Marcia Schuyler (31 page)

“And Marcia, I must tell you the rest,”
he went on, his own words seeming to stay upon his lips, and then tumble over one another;
“I have learned to love you as I never loved your sister. I love you more and better than I ever could have loved her. I can see how God has led me away from her and brought me to you. I can look back to that night when I came to her and found you there waiting for me, and kissed you,—darling. Do you remember?”
He took her cold little trembling hands and held them firmly as he talked, his whole soul in his face, as if his life depended upon the next few moments.
“I was troubled at the time, dear, for having kissed you, and given you the greeting that I thought belonged to her. I have rebuked myself for thinking since how lovely you looked as you stood there in the moonlight. But afterward I knew that it was you after all that my love belonged to, and to you rightfully the kiss should have gone. I am glad it was so, glad that God overruled my foolish choosing. Lately I have been looking back to that night I met you at
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the gate, and feeling jealous that that meeting was not all ours; that it should be shadowed for us by the heartlessness of another. It gives me much joy now to think how I took you in my arms and kissed you. I cannot bear to think it was a mistake. Yet glad as I am that God sent you down to that gate to meet me, and much as I love you, I would rather have died than feel that I have brought sorrow into your life, and bound you to one whom you cannot love. Marcia, tell me truly, never mind my feelings, tell me! Can you ever love me?”

Then did Marcia lift her
flower-like
face, all bright with tears of joy and a flood of rosy smiles, the light of seven stars in her eyes. But she could not speak, she could only look, and after a little whisper,
“Oh, David, I think I have always loved you! I think I was waiting for you that night, though I did not know it. And look!”
—with sudden thought——

She drew from the folds of her dress a little old-fashioned locket hung by a chain about her neck out of sight. She opened it and showed him a soft gold curl which she touched gently with her lips, as though it were something very sacred.

“What is it, darling?”
asked David perplexed, half happy, half afraid as he took the locket and touched the curl more thrilled with the thought that she had carried it next her heart than with the sight of it.

“It is yours,”
she said, disappointed that he did not understand.
“Aunt Clarinda gave it to me while you were away. I’ve worn it ever since. And she gave me other things, and told me all about you. I know it all, about the tops and marbles, and the spelling book, and I’ve cried with you over your punishments, and—I—love it all!”

He had fastened the door before he began to talk, but he caught her in his arms now, regardless of the fact that the shades were not drawn down, and that they swayed in the summer breeze.

“Oh, my darling! My wife!”
he cried, and kissed her lips for the third time.

The world was changed then for those two. They belonged to each other they believed, as no two that ever walked through Eden had ever belonged. When they thought of the precious bond that bound them together their hearts throbbed with a happiness that well-nigh overwhelmed them.

A dinner of stewed chickens and little white soda biscuits was served them, fit for a wedding breakfast, for the barmaid whispered to the cook that she was sure there was a bride and groom in the parlor they looked so happy and seemed to forget anybody else was by. But it might have been ham and eggs for all they knew what it was they ate, these two who were so happy they could but look into each other’s eyes.

When the dinner was over and they started on their way again, with Albany shimmering in the hot sun in the distance, and David’s arm sliding from the top of the seat to circle Marcia’s waist, David whispered:

“This is our real wedding journey, dearest, and this is our bridal day. We’ll go to Albany and buy you a trousseau, and then we will go wherever you wish. I can stay a whole week if you wish. Would you like to go home for a visit?”

Marcia, with shining eyes and glowing cheeks, looked her love into his face and answered:
“Yes,
now
I would like to go home,—just for a few days—and then back to our home.”

And David looking into her eyes understood why she had not wanted to go before. She was taking her husband,
her
husband, not Kate’s, with her now, and might be proud of his love. She could go among her old comrades and be happy, for he loved her. He looked a moment, comprehended, sympathized, and then pressing her hand close—for he might not kiss her, as there was a load of hay coming their way—he said:
“Darling!”
But their eyes said more.

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Lord Ruddington falls helplessly in love with Miss Langley, whom he sees in one of her walks accompanied by her maid, Susan. Through a misapprehension of personalities his lordship addresses a love missive to the maid. Susan accepts in perfect good faith, and an epistolary love-making goes on till they are disillusioned. It naturally makes a droll and delightful little comedy; and is a story that is particularly clever in the telling.

WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE. By Jean Webster. With illustrations by C. D. Williams.

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