Books: Cousin Maude
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Mary J. Holmes >> Cousin Maude
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She did not tell him that her handsome furniture was mortgaged for
board and borrowed money--neither did she say that her object in
going to Saratoga was to try her powers upon a rich old Southern
bachelor who had returned from Europe, and who she knew was to pass
the coming summer at the Springs. If she could secure him Dr.
Kennedy might console himself as best he could, and she begged so
hard to defer their marriage until the autumn that the or gave up
the contest, and with a heavy heart prepared to turn his face
homeward.
"You need not make any more repairs until I come; I'd rather see to
them myself," Miss Glendower said at parting; and wondering what
further improvements she could possibly suggest, now that the parlor
windows were all right, the doctor bade her adieu, and started for
home.
Hitherto Maude had been his confidant, keeping her trust so well
that no one at Laurel Hill knew, exactly what his intentions were,
and, as was very, natural, immediately after his return he went to
her for sympathy in his disappointment. He found her weeping
bitterly, and ere he could lay before her his own grievances she
appealed to him for sympathy and aid. The man to whom her money was
intrusted had speculated largely, loaning some of it out West, at
twenty per cent., investing some in doubtful railroad stocks, and
experimenting with the rest, until by some unlucky chance he lost
the whole, and, worse than all, had nothing of his own with which to
make amends. In short, Maude was penniless, and J.C. De Vere in
despair. She had written to him immediately, and he had come,
suggesting nothing, offering no advice, and saying nothing at first,
except that "the man was mighty mean, and he had never liked his
looks."
After a little, however, he rallied somewhat, and offered the
consolatory remark that "they were in a mighty bad fix. I'll be
honest," said he, "and confess that I depended upon that money to
set me up in business. I was going to shave notes, and in order to
do so I must have some ready, capital. It cramps me," he continued,
"for, as a married man, my expenses will necessarily be more than
they now are."
"We can defer our marriage," sobbed Maude, whose heart throbbed
painfully with every word he uttered. "We can defer our marriage a
while, and possibly a part of my fortune may be regained--or, if you
wish it, I will release you at once. You need not wed a penniless
bride," and Maude hid her face in her hands while she awaited the
answer to her suggestion. J.C. De Vere did love Maude Remington
better than anyone he had ever seen, and though he caught eagerly at
the marriage deferred, he was not then willing to give her up, and,
with one of his impetuous bursts, he exclaimed, "I will not be
released, though it may be wise to postpone our bridal day for a
time, say until Christmas next, when I hope to be established in
business," and, touched by the suffering expression of her white
face, he kissed her tears away and told her how gladly he would work
for her, painting "love in a cottage," with nothing else there,
until he really made himself believe that he could live on bread and
water with Maude, provided she gave him the lion's share!
J.C.'s great faults were selfishness, indolence, and love of money,
and Maude's loss affected him deeply; still, there was no redress,
and playfully bidding her "not to cry for the milkman's spilled
milk," he left her on the very day when Dr. Kennedy returned. Maude
knew J.C. was keenly disappointed; that he was hardly aware what he
was saying, and she wept for him rather than for the money.
Dr. Kennedy could offer no advice--no comfort. It had always been a
maxim of his not to make that man her guardian; but women would do
everything wrong, and then, as if his own trials were paramount to
hers, he bored her with the story of his troubles, to which she
simply answered, "I am sorry;" and this was all the sympathy either
gained from the other!
In the course of a few days Maude received a long letter from James
De Vere. He had heard from J.C. of his misfortune, and very tenderly
he strove to comfort her, touching at once upon the subject which he
naturally supposed lay heaviest upon her heart. The marriage need
not be postponed, he said; there was room in his house and a place
in his own and his mother's affections for their "Cousin Maude." She
could live there as well as not. Hampton was only half an hour's
ride from Rochester, and J. G., who had been admitted at the bar,
could open an office in the city until something better presented.
"Perhaps I may set him up in business myself," he wrote. "At all
events, dear Maude, you need not dim the brightness of your eyes by
tears, for all will yet be well. Next June shall see you a bride,
unless your intended husband refuse my offer, in which case I may
divine something better."
"Noble man," was Maude's exclamation, as she finished reading the
letter, and if at that moment the two cousins rose up in contrast
before her mind, who can blame her for awarding the preference to
him who had penned those lines, and who thus kindly strove to remove
from her pathway every obstacle to her happiness.
James De Vere was indeed a noble-hearted man. Generous, kind, and
self-denying, he found his chief pleasure in doing others good, and
he had written both to Maude and J.C. just as the great kindness of
his heart had prompted him to write. He did not then know that he
loved Maude Remington, for he had never fully analyzed the nature of
his feelings toward her. He knew he admired her very much, and when
he wrote the note J.C. withheld he said to himself, "If she answers
this, I shall write again--and again, and maybe"--he did not exactly
know what lay beyond the "maybe," so he added, "we shall be very
good friends."
But the note was not answered, and when his cousin's letter came,
telling him of the engagement, a sharp, quick pang shot through his
heart, eliciting from him a faint outcry, which caused his mother,
who was present, to ask what was the matter.
"Only a sudden pain," he answered, laying his hand upon his side.
"Pleurisy, perhaps," the practical mother rejoined, and supposing
she was right he placed the letter in his pocket and went out into
the open air. It had grown uncomfortably warm, he thought, while the
noise of the falling fountain in the garden made his head ache as it
had never ached before; and returning to the house he sought his
pleasant library. But not a volume in all those crowded shelves had
power to interest him then, and with a strange disquiet he wandered
from room to room, until at last, as the sun went down, he laid his
throbbing temples upon his pillow, and in his feverish dreams saw
again the dark-eyed Maude sitting on her mother's grave, her face
upturned to him, and on her lip the smile that formed her greatest
beauty.
The next morning the headache was gone, and with a steady hand he
wrote to his cousin and Maude congratulations which he believed
sincere. That J.C. was not worthy of the maiden he greatly feared,
and he resolved to have a care of the young man, and try to make him
what Maude's husband ought to be, and when he heard of her
misfortune he stepped forward with his generous offer, which J.C.
instantly refused.
"He never would take his wife to live upon his relatives, he had too
much pride for that, and the marriage must be deferred. A few months
would make no difference. Christmas was not far from June, and by
that time he could do something for himself."
Thus he wrote to James, who mused long upon the words, "A few months
will make no difference," thinking within himself, "If I were like
other men, and was about to marry Maude, a few months would make a
good deal of difference, but everyone to their mind." Four weeks
after this he went one day to Canandaigua on business, and having an
hour's leisure ere the arrival of the train which would take him
home he sauntered into the public parlor of the hotel. Near the
window, at the farther extremity of the room, a young girl was
looking out upon the passers-by. Something in her form and dress
attracted his attention, and he was approaching the spot where she
stood when the sound of his footsteps caught her ear, and turning
round she disclosed to view the features of Maude Remington.
"Maude!" he exclaimed, "this is indeed a surprise. I must even claim
a cousin's right to kiss you," and taking both her hands in his, he
kissed her blushing cheek--coyly--timidly--for James De Vere was
unused to such things, and not quite certain, whether under the
circumstances it were perfectly proper for him to do so or not.
Leading her to the sofa, he soon learned that she had come to the
village to trade, and having finished her shopping was waiting for
her stepfather, who had accompanied her.
"And what of J.C.?" he asked, after a moment's silence. "Has he been
to visit you more than once since the crisis, as he calls it?"
Maude's eyes filled with tears, for J.C.'s conduct was not wholly
satisfactory to her. She remembered his loud protestations of utter
disregard for her money, and she could not help thinking how little
his theory and practice accorded. He had not been to see her since
his flying visit in March, and though he had written several times
his letters had contained little else save complaints against their
"confounded luck." She could not tell this to James De Vere, and she
replied, "He is very busy now, I believe, in trying to make some
business arrangement with the lawyer in whose office he formerly
studied."
"I am glad he has roused himself at last," answered James; "he would
not accept my offer, for which I am sorry, as I was anticipating
much happiness in having my Cousin Maude at Hampton during the
summer. You will remain at home, I suppose."
"No," said Maude hesitatingly; "or, that is, I have serious thoughts
of teaching school, as I do not like to be dependent on Dr.
Kennedy."
James De Vere had once taught school for a few weeks by way of
experiment, and now as he recalled the heated room, the stifling
atmosphere, the constant care, and more than all, the noisy shout of
triumph which greeted his ear on that memorable morning when he
found himself fastened out, and knew his rule was at an end, he
shuddered at the thought of Maude's being exposed to similar
indignities, and used all his powers of eloquence to dissuade her
from her plan. Maude was frank, open-hearted, and impulsive, and
emboldened by James' kind, brotherly manner she gave in a most
childlike manner her reason for wishing to teach.
"If I am married next winter," she said, "my wardrobe will need
replenishing, for J.C. would surely be ashamed to take me as I am,
and I have now no means of my own for purchasing anything."
In an instant James De Vere's hand was on his purse, but ere he drew
it forth he reflected that to offer money then might possibly be out
of place, so he said, "I have no sister, no girl-cousin, no wife,
and more money than I can use, and when the right time comes nothing
can please me more than to give you your bridal outfit. May I,
Maude? And if you do not like to stay with Dr. Kennedy, come to
Hampton this summer and live with us, will you, Maude? I want you
there so much," and in the musical tones of his voice there was a
deep pathos which brought the tears in torrents from Maude's eyes;
while she declined the generous offer she could not accept.
Just then Dr. Kennedy appeared. He was ready, to go, he said, and
bidding Mr. De Vere good-by, Maude was soon on her way home, her
spirits lighter and her heart happier for that chance meeting at the
hotel. One week later Mr. De Vere wrote to her, saying that if she
still wished to teach, she could have the school at Hampton. He had
seen the trustees, had agreed upon the price, and had even selected
her a boarding-place near by. "I regret," said he, "that we live so
far from the schoolhouse as to render it impossible for you to board
with us. You might ride, I suppose, and I would cheerfully carry you
every day; but, on the whole, I think you had better stop with Mrs.
Johnson."
This letter Maude took at once to her brother, from whom she had
hitherto withheld her intention to teach, as she did not wish to
pain him unnecessarily with the dread of a separation, which might
never be. Deeply had he sympathized with her in her misfortune,
whispering to her that two--thirds of his own inheritance should be
hers. "I can coax almost anything from father," he said, "and when I
am twenty-one I'll ask him to give me my portion, and then I'll take
you to Europe. You won't be old, Maude, only twenty-seven, and I
shall be proud when the people say that beautiful woman with eyes
like stars is the crippled artist's sister!"
In all his plans he made no mention of J.C., whose conduct he
despised, and whose character he began to read aright.
"Maude will never marry him, I hope," he thought, and when she
brought to him the letter from James De Vere, the noble little
fellow conquered his own feelings, and with a hopeful heart as to
the result of that summer's teaching he bade her go. So it was all
arranged, and the next letter which went from Maude to J.C. carried
the intelligence that his betrothed was going "to turn country
school-ma'am, and teach the Hampton brats their A B C's," so at last
he said to Mrs. Kelsey and her niece, between whom and himself there
was a perfectly good understanding, and to whom he talked of his
future prospects without reserve. Mrs. Kelsey was secretly
delighted, for matters were shaping themselves much as she would
wish. Her brother evinced no particular, desire to have his daughter
at home, and she determined to keep her as long as there was the
slightest chance of winning J.C. De Vere. He was now a regular
visitor at her house, and lest he should suspect her design, she
spoke often and respectfully of Maude, whose cause she seemed to
have espoused, and when he came to her with the news of her teaching
she sympathized with him at once.
"It would be very mortifying," she said, "to marry a district
school-mistress, though there was some comfort in knowing that his
friends were as yet ignorant of the engagement."
"Let them remain so a while longer," was the hasty answer of J.C.,
who, as time passed on, became more and more unwilling that the gay
world should know of his engagement with one who was not an heiress
after all.
CHAPTER XIII.
HAMPTON.
Six happy weeks Maude had been a teacher, and though she knew J.C.
did not approve her plan, she was more than repaid for his
displeasure by the words of encouragement which James always had in
store for her. Many times had she been to the handsome home of the
De Veres, and the lady-mother, whom she at first so much dreaded to
meet, had more than once stroked her silken curls, calling her "my
child," as tenderly as if she did indeed bear that relation to her.
James De Vere was one of the trustees, and in that capacity he
visited the school so often that the wise villagers shook their
heads significantly, saying, "if he were any other man they should
think the rights of J.C. were in danger."
The young school-mistress' engagement with the fashionable Jedediah
was generally known, and thus were the public blinded to the true
state of affairs. Gradually James De Vere had learned how dear to
him was the dark-eyed girl he called his "Cousin Maude." There was
no light like that which shone in her truthful eyes--no music so
sweet as the sound of her gentle voice--no presence which brought
him so much joy as hers--no being in the world he loved so well. But
she belonged to another--the time had passed when she might have
been won. She could never be his, he said; and with his love he
waged a mighty battle--a battle which lasted days and nights,
wringing from him more than one bitter moan, as with his face bowed
in his hands he murmured sadly, the mournful words, "It might have
been."
Matters were in this condition when J.C. came one day to Hampton,
accompanied by some city friends, among whom were a few young ladies
of the Kelsey order. Maude saw them as they passed the schoolhouse
in the village omnibus; saw, too, how resolutely J.C.'s head was
turned away, as if afraid their eyes would meet.
"He wishes to show his resentment, but of course he'll visit me ere
he returns," she thought. And many times that day she cast her eyes
in the direction of Hampton Park, as the De Vere residence was often
called.
But she looked in vain, and with a feeling of disappointment she
dismissed her school, and glad to be alone, laid her head upon the
desk, falling ere long asleep, for the day was warm and she was very
tired. So quietly she slept that she did not hear the roll of wheels
nor the sound of merry voices as the party from the city rode by on
their way to the depot. Neither half an hour later did she hear the
hasty footstep which crossed the threshold of they door; but when a
hand was laid upon her shoulder and a well-known voice bade her
awake, she started up, and saw before her James De Vere. He had been
to her boarding-place, he said, and not finding her there had sought
her in the schoolhouse.
"I have two letters for you," he continued; "one from your brother,
and one from J.C."
"From J.C.!" she repeated. "Has he gone back? Why didn't he call on
me?"
"He's a villain," thought James De Vere, but he answered simply, "He
had not time, and so wrote you instead," and sitting down beside her
he regarded her with a look in which pity, admiration, and love were
all blended--the former predominating at that moment, and causing
him to lay his hand caressingly on her forehead, saying as he did
so, "Your head aches, don't it, Maude?"
Maude's heart was already full, and at this little act of sympathy
she burst into tears, while James, drawing her to his side and
resting her head upon his bosom, soothed her as he would have done
had she been his only sister. He fancied that he knew the cause of
her grief, and his heart swelled with indignation toward J.C., who
had that day shown himself unworthy of a girl like Maude. He had
come to Hampton without any definite idea as to whether he should
see her or not ere his return, but when, as the omnibus drew near
the schoolhouse and Maude was plainly visible through the open
window, one of the ladies made some slighting remark concerning
school-teachers generally, he determined not to hazard an interview,
and quieted his conscience by thinking he would come out in a few
days and make the matter right. How then was he chagrined when in
the presence of his companions his cousin said: "Shall I send for
Miss Remington? She can dismiss her school earlier than usual and
come up to tea."
"Dismiss her school!" cried one of the young ladies, while the
other, the proud Miss Thayer, whose grandfather was a pedlar and
whose great-uncle had been hanged, exclaimed, "Miss Remington! Pray
who is she? That schoolmistress we saw in passing? Really, Mr. De
Vere, you have been careful not to tell us of this new acquaintance.
Where did you pick her up?" and the diamonds on her fingers shone
brightly in the sunshine as she playfully pulled a lock of J.C.'s
hair. The disconcerted J.C. was about stammering out some reply when
James, astonished both at the apparent ignorance of his guests and
the strangeness of his cousin's manner, answered for him, "Miss
Remington is our teacher, and a splendid girl. J.C. became
acquainted with her last summer at Laurel Hill. She is a stepsister
of Miss Kennedy, whom you probably know."
"Nellie, Kennedy's stepsister. I never knew there was such a being,"
said Miss Thayer, while young Robinson, a lisping, insipid dandy,
drawled out, "A sthool-marm, J. Thee? I'th really romantic! Thend
for her, of courth. A little dithipline won't hurt any of uth."
J.C. made a faint effort to rally, but they joked him so hard that
he remained silent, while James regarded him with a look of cool
contempt sufficiently indicative of his opinion.
At last when Miss Thayer asked "if the bridal day were fixed," he
roused himself, and thinking if he told the truth he should
effectually deceive them, he answered, "Yes, next Christmas is the
time appointed. We were to have been married in June, but the lady
lost her fortune and the marriage was deferred."
"Oh, teaching to purchase her bridal trousseau. I'm dying to see
it," laughingly replied Miss Thayer, while another rejoined, "Lost
her fortune. Was she then an heiress?"
"Yes, a milkman's heiress," said J.C., with a slightly scornful
emphasis on the name which he himself had given to Maude at a time
when a milkman's money seemed as valuable to him as that of any
other man.
There was a dark, stern look on the face of James De Vere, and as
Miss Thayer, the ruling spirit of the party, had an eye on him and
his broad lands, she deemed it wise to change the conversation from
the "Milkman's Heiress" to a topic less displeasing to their
handsome host. In the course of the afternoon the cousins were alone
for a few moments, when the elder demanded of the other: "Do you
pretend to love Maude Remington, and still make light both of her
and your engagement with her?"
"I pretend to nothing which is not real," was J.C.'s haughty answer;
"but I do dislike having my matters canvassed by every silly tongue,
and have consequently kept my relation to Miss Remington a secret. I
cannot see her to-day, but with your permission I will pen a few
lines by way of explanation," and, glad to escape from the rebuking
glance he knew he so much deserved, he stepped into his cousin's
library, where he wrote the note James gave to Maude.
Under some circumstances it would have been a very unsatisfactory
message, but with her changed feelings toward the writer and James
De Vere sitting at her side, she scarcely noticed how cold it was,
and throwing it down, tore open Louis' letter which had come in the
evening mail. It was very brief, and hastily perusing its contents
Maude cast it from her with a cry of horror and disgust--then
catching it up, she moaned, "Oh, must I go!--I can't! I can't!"
"What is it?" asked Mr. De Vere, and pointing to the lines Maude
bade him read.
He did read, and as he read his own cheek blanched, and he wound his
arm closely round the maiden's waist as if to keep her there and
thus save her from danger. Dr. Kennedy had the smallpox, so Louis
wrote, and Nellie, who had been home for a few days, had fled in
fear back to the city. Hannah, too, had gone, and there was no one
left to care for the sick man save John and the almost helpless
Louis.
"Father is so sick," he wrote, "and he says, tell Maude, for
humanity's sake, to come."
If there was one disease more than another of which Maude stood in
mortal fear it was the smallpox, and her first impulse was, "I will
not go." But when she reflected that Louis, too, might take it, and
need her care, her resolution changed, and moving away from her
companion she said firmly, "I must go, for if anything befall my
brother, how can I answer to our mother for having betrayed my
trust? Dr. Kennedy, too, was her husband, and he must not be left to
die alone."
Mr. De Vere was about to expostulate, but she prevented him by
saying, "Do not urge me to stay, but rather help me to go, for I
must leave Hampton to-morrow. You will get someone to take my place,
as I, of course, shall not return, and if I have it--"
Here she paused, while the trembling of her body showed how terrible
to her was the dread of the disease.
"Maude Remington," said Mr. De Vere, struck with admiration by her
noble, self-sacrificing spirit, "I will not bid you stay, for I know
it would be useless; but if that which you so much fear comes upon
you, if the face now so fair to took upon be marred and disfigured
until not a lineament is left of the once beautiful girl, come back
to me. I will love you all the same."
As he spoke he stretched his arms involuntarily toward her, and
scarce knowing what she did, she went forward to the embrace. Very
lovingly he folded her for a moment to his bosom, then turning her
face to the fading sunlight which streamed through the dingy window,
he looked at it wistfully and long, as if he would remember every
feature. Pushing back the silken curls which clustered around her
forehead, he kissed her twice, and then releasing her said: "Forgive
me, Maude, if I have taken more than a cousin's liberty with you, I
could not help it."
Bewildered at his words and manner, Maude raised her eyes
wonderingly to his, and looking into the shining orbs, he thought
how soft, how beautiful they were, but little, little did he dream
their light would e'er be quenched in midnight darkness. A while
longer they talked together, Mr. De Vere promising to send a servant
to take her home in the morning. Then, as the sun had set and the
night shadows were deepening in the room, they bade each other good-
by, and ere the next day's sun was very high in the heavens Maude
was far on her way to Laurel Hill.
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