Books: The Maid of Maiden Lane
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Amelia E. Barr >> The Maid of Maiden Lane
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"I do not know," said Mrs. Moran, "how Van Ariens could suffer his
daughter to go to a country full of turmoil and bloodshed."
"He was very unhappy to do so, Ava. But when things have gone a certain
length they have fatality. The Marquis had promised to become eventually
a citizen of this Republic, and Van Ariens had no idea in sanctioning
the marriage that his daughter would leave New York. It was even
supposed the Marquis would remain here in the Count de Moustier's place,
and the sudden turn of events which sent de Tounnerre to France was a
severe blow to Van Ariens. But what could he do?"
"He might have delayed the marriage until the return of de Tounnerre."
"Ah, Ava! you are counting without consideration. He could not have
detained Arenta against her will, and if he had, a miserable life would
have been before both of them--domestic discomfort, public queries and
suspicions, questions, doubts, offending sympathies--all the griefs and
vexations that are sure to follow a Fate that is crossed. He did the
best thing possible when he let the wilful girl go as pleasantly as he
could. Arenta needs a wide horizon."
"Is she in any danger from the state of affairs in Paris?"
"Mr. Jefferson says in no danger whatever. Our Minister is living there
in safety. Arenta will have his friendship and protection; and her
husband has many friends in the most powerful party. She will have a
brilliant visit and be very happy."
"How can she be very happy with the guillotine daily enacting such
murders?"
"She need not be present at such murders. And Mr. Jefferson may be
right, and we outsiders may make too much of circumstances that France,
and France alone, can properly estimate. He says that the God that made
iron wished not slaves to exist, and thinks there is a profound and
eternal justice in this desolation and retribution of aristocrats who
have committed unmentionable oppressions. I know not; good and evil are
so interwoven in life that every good, traced up far enough, is found to
involve evil. This is the great mystery of life. However, Ava, I am a
great believer in sequences; there are few events that break off
absolutely. In Arenta's life there will be sequences; let us hope that
they will be happy ones. Where is Cornelia?"
"I know not. She is asleep. The ball to-night is to be fairy-land and
love-land, an Arabian night's dream and a midsummer night's dream all in
one. I told her to rest, for she was weary and nervous with
expectation."
"I dare say. But what is the good of being young if it is not to expect
miracles?"
"George Hyde calls for her at eight o'clock. I shall let her sleep until
seven, give her some refreshment, and then assist her to dress."
"George Hyde! So you still believe in trusting the cat with the cream?"
"I still believe in Cornelia. Come, now, and drink a cup of tea. To-
morrow the Van Ariens' excitement will be over, and we shall have rest."
"I think not. The town is now ready to move to Philadelphia. I hear that
Mrs. Adams is preparing to leave Richmond Hill. Washington has already
gone, and Congress is to meet in December. Even the Quakers are
intending all sorts of social festivities."
"But this will not concern us."
"It may. If George Hyde does not go very soon to England, we shall go to
Philadelphia. I wish to rid myself and Cornelia of his airs and graces
and wearisome good temper, his singing and reciting and tringham-
trangham poetry. This story has been long enough; we will turn over and
end it."
"It will be a great trial to Cornelia."
"It may, or it may not--there is Rem--Rem is your own suggestion.
However, we have all to sing the hymn of Renunciation at some time; it
is well to sing it in youth."
Mrs. Moran did not answer. When answering was likely to provoke anger,
she kept silence and talked the matter over with herself. A very wise
plan. For where shall we find a friend so intimate, so discreet, so
conciliating as self? Who can speak to us so well?--without obscurity,
without words, without passion. Yes, indeed: "I will talk to myself" is
a very significant phrase.
CHAPTER VIII
TWO PROPOSALS
The ruling idea of any mind assumes the foreground of thought; and after
Arenta's marriage the dominant desire of George Hyde was to have his
betrothal to Cornelia recognized and assured. He was in haste to light
his own nuptial torch, and afraid every day of that summons to England
which would delay the event. Hitherto, both had been satisfied with the
delicious certainty of their own hearts. To bring Love to discussion and
catechism, to talk of Love in connection with house and money matters,
to put him into bonds, however light those bonds might be, was indeed a
safe and prudent thing for their future happiness; but, so far, the
present with its sweet freedom and uncertainty had been more charming to
their imagination. Suddenly, however, Hyde felt the danger and stress of
this uncertainty and the fear of losing what he appeared to hold so
lightly.
"I may have to go away with mother at any time--I may be detained by
events I cannot help--and I have not bound Cornelia to me by any
personal recognized tie--and Rem Van Ariens will be ever near her. Oh,
indeed, this state of affairs will never do! I will write to Cornelia
this very moment and tell her I must see her father this evening. I
cannot possibly delay it longer. I have been a fool--a careless, happy
fool--too long. There is not now a day to lose. I have already wasted
more time than was reasonable over the love affairs of other people; now
I must look after my own. Safe bind, safe find; I will bind Cornelia to
me before I leave her, then I have a good right to find her safe when I
return to claim her."
While such thoughts were passing through his mind he had risen hastily
from the chair in which he had been musing. He opened his secretary and
sitting resolutely down, began a letter to Doctor Moran. He poured out
his heart and desires, and then he read what he had written. It would
not do at all. It was a love letter and not a business letter. He wrote
another, and then another. The first was too long, it left nothing in
the inkstand; the last was not to be thought of. When he had finished
reading them over, he was in a passion with himself.
"A fool in your teeth twice over, Joris Hyde!" he cried, "yes, sir,
three times, and far too good for you! Since you cannot write a decent
business letter, write, then, to the adorable Cornelia; the words will
be at your finger ends for that letter, and will slip from your pen as
if they were dancing:
"MY SWEET CORNELIA:
"I have not seen you for two days, and 'tis a miracle that I have
endured it. I can tell you, beloved, that I am much concerned about our
affairs, and now that I have begun to talk wisely I may talk a little
more without wearying you. You know that I may have to go to England
soon, and go I will not until I have asked your father what favour he
will show us. On the street, he gets out of my way as if I had the
plague. Tell me at what hour I may call and see him in his house. I will
then ask him point blank for your hand, and he is so candid that I shall
have in a word Yes or No on the matter. Do not keep me waiting longer
than seven this very night. I have a fever of anxiety, and I shall not
grow better, but worse, until I settle our engagement. Oh, my peerless
Cornelia, pearl and flower of womanhood, I speak your speech, I think
your thought; you are the noblest thing in my life, and to remember you
is to remember the hours when I was the very best and the very happiest.
Your image has become part of me, your memory is a perfume which makes
sweet my heart. I wish this moment to give you thousands and thousands
of kisses. Bid me come to you soon, very soon, sooner than seven, if
possible, for your love is my life. Send your answer to my city lodging.
I shall follow this letter and be impatiently waiting for it. Oh,
Cornelia, am I not ever and entirely yours?
"GEORGE HYDE."
It was not more than eight o'clock in the morning when he wrote this
letter, and as soon as possible he despatched a swift messenger with it
to Cornelia. He hoped that she would receive it soon after the Doctor
had left his home for his usual round of professional visits; then she
might possibly write to him at once, and if so, he would get the letter
very soon after he reached the city.
Probably Madame Hyde divined something of the importance and tenor of a
missive sent in such a hurry of anxious love, so early in the day, but
she showed neither annoyance nor curiosity regarding it. In the first
place, she knew that opposition would only strengthen whatever resolve
her son had made; in the second place, she was conscious of a singular
restlessness of her own spirit. She was apprehending change, and she
could think of no change but that call to leave her home and her native
land which she so much dreaded. If this event happened, then the affairs
of Joris would assume an entirely different aspect. He would be obliged
to leave everything which now interested him, and he could not live
without interests; very well, then, he would be compelled to accept such
as a new Fate thrown into his new life. She had a great faith in
circumstances. She knew that in the long run every one wrote beneath
that potent word, "Your obedient servant." Circumstances would either
positively deny all her son's hopes, or they would so powerfully aid
them that opposition would be useless; and she mentally bowed herself to
an influence so powerful and perhaps so favourable.
"Joris, my dear one," she said, as they rose from the breakfast table;
"Joris, I think there is a letter from your father. To the city you must
go as soon as you can, for I have had a restless night, full of feeling
it has been."
"You should not go to bed to feel, mother. Night is the time for sleep."
"And for dreams, and for many good things to come, that come not in the
day. Yes, indeed, the nighttime of the body is the daytime of the soul."
Then Joris smiled and kissing her, said, "I am going at once. If there
is a letter I will send a quick rider with it."
"But come thyself."
"That I cannot." "But why, then?"
"To-morrow, I will tell you."
"That is well. Into thy mother's heart drop all thy joys and sorrows.
Thine are mine." And she kissed him, and he went away glad and hopeful
and full of tender love for the mother who understood him so
sympathetically. He stood up in his stirrups to wave her a last adieu,
and then he said to himself, "How fortunate I am about women! Could I
have a sweeter, lovelier mistress? No! Mother? No! Grandmother? No!
Friend? No! Cornelia, mother, grandmother, Madame Jacobus, all of them
just what I love and need, sweet souls between me and the angels."
It happened--but doubtless happened because so ordered--that the very
hour in which Joris left Hyde Manor, Peter Van Ariens received a letter
that made him very anxious. He left his office and went to see his son.
"Rem," he said, "there is now an opportunity for thee. Here has come a
letter from Boston, and some one must go there; and that too in a great
hurry. The house of Blume and Otis is likely to fail, and in it we have
some great interests. A lawyer we must have to look after them; go
thyself, and it shall be well for both of us."
"I am ready to go--that is, I can be ready in one or two days."
"There are not one or two days to spare. Gerard will take care of thy
work here. To-day is the best time of all."
"I cannot go with a happy mind to-day. I will tell you, father. I think
now my case with Cornelia will bear putting to the question. As you
know, it has been step with step between Joris Hyde and myself in that
affair, and if I go away now without securing the ground I have gained,
what can hinder Hyde from taking advantage over me? He too must go soon,
but he will try and secure his position before he leaves. To do the same
thing is my only way. I wish, then, the time to give myself this
security."
"That is fair. A man is not a man till he has won a wife. Cornelia Moran
is much to my mind. Tell her my home is thine, and she will be a
mistress dearly loved and honoured. And if a thing is to be done, there
is no time like the hour that has not struck. Go and see her now. She
was in the garden gathering asters when I left home this morning."
"I will write to her. I will tell her what is in my heart--though she
knows it well--and ask her for her love and her hand. If she is kind to
my offer she will tell me to come and see her to-night, then I can go to
Boston with a free heart and look after your money and your business."
"If things be this way, thou art reasonable. A good wife must not be
lost for the peril of some gold sovereigns. At once write to the maid;
such letters are best done at the first thought, some prudences or some
fears may come with the second thoughts."
"I have no fear but Joris Hyde. That Englishman I hate. His calm
confidence, his smiling insolent air is intolerable."
"It is the English way. But Cornelia is American--as thou art."
"She thinks much of that, but yet--"
"Be not afraid. The brave either find, or make, a way to success. What
is in a girl's heart no man can tell, if she be cold and shy that should
not cause thee to doubt. When water is ice, who would suspect what great
heat is stored away in it? Write thy letter at once. Put thy heart into
thy pen. Not always prudent is this way, but once in a man's life it is
wisdom."
"My pen is too small for my heart."
"My opinion is that thou hast wavered too long. It is a great
foolishness to let the cherry knock against the lips too often or too
long. A pretty pastime, perhaps, to will, and not will, to dare, and not
dare; but at last the knock comes that drops the cherry--it may be into
some other mouth."
"I fear no one but that rascal, Joris Hyde."
"A rascal he is not, because the same woman he loves as thyself. Such
words weaken any cause. No wrong have I seen or known of Lieutenant
Hyde."
"I will call him a rascal, and I will give him no other title, though
his father leave him an earl."
"Now, then, I shall go. I like not ill words. Write thy letter, but put
out of thy mind all bad thoughts first. A love letter from a bitter
heart is not lucky. And of all thy wit thou wilt have great need if to a
woman thou write."
"Oh, they are intolerable, aching joys! A man who dares to love a woman,
or dares to believe in her, dares to be mad."
"Come, come! No evil must thou speak of good women, I swear that I was
never out of it yet, when I judged men as they judged women. The art of
loving a woman is the art of trusting her--yes, though the heavens fall.
Now, then, haste with thy letter. Thou may have 'Yes' to it ere thou
sleep to-night."
"And I may have 'No.'"
"To be sure, if thou think 'no.' But, even so, if thou lose the wedding
ring, the hand is still left; another ring may be found."
"'No,' would be a deathblow to me."
"It will not. While a man has meat and drink love will not starve him;
with world's business and world's pleasure an unkind love he makes shift
to forget. Bring to me word of thy good fortune this night, and in the
morning there is the Boston business. Longer it can hardly wait."
But the letter to Cornelia which Hyde found to slip off his pen like
dancing was a much more difficult matter to Rem. He wrote and destroyed,
and wrote again and destroyed, and this so often that he finally
resolved to go to Maiden Lane for his inspiration. "I may see Cornelia
in the garden, or at the window, and when I see what I desire, surely I
shall have the wit to ask for it."
So he thought, and with the thought he locked his desk and went towards
his home in Maiden Lane. He met George Hyde sauntering up the street
looking unhappy and restless, and he suspected at once that he had been
walking past Doctor Moran's house in the hope of seeing Cornelia and had
been disappointed. The thought delighted him. He was willing to bear
disappointment himself, if by doing so some of Hyde's smiling confidence
was changed to that unhappy uneasiness which he detected in his rival's
face and manner. The young men bowed to each other but did not speak. In
some occult way they divined a more positive antagonism than they had
ever before been conscious of.
"I cannot go out of the house," thought Rem, "without meeting that fop.
He is in at one door, and out at another; this way, that way, up street,
and down street--the devil take the fellow!"
"What a mere sullen creature that Rem Van Ariens is!" thought Hyde, "and
with all the good temper in the world I affirm it. I wonder what he is
on the street for at this hour! Shall I watch him? No, that would be
vile work. I will let him alone; he may as well play the ill-natured
fool on the street as in the house--better, indeed, for some one may
have a title to tell him so. But I may assure myself of one thing, when
I met him he was building castles in the future, for he was looking
straight before him; and if he had been thinking of the past, he would
have been looking down. I should not wonder if it was Cornelia that
filled his dreams. Faith, we have blockheads of all ages; but on that
road he will never overtake his thought"--then with a movement of
impatience he added,
"Why should I let him into my mind?--for he is the least welcome of all
intruders.--Good gracious! how long the minutes are! It is plain to me
that Cornelia is not at home, and my letter may not even have touched
her hands yet. How shall I endure another hour?--perhaps many hours.
Where can she have gone? Not unlikely to Madame Jacobus. Why did I not
think of this before? For who can help me to bear suspense better than
madame? I will go to her at once."
He hastened his steps and soon arrived at the well-known residence of
his friend. He was amazed as soon as the door was opened to find
preparations of the most evident kind for some change. The corded trunk
in the hall, the displaced furniture, all things he saw were full of the
sad hurry of parting. "What is the matter?" he asked in a voice of fear.
"I am going away for a time, Joris, my good friend," answered madame,
coming out of a shrouded and darkened parlour as she spoke. She had on
her cloak and bonnet, and before Joris could ask her another question a
coach drove to the door. "I think it is a piece of good fortune," she
continued, "to see you before I go."
"But where are you going?"
"To Charleston."
"But why?"
"I am going because my sister Sabrina is sick--dying; and there is no
one so near to her as I am."
"I knew not you had a sister."
"She is the sister of my husband. So, then, she is twice my sister. When
Jacobus comes home he will thank me for going to his dear Sabrina. But
what brings you here so early? Yesterday I asked for you, and I was told
that you were waiting on your good mother."
"My mother felt sure there was a letter from father, and I came at once
to get it for her."
"Was there one?"
"There was none."
"It will come in good time. Now, I must go. I have not one moment to
lose. Good-bye, dear Joris!"
"For how long, my friend?"
"I know not. Sabrina is incurably ill. I shall stay with her till she
departs." She said these words as they went down the steps together, and
with eyes full of tears he placed her carefully in the coach and then
turned sorrowfully to his own rooms. He could not speak of his own
affairs at such a moment, and he realized that there was nothing for him
to do but wait as patiently as possible for Cornelia's answer.
In the meantime Rem was writing his proposal. He was not assisted in the
effort by any sight of his mistress. It was evident Cornelia was not in
her home, and he looked in vain for any shadow of the sweet face that he
was certain would have made his words come easily. Finally, after many
trials, he desisted with the following, though it was the least
affective of any form he had written:
To MISS MORAN,
Honoured and Beloved Friend:
Twenty times this day I have tried to write a letter worthy to come into
your hands and worthy to tell you how beyond all words I love you, But
what can I say more than that I love you? This you know. It has been no
secret to you since ever you were a little girl. Many years I have
sought your love,--pardon me if now I ask you to tell me I have not
sought in vain. To-morrow I must leave New York, and I may be away for
some time. Pray, then, give me some hope to-night to take with me. Say
but one word to make me the proudest and happiest lover in the world.
Give me the permission to come and show to your father that I am able to
maintain you in every comfort that is your right; and all my life long I
will prove to you the devotion that attests my undying affection and
gratitude. I am sick with longing for the promise of your love. May I
presume to hope so great a blessing? O dearest Cornelia, I am, as you
know well, your humble servant, REMBRANDT VAN ARIENS.
When he had finished this letter, he folded and sealed it, and walked to
the window with it in his hand. Then he saw Cornelia returning home from
some shopping or social errand, and hastily calling a servant, ordered
him to deliver the letter at once to Miss Moran. And as Cornelia
lingered a little among the aster beds, the man put it into her own
hands. She bowed and smiled as she accepted it, but Rem, watching with
his heart in his eyes, could see that it awakened no special interest.
She kept it unopened as she wandered among the purple and pink, and gold
and white flowers, until Mrs. Moran came to the door to hurry her
movements; then she followed her mother hastily into the house, "Do you
know how late it is, Cornelia? Dinner is nearly ready. There is a letter
on your dressing table that came by Lieutenant Hyde's servant two or
three hours ago."
"And Tobias has just brought me a letter from Rem--at least the
direction is in Rem's handwriting."
"Some farewell dance I suppose, before our dancers go to gay
Philadelphia."
"I dare say it is." She made the supposition as she went up the stairs,
and did not for a moment anticipate any more important information. As
she entered her room an imposing looking letter met her eyes--a letter
written upon the finest paper, squarely folded, and closed with a large
seal of scarlet wax carrying the Hyde arms. Poor Rem's message lost
instantly whatever interest it possessed; she let it fall from her hand,
and lifting Hyde's, opened it with that marvellous womanly impetuosity
which love teaches. Then all the sweet intimate ardour and passionate
disquietude of her lover took possession of her. In a moment she felt
all that he felt; all the ecstasy and tumult of a great affection not
sure. For this letter was the "little more" in Hyde's love, and, oh, how
much it was!
She pondered it until she was called to dinner. There was then no time
to read Rem's letter, but she broke the seal and glanced at its tenor,
and an expression of pity and annoyance came into her eyes. Hastily she
locked both letters away in a drawer of her desk, and as she did so,
smilingly said to herself, "I wonder if papers are sensitive! Shut close
together in one little drawer will they like it? I hope they will lie
peaceably and not quarrel."
Doctor Moran was not at home, nor was he expected until sundown, so
mother and daughter enjoyed together the confidence which Hyde's letter
induced. Mrs. Moran thought the young man was right, and promised, to a
certain extent, to favour his proposal. "However, Cornelia," she added,
"unless your father is perfectly agreeable and satisfied, I would not
advise you to make any engagement. Clandestine engagements come to grief
in some way or other, and if your marriage with Joris Hyde is
prearranged by THOSE who know what is best for your good, then, my dear,
it is as sure to take place as the sun is sure to rise to-morrow. It is
only waiting for the appointed hour, and you may as well wait in a happy
home as in one you make wretched by the fret and complaining which a
secret in any life is certain to produce."
Now, it is not often that a girl has to answer in one hour two such
epistles as those received by Cornelia. Yet perhaps such an event occurs
more frequently than is suspected, for Love--like other things--has its
critical moment; and when that moment arrives it finds a voice as surely
as the flower ready to bloom opens its petals. And if there be two
lovers equally sincere, both are likely to feel at the same moment the
same impetus to revelation. Besides which, Fate of any kind seeks the
unusual and the unexpected; it desires to startle, and to force events
by surprises.
The answering of these letters was naturally Cornelia's first afternoon
thought. It troubled her to remember that Joris had already been waiting
some hours for a reply, for she had no hesitation as to what that reply
should be. To write to Joris was a delightful thing, an unusual
pleasure, and she sat down, smiling, to pen the lines which she thought
would bring her much happiness, but which were doomed to bring her a
great sorrow.
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