Books: His Sombre Rivals

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"Heaven bless you, Alford!" faltered his aunt, with tearful eyes.

"Heaven! what a mockery! Even the lichen, the insect, lives a complete
life, while we, with all our reason, so often blunder, fail, and miss
that which is essential to existence."

Mrs. Mayburn shook her head slowly and thoughtfully, and then said:
"This very fact should teach us that our philosophy of life is false.
We are both materialists--I from the habit of living for this world
only; you, I suppose, from mistaken reasoning; but in hours like these
the mist is swept aside, and I feel, I know, that this life cannot,
must not, be all in all."

"Oh, hush!" cried Graham, desperately. "To cease to exist and
therefore to suffer, may become the best one can hope for. Were it not
cowardly, I would soon end it all."

"You may well use the word 'cowardly,'" said his aunt in strong
emphasis; "and brave Grace St. John would revolt at and despise such
cowardice by every law of her nature."

"Do not fear. I hope never to do anything to forfeit her respect,
except it is for the sake of her own happiness, as when to-day I tried
to make her think my veins were filled with ice-water instead of
blood. Come, I have kept you far too long. Let us go through the
formality of supper; and then I will prove to you that if I have been
weak here I can be strong for her sake. I do not remember my mother;
but nature is strong, and I suppose there comes a time in every one's
life when he must speak to some one as he would to a mother. You have
been very kind, dear aunt, and I shall never forget that you have
wished and schemed for my happiness."

The old lady came and put her arm around the young man's neck and
looked into his face with a strange wistfulness as she said, slowly:
"There is no blood relationship between us, Alford, but we are nearer
akin than such ties could make us. You do not remember your mother; I
never had a child. But, as you say, nature is strong; and although I
have tried to satisfy myself with a hundred things, the mother in my
heart has never been content. I hoped, I prayed, that you and Grace
might become my children. Alford, I have been learning of late that I
am a lonely, unhappy old woman. Will you not be my boy? I would rather
share your sorrow than be alone in the world again."

Graham was deeply touched. He bowed his head upon her shoulder as if
he were her son, and a few hot tears fell from his eyes. "Yes, aunt,"
he said, in a low tone, "you have won the right to ask anything that I
can give. Fate, in denying us both what our hearts most craved, has
indeed made us near akin; and there can be an unspoken sympathy
between us that may have a sustaining power that we cannot now know.
You have already taken the bitterness, the despair out of my sorrow;
and should I go to the ends of the earth I shall be the better for
having you to think of and care for."

"And you feel that you cannot remain here, Alford?"

"No, aunt, that is now impossible; that is, for the present."

"Yes, I suppose it is," she admitted, sadly.

"Come, aunty dear, I promised Miss St. John that we would go over as
usual to-night, and I would not for the world break my word."

"Then we shall go at once. We shall have a nice little supper on our
return. Neither of us is in the mood for it now."

After a hasty toilet Graham joined his aunt. She looked at him, and
had no fears.

CHAPTER XI

THE ORDEAL

Grace met them at the door. "It is very kind of you," she said, "to
come over this evening after a fatiguing journey."

"Very," he replied, laughingly; "a ride of fifty miles in the cars
should entitle one to a week's rest."

"I hope you are going to take it."

"Oh, no; my business man in New York has at last aroused me to heroic
action. With only the respite of a few hours' sleep I shall venture
upon the cars again and plunge into all the perils and excitements of
a real estate speculation. My property is going up, and 'there's a
tide,' you know, 'which, taken at its flood--'"

"Leads away from your friends. I see that it is useless for us to
protest, for when did a man ever give up a chance for speculation?"

"Then it is not the fault of man: we merely obey a general law."

"That is the way with you scientists," she said with a piquant nod and
smile. "You do just as you please, but you are always obeying some
profound law that we poor mortals know nothing about. We don't fall
back upon the arrangements of the universe for our motives, do we,
Mrs. Mayburn?"

"Indeed we don't," was the brusque response. "'When she will, she
will, and when she won't, she won't,' answers for us."

"Grace! Mrs. Mayburn!" called the major from the parlor; "if you don't
come soon I'll order out the guard and have you brought in. Mr.
Graham," he continued, as the young man hastened to greet him, "you
are as welcome as a leave of absence. We have had no whist since you
left us, and we are nearly an hour behind time to-night. Mrs. Mayburn,
your humble servant. Excuse me for not rising. Why the deuce my gout
should trouble me again just now I can't see. I've not seen you since
that juvenile picnic which seemed to break up all our regular habits.
I never thought that you would desert me. I suppose Mr. Graham carries
a roving commission and can't be disciplined. I propose, however, that
we set to at once and put the hour we've lost at the other end of the
evening."

It was evident that the major was in high spirits, in spite of his
catalogue of ills; and in fact his daughter's engagement had been
extremely satisfactory to him. Conscious of increasing age and
infirmity, he was delighted that Grace had chosen one so abundantly
able to take care of her and of him also. For the last few days he had
been in an amiable mood, for he felt that fortune had dealt kindly by
him. His love for his only child was the supreme affection of his
heart, and she by her choice had fulfilled his best hopes. Her future
was provided for and safe. Then from the force of long habit he
thought next of himself. If his tastes were not luxurious, he had at
least a strong liking for certain luxuries, and to these he would
gladly add a few more did his means permit. He was a connoisseur in
wines and the pleasures of the table--not that he had any tendencies
toward excess, but he delighted to sip the great wines of the world,
to expatiate on their age, character, and origin. Sometimes he would
laughingly say, "Never dilate on the treasures bequeathed to us by the
old poets, sages, and artists, but for inspiration and consolation
give me a bottle of old, old wine--wine made from grapes that ripened
before I was born."

He was too upright a man, however, to gratify these tastes beyond his
means; but Grace was an indulgent and skilful housekeeper, and made
their slender income minister to her father's pleasure in a way that
surprised even her practical friend, Mrs. Mayburn. In explanation she
would laughingly say, "I regard housekeeping as a fine art. The more
limited your materials the greater the genius required for producing
certain results. Now, I'm a genius, Mrs. Mayburn. You wouldn't dream
it, would you? Papa sometimes has a faint consciousness of the fact
when he finds on his table wines and dishes of which he knows the
usual cost. 'My dear,' he will say severely, 'is this paid for?'
'Yes,' I reply, meekly. 'How did you manage it?' Then I stand upon my
dignity, and reply with offended majesty, 'Papa, I am housekeeper. You
are too good a soldier to question the acts of your superior officer.'
Then he makes me a most profound bow and apology, and rewards me amply
by his almost childlike enjoyment of what after all has only cost me a
little undetected economy and skill in cookery."

But the major was not so blind as he appeared to be. He knew more of
her "undetected" economies, which usually came out of her allowance,
than she supposed, and his conscience often reproached him for
permitting them; but since they appeared to give her as much pleasure
as they afforded him, he had let them pass. It is hard for a petted
and weary invalid to grow in self-denial. While the old gentleman
would have starved rather than angle for Hilland or plead his cause by
a word--he had given his consent to the young man's addresses with the
mien of a major-general--he nevertheless foresaw that wealth as the
ally of his daughter's affection would make him one of the most
discriminating and fastidious gourmands in the land.

In spite of his age and infirmity the old soldier was exceedingly fond
of travel and of hotel life. He missed the varied associations of the
army. Pain he had to endure much of the time, and from it there was no
escape. Change of place, scene, and companionship diverted his mind,
and he partially forgot his sufferings. As we have shown, he was a
devourer of newspapers, but he enjoyed the world's gossip far more
when he could talk it over with others, and maintain on the questions
of the day half a dozen good-natured controversies. When at the
seashore the previous summer he had fought scores of battles for his
favorite measures with other ancient devotees of the newspaper. Grace
had made Graham laugh many a time by her inimitable descriptions of
the quaint tilts and chaffings of these graybeards, as each urged the
views of his favorite journals; and then she would say, "You ought to
see them sit down to whist. Such prolonged and solemn sittings upset
my gravity more than all their _bric-a-brac_ jokes." And then she
had sighed and said, "I wish we could have remained longer, for papa
improved so much and was so happy."

The time was coming when he could stay longer--as long as he pleased--
for whatever pleased her father would please Grace, and would have to
please her husband. Her mother when dying had committed the old man to
her care, and a sacred obligation had been impressed upon her childish
mind which every year had strengthened.

As we have seen, Grace had given her heart to Hilland by a compulsion
which she scarcely understood herself. No thrifty calculations had had
the slightest influence in bringing the mysterious change of feeling
that had been a daily surprise to the young girl. She had turned to
Hilland as the flower turns to the sun, with scarcely more than the
difference that she was conscious that she was turning. When at last
she ceased to wonder at the truth that her life had become blended
with that of another--for, as her love developed, this union seemed
the most natural and inevitable thing in the world--she began to think
of Hilland more than of herself, and of the changes which her new
relations would involve. It became one of the purest sources of her
happiness that she would eventually have the means of gratifying every
taste and whim of her father, and could surround him with all the
comforts which his age and infirmities permitted him to enjoy.

Thus the engagement ring on Miss St. John's finger had its heights and
depths of meaning to both father and daughter; and its bright golden
hue pervaded all the prospects and possibilities--the least as well as
the greatest--of the future. It was but a plain, heavy circlet of
gold, and looked like a wedding-ring. Such to Graham it seemed to be,
as its sheen flashed upon his eyes during their play, which continued
for two hours or more, with scarcely a remark or an interruption
beyond the requirements of the game. The old major loved this complete
and scientific absorption, and Grace loved to humor him. Moreover, she
smiled more than once at Graham's intentness. Never had he played so
well, and her father had to put forth all his veteran skill and
experience to hold his own. "To think that I shed tears over his
disappointment, when a game of whist can console him!" she thought.
"How different he is from his friend! I suppose that is the reason
that they are such friends--they are so unlike. The idea of Warren
playing with that quiet, steady hand and composed face under like
circumstances! And yet, why is he so pale?"

Mrs. Mayburn understood this pallor too well, and she felt that the
ordeal had lasted long enough. She, too, had acted her part admirably,
but now she pleaded fatigue, saying that she had not been very well
for the last day or two. She was inscrutable to Grace, and caused no
misgivings. It is easier for a woman than for a man to hide emotions
from a woman, and Mrs. Mayburn's gray eyes and strong features rarely
revealed anything that she meant to conceal. The major acquiesced
good-naturedly, saying, "You are quite right to stop, Mrs. Mayburn,
and I surely have no cause to complain. We have had more play in two
hours than most people have in two weeks. I congratulate you, Mr.
Graham; you are becoming a foeman worthy of any man's steel."

Graham rose with the relief which a man would feel on leaving the
rack, and said, smilingly, "Your enthusiasm is contagious. Any man
would soon be on his mettle who played often with you."

"Is enthusiasm one of your traits?" Grace asked, with an arch smile
over her shoulder, as she went to ring the bell.

"What! Have you not remarked it?"

"Grace has been too preoccupied to remark anything--sly puss!" said
the major, laughing heartily. "My dear Mrs. Mayburn, I shall ask for
your congratulations tonight. I know we shall have yours, Mr. Graham,
for Grace has informed me that Hilland is your best and nearest
friend. This little girl of mine has been playing blind-man's-buff
with her old father. She thought she had the handkerchief tight over
my eyes, but I always keep One corner raised a little. Well, Mr.
Graham, this dashing friend of yours, who thinks he can carry all the
world by storm, asked me last summer if he could lay siege to Grace. I
felt like wringing his neck for his audacity and selfishness. The idea
of any one taking Grace from me!"

"And no one shall, papa," said Grace, hiding her blushing face behind
his white shock of hair. "But I scarcely think these details will
interest--"

"What!" cried the bluff, frank old soldier--"not interest Mrs.
Mayburn, the best and kindest of neighbors? not interest Hilland's
alter ego?"

"I assure you," said Graham, laughing, "that I am deeply interested;
and I promise you, Miss Grace, that I shall give Hilland a severer
curtain lecture than he will ever receive from you, because he has
left me in the dark so long."

"Stop pinching my arm," cried the major, who was in one of his jovial
moods, and often immensely enjoyed teasing his daughter. "You may well
hide behind me. Mrs. Mayburn, I'm going to expose a rank case of
filial deception that was not in the least successful. This 'I came, I
saw, I conquered' friend of yours, Mr. Graham, soon discovered that he
was dealing with a race that was not in the habit of surrendering. But
your friend, like Wellington, never knew when he was beaten. He
wouldn't retreat an inch, but drawing his lines as close as he dared,
sat down to a regular siege."

Graham again laughed outright, and with a comical glance at the young
girl, asked, "Are you sure, sir, that Miss St. John was aware of these
siege operations?"

"Indeed she was. Your friend raised his flag at once, and nailed it to
the staff. And this little minx thought that she could deceive an old
soldier like myself by playing the role of disinterested friend to a
lonely young man condemned to the miseries of a mining town. I was
often tempted to ask her why she did not extend her sympathy to scores
of young fellows in the service who are in danger of being scalped
every day. But the joke of it was that I knew she was undermined and
must surrender long before Hilland did."

"Now, papa, it's too bad of you to expose me in this style. I appeal
to Mrs. Mayburn if I did not keep my flag flying so defiantly to the
last that even she did not suspect me."

"Yes," said the old lady, dryly; "I can testify to that."

"Which is only another proof of my penetration," chuckled the major.
"Well, well, it is so seldom I can get ahead of Grace in anything that
I like to make the most of my rare good fortune; and it seems, Mr.
Graham, as if you and your aunt had already become a part of our
present and prospective home circle. I have seen a letter in which
Warren speaks of you in a way that reminds me of a friend who was shot
almost at my side in a fight with the Indians. That was nearly half a
century ago, and yet no one has taken his place. With men, friendships
mean something, and last."

"Come, come," cried Mrs. Mayburn, bristling up, "neither Grace nor I
will permit such an implied slur upon our sex."

"My friendship for Hilland will last," said Graham, with quiet
emphasis. "Most young men are drawn together by a mutual liking--by
something congenial in their natures. I owe him a debt of gratitude
that can never be repaid, He found me a lonely, neglected boy, who had
scarcely ever known kindness, much less affection, and his ardent,
generous nature became an antidote to my gloomy tendencies. From the
first he has been a constant and faithful friend. He has not one
unworthy trait. But there is nothing negative about him, for he
abounds in the best and most manly qualities; and I think," he
concluded, speaking slowly and deliberately, as if he were making an
inward vow, "that I shall prove worthy of his trust and regard."

Grace looked at him earnestly and gratefully, and the thought again
asserted itself that she had not yet gauged his character or his
feeling toward herself. To her surprise she also noted that Mrs.
Mayburn's eyes were filled with tears, but the old lady was equal to
the occasion, and misled her by saying, "I feel condemned, Alford,
that you should have been so lonely and neglected in early life, but I
know it was so."

"Oh, well, aunt, you know I was not an interesting boy, and had I been
imposed upon you in my hobbledehoy period, our present relations might
never have existed. I must ask your congratulations also," he
continued, turning toward the major and his daughter. "My aunt and I
have in a sense adopted each other. I came hither to pay her a formal
call, and have made another very dear friend."

"Have you made only one friend since you became our neighbor?" asked
Grace, with an accent of reproach in her voice.

"I would very gladly claim you and your father as such," he replied,
smilingly.

The old major arose with an alacrity quite surprising in view of his
lameness, and pouring out two glasses of the wine that Jinny had
brought in answer to Grace's touch of the bell, he gave one of the
glasses to Graham, and with the other in his left hand, he said, "And
here I pledge you the word of a soldier that I acknowledge the claim
in full, not only for Hilland's sake, but your own. You have
generously sought to beguile the tedium of a crotchety and irritable
old man; but such as he is he gives you his hand as a true, stanch
friend; and Grace knows this means a great deal with me."

"Yes, indeed," she cried. "I declare, papa, you almost make me
jealous. You treated Warren as if you were the Great Mogul, and he but
a presuming subject. Mr. Graham, if so many new friends are not an
embarrassment of riches, will you give me a little niche among them?"
"I cannot give you that which is yours already," he replied; "nor have
I a little niche for you. You have become identified with Hilland, you
know, and therefore require a large space."

"Now, see here, my good friends, you are making too free with my own
peculiar property. You are already rich in each other, not counting
Mr. Hilland, who, according to Alford, seems to embody all human
excellence. I have only this philosophical nephew, and even with him
shall find a rival in every book he can lay hands upon. I shall
therefore carry him off at once, especially as he is to be absent
several days."

The major protested against his absence, and was cordiality itself in
his parting words.

Grace followed them out on the moonlit piazza. "Mr. Graham," she said,
hesitatingly, "you will not be absent very long, I trust."

"Oh, no," he replied, lightly; "only two or three weeks. In addition
to my affairs in the city, I have some business in Vermont, and while
there shall follow down some well-remembered trout-streams."

She turned slightly away, and buried her face in a spray of roses from
the bush that festooned the porch. He saw that a tinge of color was in
her cheeks, as she said in a low tone, "You should not be absent long;
I think your friend will soon visit us, and you should be here to
welcome him," and she glanced hastily toward him. Was it the moonlight
that made him look so very pale? His eyes held hers. Mrs. Mayburn had
walked slowly on, and seemingly he had forgotten her. The young girl's
eyes soon fell before his fixed gaze, and her face grew troubled. He
started, and said lightly, "I beg your pardon, Miss Grace, but you
have no idea what a picture you make with the aid of those roses. The
human face in clear moonlight reveals character, it is said, and I
again congratulate my friend without a shadow of doubt. Unversed as I
am in such matters, I am quite satisfied that Hilland will need no
other welcome than yours, and that he will be wholly content with it
for some time to come. Moreover, when I find myself among the trout,
there's no telling when I shall get out of the woods."

"Is fishing, then, one of your ruling passions?" the young girl asked,
with an attempt to resume her old piquant style of talk with him.

"Yes," he replied, laughing, so that his aunt might hear him; "but
when one's passions are of so mild a type one may be excused for
having a half-dozen. Good-by!"

She stepped forward and held out her hand. "You have promised to be my
friend," she said, gently.

His hand trembled in her grasp as he said quietly and firmly, "I will
keep my promise."

She looked after him wistfully, as she thought, "I'm not sure about
him. I hope it's only a passing disappointment, for we should not like
to think that our happiness had brought him wretchedness."

CHAPTER XII

FLIGHT TO NATURE

Graham found his aunt waiting for him on the rustic seat beneath the
apple-tree. Here, a few hours before, his heart elate with hope, he
had hastened forward to meet Grace St. John. Ages seemed to have
passed since that moment of bitter disappointment, teaching him how
relative a thing is time.

The old lady joined him without a word, and they passed on silently to
the house. As they entered, she said, trying to infuse into the
commonplace words something of her sympathy and affection, "Now we
will have a cosey little supper."

Graham placed his hand upon her arm, and detained her, as he replied,
"No, aunt; please get nothing for me. I must hide myself for a few
hours from even your kind eyes. Do not think me weak or unmanly. I
shall soon get the reins well in hand, and shall then be quiet
enough."

"I think your self-control has been admirable this evening."

"It was the self-control of sheer, desperate force, and only partial
at that. I know I must have been almost ghostly in my pallor. I have
felt pale--as if I were bleeding to death. I did not mean to take her
hand in parting, for I could not trust myself; but she held it out so
kindly that I had to give mine, which, in spite of my whole will
power, trembled. I troubled and perplexed her. I have infused an
element of sorrow and bitterness into her happy love; for in the
degree in which it gives her joy she will fear that it brings the
heartache to me, and she is too good and kind not to care. I must go
away and not return until my face is bronzed and my nerves are steel.
Oh, aunt! you cannot understand me; I scarcely understand myself. It
seems as if all the love that I might have given to many in the past,
had my life been like that of others, had been accumulating for this
hopeless, useless waste--this worse than waste, since it only wounds
and pains its object."

"And do I count for so little, Alford?"

"You count for more now than all others save one; and if you knew how
contrary this utter unreserve is to my nature and habit, you would
understand how perfect is my confidence in you and how deep is my
affection. But I am learning with a sort of dull, dreary astonishment
that there are heights and depths of experience of which I once had
not the faintest conception. This is a kind of battle that one must
fight out alone. I must go away and accustom myself to a new condition
of life. But do not worry about me. I shall come back a vertebrate;"
and he tried to summon a reassuring smile, as he kissed her in
parting.

That night Graham faced his trouble, and decided upon his future
course.

After an early breakfast the next morning, the young man bade his aunt
good-by. With moist eyes, she said, "Alford, I am losing you, just as
I find how much you are and can be to me."

"No, aunty dear; my course will prove best for us both," he replied,
gently. "You would not be happy if you saw me growing more sad and
despairing every day through inaction, and--and--well, I could never
become strong and calm with that cottage there just beyond the trees.
You have not lost me, for I shall try to prove a good correspondent."

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