder?--I'll
say so much for myself--I am sorry that I went there--A couple of
uninteresting women--This for you, sir!--Whistled myself up this morning
on a fool's errand--No more! no more to save my life!--Grant me
patience--Mrs. Smith giving herself a parcel of airs--Oh, adorable
Cornelia!"
Such reflections, blended with pet names and apologies to his horse,
brought him in sight of the Van Heemskirk house, and he instantly felt
how good his grandmother's sympathy would be. He saw her at the door,
leaning over the upper-half and watching his approach.
"I knew it was thee!" she cried; "always, the clatter of thy horse's
hoofs says plainly to me, 'Grand-moth-er! grand-moth-er! grand-moth-er!'
Now, then, what is the matter with thee? Disappointed, wert thou last
night?"
"No--but this morning I have been badly used; and I am angry at it."
Then he told her all the circumstances of his visit to Richmond Hill,
and she listened patiently, as was her way with all complainers.
"In too great haste art thou," were her first words. "No worse I think
of Cornelia, because a little she draws back. To want, and to have thy
want, that has been the way with thee all thy life long. Even thy sword
and the battlefield were not denied thee; but a woman's love!--that is
to be won. Little wouldst thou value it, lightly wouldst thou hold it,
if it were thine for the wishing. Thy mother has taught thee to expect
too much."
"And my grandmother?"
"That is so. A very foolish old woman is thy grandmother. Too much she
loves thee, or she had not sent thee to Arenta's last night with her
best ivory winders."
"Oh, Arenta is a very darling! Had she been present this morning, she
had taken the starch out of all our fine talk and fine manners. We
should have chattered like the swallows about pleasant homely things;
and left title-making to graver fools."
"If, now, thou had fallen in love with Arenta, it had been a good
thing."
"If I had not seen Cornelia, I might have adored Arenta--but, then,
Arenta has already a lover."
"So? And pray who is it?"
"Of all men in the world, the gay, handsome Frenchman, Athanase
Tounnerre, a member of the French embassy. How a girl so plainly Dutch
can endure the creature confounds me."
"Stop a little. The grandmother of Arenta was French. Very well I
remember her--a girl all alive, from head to foot; never still. Thy
grandfather used to say, 'In her veins is quick-silver, not blood,' And,
too soon, she wore away her life; Arenta's mother was but a baby, when
she died."
"Ah! So it is! We are the past, as well as the present. As for myself--"
"Thou art thy father over again; only sweeter, and better--that is the
Dutch in thee--the happy, easy-going Dutch--if only thou wert not so
lazy."
"That is the English in me--the self-indulgent, masterful English. So
then, Arenta, being partly French, back to the French she goes. 'Tis
passing strange."
"Of this, art thou sure?"
"I have listened to the man. Every one has. He wears Arenta's name on
his sleeve. He drinks her health in all companies. He will talk to any
stranger he meets, for an hour at a time, about his 'fair Arenta.' I can
but wonder at the fellow. It is inconceivable to me; for though I am
passionately taken with Cornelia Moran, I hide her close in my heart. I
should want to strike any man who breathed her name. Yet it is said of
Athanase de Tounnerre that he paid a visit to every one he knew, in
order to tell them of his felicity."
"And her father? To such a marriage what will he say?"
Hyde stretched out his legs and struck them lightly with his riding
whip. Then, with a smile, he answered, "He will be proud enough in his
heart. Arenta would certainly leave him soon, and the Dutch are very
sensible to the charm of a title. His daughter, the Marquise de
Tounnerre, will be a very great woman in his eyes."
"That is the truth. I was glad for thy mother to be a lady, and go to
Court, and see the Queen. Yes, indeed! in my heart I was proud of it
'Twas about that very thing poor Janet Semple and I became unfriends."
"Indeed, it is the common failing; and at present, there is no one like
the French. I will except the President, and Mr. Adams, and Mr.
Hamilton, and say the rest of us are French mad."
"Thy grandfather, and thy grandmother too, thou may except. And as for
thy father, with a great hatred he names them."
"My father is English; and the English and French are natural and
salutary enemies. I once heard Lord Exmouth say that France was to
England all that Carthage was to Rome--the natural outlet for the temper
of a people so quarrelsome that they would fight each other if they had
not the French to fight."
"Listen! That is thy father's gallop. Far off, I know it. So early in
the morning, what is he coming for?"
"He had an intention to go to Mr. Semple's funeral."
"That is good. Thy grandfather is already gone--" and she looked so
pointedly down at her black petticoat and bodice, that Hyde answered--
"Yes; I see that you are in mourning. Is it for Mr. Franklin, or for Mr.
Semple?"
"Franklin was far off; by my fireside Alexander Semple often sat; and at
my table often he ate. Good friends were we once--good friends are we
now; for all but Love, Death buries."
At this moment General Hyde entered the room. Hurry and excitement were
in his face, though they were well controlled. He gave his hand to
Madame Van Heemskirk, saying--
"Good-morning, mother! You look well, as you always do:"--then turning
to his son and regarding the young man's easy, smiling indifference, he
said with some temper, "What the devil, George, are you doing here, so
early in the day? I have been through the town seeking you--everywhere--
even at that abominable Club, where Frenchmen and vagabonds of all kinds
congregate."
"I was at the Vice-President's, sir," answered George, with a comical
assumption of the Vice-President's manner.
"You were WHERE?"
"At Richmond Hill. I made an early call on Mrs. Adams."
Then General Hyde laughed heartily. "You swaggering dandy!" he replied.
"Did you take a bet at the Belvedere to intrude on His Loftiness? And
have you a guinea or two on supping a cup of coffee with him? Upon my
honour, you must now be nearly at the end of your follies. Mother, where
is the Colonel?"
"He has gone to Elder Semple's house. You know--"
"I know well. For a long time I have purposed to call on the old
gentleman, and what I have neglected I am now justly denied. I meant, at
least, to pay him the last respect; but even that is to-day impossible.
For I must leave for England this afternoon at five o'clock, and I have
more to do than I can well accomplish."
George leaped to his feet at these words. Nothing could have been more
unexpected; but that is the way with Destiny, her movements are ever
unforeseen and inevitable. "Sir," he cried, "what has happened?"
"Your uncle is dying--perhaps dead. I received a letter this morning
urging me to take the first packet. The North Star sails this afternoon,
and I do not wish to miss her, for she flies English colours, and they
are the only ones the Barbary pirates pretend to respect. Now, George,
you must come with me to Mr. Hamilton's office; we have much business to
arrange there; then, while I pay a farewell visit to the President, you
can purchase for me the things I shall require for the voyage."
So far his manner had been peremptory and decided, but, suddenly, a
sweet and marvellous change occurred. He went close to Madame Van
Heemskirk, and taking both her hands, said in a voice full of those
tones that captivate women's hearts--
"Mother! mother! I bid you a loving, grateful farewell! You have ever
been to me good, and gentle, and wise--the very best of mothers. God
bless you!" Then he kissed her with a solemn tenderness, and Lysbet
understood that he believed their parting to be a final one. She sat
down, weeping, and Hyde with an authoritative motion of the head,
commanding his son's attendance, went hastily out. It was then eleven
o'clock, and there was business that kept both men hurrying here and
there until almost the last hour. It had been agreed that they were to
meet at the City Hotel at four o'clock; and soon after that hour General
Hyde joined his son. He looked weary and sad, and began immediately to
charge George concerning his mother.
"We parted with kisses and smiles this morning," he said; "and I am glad
of it; if I went back, we should both weep; and a wet parting is not a
lucky one. I leave her in your charge, George; and when I send her word
to come to England, look well to her comfort. And be sure to come with
her. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"On no account--even if she wishes it--permit her to come alone. Promise
me."
"I promise you, sir. What is there that I would not do for my mother?
What is there I would not do to please you, sir?"
"Let me tell you, George, such words are very sweet to me. As to
yourself, I do not fear for you. It is above, and below reason, that you
should do anything to shame your kindred, living or dead--the living
indeed, you might reconcile; the dead are implacable; and their
vengeance is to be feared."
"I fear not the dead, and I love the living. The honour of Hyde is safe
in my keeping. If you have any advice to give me, sir, pray speak
plainly."
"With all my soul. I ask you, then, to play with some moderation. I ask
you to avoid any entanglement with women. I ask you to withdraw
yourself, as soon as possible, from those blusterers for French liberty--
or rather French license, robbery, and assassination--I tell you there
is going to be a fierce national fracas on the subject. Stand by the
President, and every word he says. Every word is sure to be wise and
right."
"Father, I learnt the word 'Liberty' from your lips. I drew my sword
under your command for 'Liberty.' I know not how to discard an idea that
has grown into my nature as the veining grows into the wood."
"Liberty! Yes; cherish it with your life-blood. But France has polluted
the name and outraged the idea. Neither you nor I can wish to be swept
into the common sewers, being by birth, nobles and aristocrats. Earl
Stanhope, who was heart and soul with the French Revolution while it was
a movement for liberty, has just scratched his name with his own hand
from the revolutionary Club. And Burke, who was once its most
enthusiastic defender, has now written a pamphlet which has given it, in
England, a fatal blow. This news came in my letters to-day." Then taking
out his watch, he rose, saying, "Come, it is time to go to the ship--MY
DEAR GEORGE!"
George could not speak. He clasped his father's hand, and then walked by
his side to Coffee House Slip, where the North Star was lying. There was
no time to spare, and the General was glad of it; for oh, these last
moments! Youth may prolong them, but age has lost youth's rebound, and
willingly escapes their disintegrating emotion. Before either realized
the fact, the General had crossed the narrow plank; it was quickly
withdrawn; the anchor was lifted to the chanty of "Homeward bound boys,"
and the North Star, with wind and tide in her favour, was facing the
great separating ocean.
George turned from the ship in a maze. He felt as if his life had been
cut sharply asunder; at any rate, its continuity was broken, and what
other changes this change might bring it was impossible to foresee. In
any extremity, however, there is generally some duty to do; and the
doing of that duty is the first right step onward. Without reasoning on
the matter, George followed this plan. He had a letter to deliver to his
mother; it was right that it should be delivered as soon as possible;
and indeed he felt as if her voice and presence would be the best of all
comfort at that hour; so late as it was, he rode out to Hyde Manor. His
mother, with a lighted candle in her hand, opened the door for him.
"I thought it was thy father, Joris," she said; "but what? Is there
anything wrong? Why art thou alone?"
"There is nothing wrong, dear mother. Come, I will tell you what has
happened."
Then she locked the door carefully, and followed her son into the small
parlour, where she had been sitting. He gave her his father's letter,
and assumed for her sake, the air of one who has brought good tidings.
She silently read, and folded it; and George said, "It was the most
fortunate thing, the North Star being ready for sea. Father could hardly
have had a better boat; and they started with wind and tide in their
favour. We shall hear in a few weeks from him. Are you not pleased,
mother?"
"It is too late, Joris;--twenty years too late. And I wish not to go to
England. Very unhappy was I in that cold, grey country. Very happy am I
here."
"But you must have expected this change?"
"Not until your cousin died was there any thought of such a thing. And
long before that, we had built and begun to love dearly this home. I
wish, then, it had been God's will that your cousin had not died."
"My father--"
"Ah, Joris, your father has always longed in his heart for England. Like
a weaning babe that never could be weaned was he. In many ways, he has
lately shown me that he felt himself to be a future English earl. And
thou too? Wilt thou become an Englishman? Then this fair home I have
made for thee will forget thy voice and thy footstep. Woe is me! I have
planted and planned, for whom I know not."
"You have planned and planted for your Joris. I swear to you that I like
England as little as you do. I despise the tomfoolery of courts and
ceremonies. I count an earl no better than any other honourable
gentleman. I desire most of all to marry the woman I love, and live here
in the home that reminds me of you wherever I turn. I want your likeness
on the great stairway, and in all the rooms; so that those who may never
see your face may love you; and say, 'How good she looks! How beautiful
she is!'"
"So true art thou! So loving! So dear to me! Even in England I can be
happy if I think of thee Here--filling these big rooms with good
company; riding, shooting, over thine own land, fishing in thy own
waters, telling thy boys and girls how dear grandmother had this pond
dug--this hedge planted--these woods filled with game--these streams set
with willows--these summerhouses built for pleasure. Oh, I have thought
ever as I worked, I shall leave my memory here--and here--and here
again--for never, Joris, never, dear Joris, while thou art in this
world, must thou forget me!"
"Never! Never, oh never, dear, dear mother!"
And that night they said no more. Both felt there would be plenty of
time in the future to consider whatever changes it might have in store
for them.
CHAPTER VI
AUNT ANGELICA
The first changes referred especially to Hyde's life, and were not
altogether approved by him. His pretence of reading law had to be
abandoned, for he had promised to remain at home with his mother, and it
would not therefore be possible for him to dawdle about Pearl Street and
Maiden Lane watching for Cornelia. But he had that happy and fortunate
temper that trusts to events; and also, he soon began to realize that if
circumstances alter cases, they also alter feelings.
For, looking upon Hyde Manor as the future home of himself and his wife--
and that wife, happily, Cornelia--he found it very easy to take an
almost eager interest in all that concerned its welfare and beauty. "How
good! How unselfish he is!" thought his mother. "Never before has he
been so ready to listen and so willing to please me." But, really, the
work soon became delightful to him. The passion for land and for its
improvement--the ruling passion of an Englishman--was not absent in
George; it was only latent, and the idea of home, of his own personal
home, developed it with amazing rapidity. He was soon able to make
excellent suggestions to his mother; for her ideas, beautiful enough in
the cultivation of flat surfaces, did not embody the grander
possibilities of the higher lands near the river. But George saw every
advantage, and with great ability directed his little gang of labourers
among the rocks and woody crags of the yet unplanted wilderness.
In spite of their anxiety about the General, in spite of George's
longing to see Cornelia, these early summer days, with their glory of
sunshine and shade and their miracles of growth, were very happy days;
though madame reached her happiness by putting the future quite out of
her thoughts, and George reached his by anticipating the future as the
fruition of the present. Never since his early boyhood had madame and
her son been so near and so dear to each other; for her brother-in-law's
probable death and her husband's dangerous journeying released her from
social engagements, and permitted her to spend her time in the
employments and the companionship she loved best of all.
George, while accepting for himself the same partial seclusion, had more
freedom. He rode into town three or four times every week; got the news
of the clubs and the streets; loitered about Maiden Lane and the
shopping district; and when disappointed and vexed at events went to his
Grandmother Van Heemskirk for sympathy. For, as yet, he hesitated about
naming Cornelia to his mother. He was sure she was aware of his passion,
and her reticence on the subject made him fear she was going to advocate
the fulfilment of his father's promise. And he had such a singular
delicacy about the girl he loved that he could not endure the thought of
bandying her name about in an angry discussion. Added to this fine sense
was an adoring love for his mother. She was in anxiety enough, and would
be, until she heard of her husband's safety; why, then, should he add
his anxiety to hers?
Yet he was not happy about Cornelia. Since that unfortunate morning at
Richmond Hill they had never met. If she saw him go up or down Maiden
Lane, she made no sign. Several times Arenta's face at her parlour
window had given him a passing hope; but Arenta's own love affairs were
just then at a very interesting point; and, besides, she regarded the
young Lieutenant's admiration for her friend as only one of his many
transient enthusiasms.
"If there was anything real in it," she reflected, "Cornelia would have
talked about him; and that she has never done." Then she began to
remember, with pride, the very sensible behaviour of her own lover. "My
Athanase," she reflected, "did not give me an hour's rest until we were
engaged. He insisted on talking to father about our marriage settlements
and our future--in fact, he made of love a thing possible and practical.
A lover like Joris Hyde is not, I think, very fortunate."
She did not understand that the quality of love in its finest revelation
desires, after its first sweet inception, a little period of withdrawal--
it wonders at its strange happiness--broods over it--is fearful of
disturbing emotions so exquisite--prefers the certainty of its delicious
suspense to a more definite understanding, and finds a keen strange
delight in its own poignant anxieties and hopes. These are the birth
pangs of an immortal love--of a love that knows within itself, that it
is born for Eternity, and need not to hurry the three-score-and-ten
years of time to a consummation.
Of such noble lineage was the love of Cornelia for Joris Hyde. His
gracious, beautiful youth, seemed a part of her own youth; his ardent,
tender glances had filled her heart with a sweet trouble that she did
not understand. It was the most natural thing in the world that she
should wish to be apart; that she should desire to brood over feelings
so strangely happy; and that in this very brooding they should grow to
the perfect stature of a luminous and unquenchable affection.
Joris was moved by a sentiment of the same kind, though in a lesser
degree. The masculine desire to obtain, and the delightful consciousness
that he possessed, at least, the tremendous advantage of asking for the
love he craved, roused him from the sweet torpor to which delicious,
dreamy love had inclined him.
"I have thought of Cornelia long enough," he said one delightful summer
morning; "with all my soul I now long to see her. And it is not an
impossible thing I desire. In short, there is some way to compass it."
Then a sudden, invincible persuasion of success came to him; he believed
in his own good fortune; he had a conviction that the very stars
connived with a true lover to work his will. And under this enthusiasm
he galloped into town, took his horse to a stable, and then walked
towards Maiden Lane.
In a few moments he saw Arenta Van Ariens. She was in a mist of blue and
white, with flowing curls, and fluttering ribbons; and a general air of
happiness. He placed himself directly in her path, and doffed his beaver
to the ground as she approached.
"Well, then," she cried, with an affected air of astonishment, "who
would have thought of seeing you? Your retirement is the talk of the
town."
"And pray what does the town say?"
"Some part of it says you have lost your fortune at cards; another part
says you have lost your heart and got no compensation for it. 'Tis
strange to see the folly of young people of this age," she added, with a
little pretended sigh of superior wisdom.
"As if you, also, had not lost your heart!" exclaimed Hyde.
"No, sir! I have exchanged mine for its full value. Where are you
going?"
"With you."
"In a word, no. For I am going to Aunt Angelica's."
"Upon my honour, it is to your Aunt Angelica's I desire to go most of
all!"
"Now I understand. You have found out that Cornelia Moran is going
there. Are you still harping on that string? And Cornelia never said one
word to me. I do not approve of such deceit. In my love affairs I have
always been open as the day."
"I assure you that I did NOT know Miss Moran was going there. I had not
a thought of Madame Jacobus until we met. To tell the very truth, I came
into town to look for you."
"For me? And why, pray?"
"I want to see Miss Moran. If I cannot see her, then I want to hear
about her. I thought you, of all people, could tell me the most and the
best. I assured myself that you had infinite good temper. Now, pray do
not disappoint me."
"Listen! We meet this afternoon at my aunt's, to discuss the dresses and
ceremonies proper for a very fine wedding."
"For your own wedding, in fact--Is not that so?"
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