CHAPTER VI.
A HAPPY EXCURSION.
Pansy was so startled by the threat of her desperate lover that she sank back into her seat without a word, her slight form trembling with terror. She certainly did not want him to drown himself, although he had treated her so cruelly.
So she consented to listen to him. There could be no great harm in that, for it would not alter her opinion of him at all. He had been false to Juliette Ives and false to her. She was quite sure that she despised him, although her heart was beating furiously as she looked up into the pale, impassioned face, with its eager, burning dark eyes, that seemed fairly to devour her white, startled young face.
Now that he had his chance, he improved it in eloquent fashion. He explained everything clearly, making her understand that he was not the villain they made him out, and that if he were to blame in any way it was for breaking loose from the bonds that held him to a girl whose selfishness and cruelty had changed his love to hate.
“If I ever really loved her, which seems doubtful to me now,” he said. “It was last winter that we became engaged, and, although I admired her fair face and enjoyed her society, I swear to you, Pansy, that the thought of marrying her never crossed my mind until one night in the conservatory, when I was, somehow, drawn into asking her to marry me. I hardly know how it was, unless it was the romance of the moment. You remember the lines:
“Azure eyes, golden hair, scented robes—
“They had crazed my hot, foolish brain then.
“Ah, the silliest woman can make
A fool of the wisest of men!”
“But they say that you are fickle,” murmured Pansy, speaking for the first time.
“It is not true, my little darling. I never really fell in love until your sweet face dawned on my vision. Then I began to realize that my engagement to Juliette was a terrible mistake, and that I would be wrong to continue it. But I kept waiting from day to day, hoping she would see how things were and throw me over herself, as she did at last, but only after I had bungled matters by telling you too soon of my love.”
Where was Pansy’s bitter resentment now? It was melting like snow in the sunshine under his eager words. Everything looked so different now in the light of his manly, straightforward explanations.
Her sad heart bounded with renewed hope, and a leaden weight seemed to be lifted from her spirits.
“Now, Pansy, you see that I was not to blame,” said her lover eagerly. “You will forgive me, will you not, and promise what I was going to ask you that day—that you will be my own little wife?”
She blushed brightly, and could not utter a word. He took her little hand tenderly in his, and whispered:
“‘Silence gives consent.’”
Presently she lifted her little head from his breast, where he had drawn it in reckless defiance of the whole world, if it had been looking on. But, fortunately, no one saw or heeded the pair of happy lovers.
“But how can I be your wife?” she whispered, in a troubled tone. “Mrs. Ives told Aunt Robbins that your family was very rich and grand—that they would never permit you to marry me.”
“Never mind, I will bring them around,” he replied, with pretended carelessness.
He would not tell her that he had spoken to his parents about her, and that both had sternly forbidden him to think of marrying one so far beneath him in position, birth, and fortune.
“Remember that you are descended from one of the first families of Virginia,” exclaimed his haughty mother.
“I shall only regret that fact if it is to separate me from the girl I love,” he replied angrily, and then his father threatened him with disinheritance if he did not give up Pansy Laurens. He told Pansy nothing of all this, although it lay deep in his own heart, like a leaden weight, for he knew that he could not support a wife if his father threw him over. He had no fortune of his own, and, although he had been educated for the law, he had only just hung out his “shingle,” as he humorously called it. It was folly, madness, to woo Pansy Laurens in the face of such prospects, and yet he went straight on, hoping against hope that something would turn up in his favor.
“I will bring them around in time,” he repeated, and she, looking up at her splendid lover in worshipful adoration, believed him, and bright visions of happiness flitted before her mind’s eye. She could not help triumphing in her thoughts over her insolent rival, Juliette Ives.
Oh, how suddenly the face of all the world was changed to the girl who such a little while ago was so unhappy that she wished herself dead! The beautiful face grew so animated that he was charmed and delighted. He told her that she had the fairest face he had ever seen, and that he would like to be a king, that he might make her a queen.
All too soon that happy excursion came to an end, but it stood out brightly forever in Pansy’s memory. She had been so happy, so blessed; and when she parted with her lover it was to look forward to secret meetings—pleasant walks with him that would take away the dreariness and loneliness of her life. He told her that it would not be wrong, and she loved him too well to doubt his word.
Several weeks afterward Pansy’s mother was quite sick one day with a headache, and the girl had to stay home from work. Toward afternoon she grew much better, and then Pansy, who was sitting near the bed with her sewing, said timidly:
“Mamma, I am afraid that we have all been too hard on Norman Wylde. Perhaps he did love me and mean to marry me.”
“Nonsense!” the mother exclaimed curtly, and then she saw tears in Pansy’s blue eyes, much to her dismay, for she thought Pansy had got over her fancy for Norman Wylde.
“But, mamma——”
“I do not wish to hear anything about that villain,” answered the mother sharply, and, although the girl had made up her mind to confess everything to her mother, she was frightened out of it by her harshness; and the next time she saw Norman she told him that she had made the effort to tell her mother all, but had failed through dread of her anger.
They were in the Capitol Square, for it was Sunday afternoon, and Pansy had told her mother that she was going for a little walk.
Norman Wylde was waiting for her under the tree in a secluded part of the grounds, and they sat down together on a rustic bench while Pansy, half in tears, related her failure with her mother.
“I am sorry, for I have wished so much that I might be able to visit you at your own home,” said her lover. Then his face brightened, and he added:
“But never mind, darling, it does not matter so much now, for I am going away from Richmond very soon. Do not look so woebegone, my little Pansy, for I have good news for you.”
She started and looked up eagerly, wondering if his parents had relented.
But it was nothing like that.
In a moment he continued:
“Congratulate me, my dearest. I have at last found a client!”
“Oh!” cried Pansy gladly.
“Yes, and a wealthy one, too,” said the young man exultantly. “He wishes me to go to London upon some law business for him, and if my mission proves successful my reputation will be made at once, and I shall earn a princely fee, also.”
“But to go away so far—oh!” cried Pansy, in unutterable distress.
But her lover laughed.
“Pshaw! Not so very far,” he said lightly, then, pressing her little hand warmly, he whispered: “We can bear the separation, my darling, since, in reality, it only brings us nearer together, as, of course I shall be in a position to marry then.”
But Pansy had burst into tears. A dark cloud had settled over her spirits.
No one was near them, and he bent tenderly over her, trying to soothe her girlish distress.
“It is only for a few months, dearest, and we will write to each other every week. Then, when I come back, we will be happy.”
“I feel as if we were parting forever,” she sighed, but he smiled tenderly, and answered:
“No, no, Pansy—only for a little while.”
But his own heart was heavy, too. He adored his lovely little sweetheart, and vague fears assailed him lest some one should win her away from him during his enforced absence. She was so young, so untaught, what if she learned to doubt him? What if the enemies that encompassed both should turn her heart against him?
A sudden mad resolve came over him. With quickened breath, he whispered:
“Pansy, in a week I must go and leave you. What if I married you before I went, and left my own sweet wife waiting for my return?”
She started and gazed wildly at him.
“They—they—would not permit it,” she returned breathlessly.
He smiled triumphantly.
“We could run away, my pet,” he said. “For instance, suppose when you started to work to-morrow morning I should meet you? We could take the early morning train for Washington, be married, and return by the time the factory closes for the day. You could go quietly home again, and no one need know our sweet secret until I came back to claim you.”