Hearts Afire (8 page)

“Also, I need thee. All the time they will make me to feel how wicked I have
been!”

At this moment the family returned from the morning service, and Guy
Barrington rather defiantly drew Charlotte to his side. No one spoke to
Charlotte; even her mother was annoyed and humiliated at the social ordeal
through which they had just passed, and she thought it only reasonable that the
erring girl should be made to share the trial.
Joris
,
however, had much curiosity; and his first thought on seeing Guy Barrington at
his home was, “Sir Edward is of course dead, and in the tone of one personally
injured by such a fatality, he ejaculated,—

“So it is the end, then. On the Sabbath day Sir Edward has gone. If it
should be the Sabbath day in the other world,—which is likely,—it will be the
worse for Sir Edward.”

“What mean you?”

“Is not Sir Edward?”

“No. I think, also, that he will live.”

“I am glad. It is good for Charlotte.”

“I see it not.”

“Well, then, if he dies, is it not Charlotte's fault?”

“Goodness! No! Charlotte is not to blame.”

“All respectable and moral people will say so.”

“Better for them not to say so. If I hear of it, then I will make them say
it to my face.”

But, though Guy Barrington bravely championed
Charlotte he could not protect her from those wicked innuendoes disseminated
for the gratification of the virtuous; nor from those malicious regrets of very
good people over rumors which they declare to “be incredible,” and yet which,
nevertheless, they “unfortunately believe to be too true.” The New Yorkers have
a precept which says, “Never speak ill of the dead.” Would it not be much
better to speak no ill of the living? Little could it have mattered to Madam
Bogardus
or Madam Stuyvesant what a lot of silly people
said of them in Gates Street or Lewis street, a century after their death; but
poor Charlotte Morgan shivered and sickened in the presence of averted eyes and
uplifted shoulders, and in that chill atmosphere of disapproval which separated
her from the sympathy and confidence of her old friends and acquaintances.

“It is thy punishment,” said her mother, “bear it bravely and patiently. In
a little while, it will be forgot.” But the weeks went on, and the wounded men
slowly fought death away from their pillows, and Charlotte did not recover the
place in social estimation which she had lost through the ungovernable tempers
of her lovers. For, alas, there are few social pleasures that have so much
vital power as that of exploring the faults of others, and comparing them with
our own virtues!

But nothing ill lasts forever; and in three months
Sir Edward was in the law office again, wan and worn with fever and suffering,
and wearing his sword arm in a sling, but still decidedly world-like and
life-like. It was characteristic of Sir Edward that few, even of his intimates,
cared to talk of the duel to him, to make any observations on his absence, or
any inquiries about his health. But it was evident that public opinion was in a
large measure with him. Elder Van
Heemskirk
remarked
opinion with a little astonishment and dissent. He could not find in his heart
any excuse for either Sir Edward or
Harleigh
; and,
when the elder enlarged with some acerbity upon the requirements of honor among
men,
Joris
offended him by replying,—

“Well, then,
Elder
, little I think of that “honor”
which runs not with the laws of God and country.”

“Let me tell you,
Joris
, the voice of the people
is the voice of truth, in a measure; and you may see with your own eyes that it
more than acquits Sir Edward of wrong-doing.
Joris
! Would
you punish a fair sword-fight with the hangman?”

“A better way there is. In the stocks I would stand these men of honor, who
of their own feelings think more than of the law of God. A very quick end that
punishment would put to a custom wicked and absurd.”

“Well,
Joris
, we'll have no quarrel anent the
question. You are a pillar, and have practical ideas of things in general.
Honor is a virtue that cannot be put in the Decalogue, like idolatry and murder
and theft.”

“If right was Sir Edward, if wrong was
Harleigh
, honor punished both. A very foolish law is honor,
I think.”

“Here comes Sir Edward, and we'll let the talk fall to the ground. There are
wiser men than either you or I on both sides.”

Joris
nodded gravely, and turned to welcome the
young man. More than ever he liked the idea of the prearranged marriage; for,
apart from moral and prudential reasons. It was indeed the best thing to fully
restore her to the social esteem of her own people; for by making her his wife,
Sir Edward would most emphatically exonerate her from all blame in the quarrel.
Just this far, and no farther, had Sir Edward's three months' suffering aided
his suit,— Sir Edward had now the full approval of
Joris
,
backed by the weight of this social justification.

But, in spite of these advantages, he was really much farther away from
Charlotte. The three months had been full of mental suffering to her, and she
blamed Sir Edward entirely for it. She had heard from Guy Barrington the story
of the challenge and the fight; heard how patiently
Harleigh
had parried Sir Edward's attack rather than return it, until Sir Edward had so
passionately refused any satisfaction less than his life; heard, also, how even
at the point of death, fainting and falling,
Harleigh
had tried to protect her ribbon at his breast. She never wearied of talking
with Guy Barrington on the subject; she thought of it all day, dreamed of it
all night.

But for some weeks after the duel she could not bear to leave the house. It
was only after both men were known to be recovering, that she ventured to kirk;
and her experience there was not one which tempted her to try the streets and
the stores. However, no interest is a living interest in a community but
politics; and these probably retain their power because change is their
element. People eventually got weary to death of Sir Edward and
Harleigh
and Charlotte Morgan. The subject had been
discussed in every possible light; and, when it was known that neither of the
men was going to die, gossipers felt as if they had been somewhat defrauded,
and the topic lost every touch of speculation.

It was during this time of the hushed gossip that Charlotte said one
morning, at breakfast, “mother wait one minute for me. I am going to do an
errand or two in town.

“It is a bad time, Charlotte, you have chosen,” said
Lysbet
Morgan. “Full of wagging tongues are the streets
filled, whom it would be a great pleasure for them to see you. The gossipers I
hate,—bullying curs, every one of them!”

“Well, I know that you hate the gossipers, mother. You say so every hour.”

“That is so, Charlotte.”

Lysbet
Morgan looked annoyed.
Joris
rose, and said, “Come then, Charlotte, thou shalt go with me.”

His voice was so tender that Charlotte felt an unusual happiness and
exultation; and she was also young enough to be glad to see the familiar
streets again, and to feel the pulse of their vivid life make her heart beat
quicker.

At Universal Store, Father left her. She had felt so free and unremarked,
that she said, “Wait not for me, Father. By myself I will go home.

So, after selecting the goods her mother needed at the Universal Store,
Charlotte was going up Pearl Street, when she heard herself called in a
familiar and urgent voice. At the same moment a door was flung open; and
Mistress Gordon, running down the few steps, put her hand upon the girl's
shoulder.

“Oh, my dear, this is a piece of good fortune past
belief! Come into my lodgings. Oh, indeed you shall! I will have no excuse.
Surely you owe me some reward after the pangs we have suffered for you.”

She was leading Charlotte into the house as she spoke; and Charlotte had not
the will, and therefore not the power, to oppose her. She placed the girl by
her side on the sofa; she took her hands, and, with a genuine grief and love,
told her all that “
Harleigh
Daly” had suffered and
was still suffering for her sake.

“It was the most unprovoked challenge, my dear; and Sir Edward behaved like
a savage, I assure you. When
Harleigh
was bleeding
from half a dozen wounds, a gentleman would have been satisfied, and accepted
the mediation of the seconds; but Sir Edward, in his blind passion, broke the
code to pieces. A man who can do nothing but be in a rage is a ridiculous and
offensive animal. Have you seen him since his recovery? For I hear that he has
crawled out of his bed again.”

“Him I have not seen.”

“Gracious powers, Charlotte! That all I can say.”

Then Charlotte covered her face, and sobbed with a hopelessness and abandon
that equally fretted Mistress Gordon. Now, what are you crying for, child?”

“If I could only see
Harleigh
,—only see him for
one moment!”

“That is exactly what I am going to propose. He will get better when he has
seen you. I will call a coach, and we will go at once.”

“Alas! Go I dare not. My father and my mother!”

“And
Harleigh
,—what of
Harleigh
,
poor
Harleigh
, who is dying for you?” Mistress Gordon
went to the door, and gave the order for a coach. “Your lover, Charlotte.
Child, have you no heart? Shall I tell
Harleigh
you
would not come with me?”

“Be not so cruel to me. Say not you have seen me at all, why need you say?”

“Oh! Indeed, Charlotte, do not imagine yourself the only person who values
the truth.
Harleigh
always asks me, “Have you seen
her?” Tis my honor to be truthful, and I am always swayed by my inclination. I
shall feel it to be my duty to inform him how indifferent you are. Charlotte,
put on your bonnet again. Here also are my veil and cloak. No one will perceive
that it is you. It is the part of humanity, I assure you. Do so much for a poor
soul who is at the grave's mouth.”

“My father, I promised him”—

“O child! Have a penny worth of common feeling about you. The man is dying
for your sake. If he were your enemy, instead of your true lover, you might
pity him so much. Do you not wish to see
Harleigh
?”

“My life for his life I would give.”

“Words, words, my dear. It is not your life he wants.
He asks only ten minutes of your time. And if you desire to see him, give
yourself the pleasure. There is nothing
more silly
than to be too wise to be happy.”

While thus alternately urging and persuading Charlotte, the coach came, the
disguise was assumed, and the two drove rapidly to the “King's Arms.”
Harleigh
was lying upon a couch which had been drawn close
to the window. But in order to secure as much quiet as possible, he had been
placed in one of the rooms at the rear of the tavern,—a large, airy room,
looking into the beautiful garden which stretched away backward. He had been in
extremity. He was yet too weak to stand, too weak to endure long the strain of
company or books or papers.

He heard Mistress Gordon's voice and footfall, and felt, as he always did, a
vague pleasure in her coming. Whatever of life came into his chamber of
suffering came through her. She brought him daily such intelligences as she
thought conducive to his recovery; and it must be acknowledged that it was not
always her “humor to be truthful.” For
Harleigh
had
so craved news of Charlotte, that she believed he would die wanting it.

Her reports had been ingenious and diversified. “She had seen Charlotte at
one of the windows,—the very picture of distraction.” “She had been told that
Charlotte was breaking her heart about him;” also, “that Sir Edward and elder
Van
Heemskirk
had quarreled because Charlotte had
refused to see him, and the elder blamed
Joris
Morgan
for not compelling her obedience.” Whenever
Harleigh
had been unusually depressed or unusually nervous, Mistress Gordon had always
had some such comforting fiction ready. Now, here was the real Charlotte. Her
very presence, her smiles, her tears, her words, would be a consolation so far
beyond all hope, that the girl by her side seemed a kind of miracle to her.

She was far more than a miracle to
Harleigh
. As
the door opened, he slowly turned his head. When he saw
who
was really
there, he uttered a low cry of joy,—a cry pitiful in its shrill weakness. In a
moment Charlotte was close to his side. This was no time for coyness, and she
was too tender and true a woman to feel or to affect it. She kissed his hands
and face, and whispered on his lips the sweetest words of love and fidelity.
Harleigh
was in a rapture. His joyful soul made his pale
face luminous. He lay still, speechless, motionless, watching and listening to
her.

Mistress Gordon had removed Charlotte's veil and cloak, and considerately
withdrawn to a mirror at the extremity of the room, where she appeared to be
altogether occupied with her own ringlets. But, indeed, it was with Charlotte
and
Harleigh
one of those supreme hours when love
conquers every other feeling. Before the whole world they would have avowed
their affection, their pity, and their truth.

Harleigh
could speak little, but there was no need
of speech. Had he not nearly died for her? Was not his very helplessness a plea
beyond the power of words? She had only to look at the white shadow of humanity
holding her hand, and remember the gay, gallant, handsome young man who had
wooed her under the blue skies to feel that all the love of her life was too
little to repay his devotion. And so quickly, so quickly, went the happy
moments! Ere Charlotte had half said, “I love thee,” Mistress Gordon reminded
her that it was near the noon; “and I have an excellent plan,” she continued;
“you can leave my veil and cloak in the coach, and I will leave you at the
first convenient place near your home. At the turn of the road, one sees nobody
but your excellent father, or perhaps Elder Van
Heemskirk
,
all of whom we may avoid, if you will but consider the time.”