CHAPTER IV.

To say that Agatha Bowen slept but ill that night would be unnecessary; since there is probably no girl who did not do so after receiving a first love-letter. And this was indeed her first; for the commonplace and business-like episode of young Northen had not been beautified by any such compositions. A second harmless adventure of like kind had furnished her with a little amus.e.m.e.nt and some vexation,--but never till now had her girlish heart been approached by any wooing which she could instinctively feel was that of real love. It touched her very much; for a time absorbing all distinct resolutions or intentions in a maze of pleasant, tender pity, and wonderment not unmixed with fear.

Half the night she lay awake, planning what she should do and say in the future; writing in her head a dozen imaginary answers to Mr. Harper's letter, until she recollected that he had expressly stated it required none. Nevertheless, she thought she must write, if only to tell him that she did not love him, and that there was not the slightest use in his hoping to be anything more to her than a friend.

"A friend!" She recoiled at the word, remembering how sorely her pride and feelings had been wounded by him she once held to be the best friend she had. She never could hold him as such any more. Her impulsive anger exaggerated even to wickedness the vanity of a man who fancied every woman was in love with him. She forgot all Major Harper's good qualities, his high sense of honour, his unselfish kindheartedness, his generous, gay spirit She set him down at once as unworthy the name of friend. Then--what friend had she? Not one--not one in the world.

In this strait, strangely, temptingly sweet seemed to come the words, "_I love you; no man will ever love you better than I._"

To one whose heart is altogether free, the knowledge of being deeply loved, and by a man whose attachment would do honour to any woman, is a thought so soothing, so alluring, that from it spring half the marriages--not strictly love-marriages--which take place in the world; sometimes, though not always, ending in real happiness.

Agatha began to consider that it would seem very odd if she wrote to Mr.

Harper, in his home, among his family. Perhaps his sisters might notice her handwriting--a useless fear, since they had never seen it; and at all events it would be a pity to trouble his happiness in that pleasant visit, by conveying prematurely the news of his rejection. She would wait, and give him no answer for at least a day or two; it was such a bitter thing to inflict pain on any human being, especially on one so gentle and good as Nathanael Harper.

With this determination she went to sleep. She woke next morning, having a confused sense that something had happened, that some one had grieved and offended her; and--strange consciousness, softly dawning!--that some one loved her--deeply, dearly, as in all the days since she was born she had never been loved before. That even now some one might be thinking of her--of her alone, as his first object in the world. The sensation was new, inexplicable, but pleasant nevertheless. It made her feel--what the desolate orphan girl rarely had felt--a sort of tenderness for, and honouring of, herself. As she dressed, she once looked wistfully, even pensively, in the looking-gla.s.s.

"It is certainly a queer, brown, p.a.w.nee face! I wonder what he could see in it to admire. He is very good, very! I wish I could have cared for him!"

Her heart trembled; all the woman in her was touched. But Agatha was resolved not to be sentimental, so she fastened her morning-dress rather more tastefully than usual, and descended to breakfast.

Beside her plate lay a letter, which was pretty closely eyed by the Ianson family, as their inmate's correspondence had always been remarkably small.

"A black edge and seal. No bad news, I hope, my dear Miss Bowen?" said the doctor's wife, sympathetically.

Agatha did not fear. Alas! in the whole wide world she had not a relative to lose! And, glancing at the rather peculiar hand, she recognised it at once. She remembered likewise, to account for the black seal, that one of the Miss Harpers had died within the year. So, whether from the spice of malice in her composition she wished to disappoint the polite inquisitiveness of the Iansons, or whether from more generous reasons of her own, Miss Bowen left her letter unopened until the meal was done; when, carelessly taking it up, she adjourned to her own sitting-room.

There was not the slightest necessity for any such precaution, as the missive contained merely these lines:--

"In my letter of yesterday--which I doubt not you have received, since I posted it myself--I omitted to say that not even my brother is aware of it, or of its purport; as I rarely inform any one of my own private affairs. Though, of course, I presume not to lay the same restriction on you. G.o.d bless you!"

The "G.o.d bless you!" was added hastily in less neat writing, as if the letter had been broken open to do it. The signature was merely his initials, "N. L. H.," and the date "Kingcombe Holm," which Agatha supposed was his father's house in Dorsetshire.

Then, even there, amidst his dear home circle, he had thought of her! Agatha was more moved by that trifling circ.u.mstance, and by the self-restraint and silence that accompanied it, than she would have been by a whole quire of ordinary love-letters.

He did not write again during seven entire days, and while this pause lasted she had time to think much and deeply. She ceased to play and talk confidentially with t.i.ttens, and felt herself growing into a woman fast. Great mental changes may at times be wrought in one week, especially when it happens to be one of those not infrequent July weeks, which seem as if the sky were bent upon raining out at once the tears of the whole summer.

On the Friday evening, when Miss Bowen, heartily tired of her weather-bound imprisonment, stood at the dining-room window, looking out on a hazy, yellow glow that began to appear in the west, sparkled on the drenched trees of the square, and made little bright reflections on the rain-pools of the pavement,--there appeared a gentleman from the house round the corner, carefully picking his steps by the crossing, and finally landing at Doctor Ianson's door. It was Major Harper.

Agatha instinctively quitted the window, but on second thoughts returned thither, and when he chanced to look up, composedly bowed.

He was come to spend the evening as usual, and she must meet him as usual too, otherwise he might think--supposing he had not yet seen Emma Th.o.r.n.ycroft, or even if he had,--might think--what made Agatha's cheek burn like fire. But she controlled herself. The first vehemence of her pride and anger was over now. She had discovered that the dawning inclination on which she had bestowed a few dreamings and sighings, trying, in foolish girlish fashion, to fan a chance tinder-spark into the holy altar-fire of a woman's first love--had gone out in darkness, and that her free heart lay quiet, in a sort of twilight shade, waiting for its destiny; nor for the last few days had she even thought of Nathanael. His silence had as yet no power to grieve or surprise her; if it struck her at all, it was with the hope that perhaps his wooing might die out of itself, and save her the trouble of a painful refusal.

She had begun to think--what girls of nineteen are very slow to comprehend--that there might be other things in the world besides love and its ideal dreams. She had read more than usual--some sensible prose, some lofty-hearted poetry; and was, possibly, "a sadder and a wiser"

girl than she had been that day week.

In this changed mood, after a little burst of well-controlled temper, a scornful pang, and a slight trepidation of the heart, Miss Agatha Bowen walked up-stairs to the drawing-room to meet Major Harper.

Her manner in so doing was most commendable, and a worthy example to those young ladies who have to extinguish the tiny embers of a month or two's idle fancy, created by an impressible nature, by girlhood's frantic longing after unseen mysteries, and by the terrible misfortune of having nothing to do. But Miss Bowen's demeanour, so highly creditable, cannot be set forward in words, as it consisted in the very simplest, mildest, and politest "How d'ye do?"

Major Harper met her with his accustomed pleasantly tender air, until gradually he recollected himself, looked pensive, and subsided into coldness. It was evident to Agatha that he could not have had any communication from Mrs. Th.o.r.n.ycroft. She was growing vexed again, alternating from womanly wrath to childish pettishness--for in her heart of hearts she had a deep and friendly regard for the n.o.ble half of her guardian's character--when suddenly she decided that it was wisest to leave the room and take refuge in indifference and her piano. There she stayed for certainly an hour.

At length, Major Harper came softly into her sitting-room.

"Don't let me disturb you--but, when you have quite finished playing, I should like to say a word to you.--Merely on business," he added, with a slightly confused manner, unusual to the perfect self-possession of Major Harper.

Agatha sat down and faced him, so frigidly, that he seemed to withdraw from the range of her eyes. "You do not often converse with me on business."

He drew back. "That is true. But I considered that with so young a lady as yourself it was needless.--And I hate all business," he added, imperatively.

"Then I regret that my father burdened you with mine.

"No burden; it is a pleasure--if by any means I can be of use to you.

Believe me, my dear Miss Bowen, your advantage, your security, is my chief aim. And therefore in this investment, of which I think it right to inform you"----

"Investment?" she repeated, turning round a childish puzzled face. "Oh, Major Harper, you know I am quite ignorant of these things. Do let us talk of something else."

"With all my heart," he responded, evidently much relieved, and turned the somewhat awkward conversation to the first available topic, which chanced to be his brother Nathanael.

"You cannot think how much I miss him in my rooms, even though he was such a short time with me. An excellent lad is N. L., and I hear they are making so much of him in Dorsetshire. They tell me he will certainly stay there the whole three months of his leave."

"Oh, indeed!" observed Agatha, briefly. She hardly knew whether to be pleased or sorry at this news, or by doubting it to take a feminine pride in being so much better informed on the subject than the Harper family.

"No wonder he is so happy," continued the Major, with one of his occasional looks of momentary, though real sadness. "Fifteen years is a long time to be away. Though I fear, I myself have been almost as long without seeing the whole family together."

"Are they all together now?"--Agatha felt an irresistible desire to ask questions.

"I believe so; at least my father and my three unmarried sisters. Old bachelors and old maids are plentiful in the Harper family. We are all stiff-necked animals; we eschew even gilded harness."

Agatha's cheek glowed with anger at this supposed benevolent warning to herself.

"I dare say your sisters are very happy, nevertheless; marriage is not always a 'holy estate,'" said she carelessly. "But there was some other Dorsetshire lady whom Mr. Harper told me of. Who is Anne Valery?"

Major Frederick Harper actually started, and the deep sensitive colour, which not even his forty years and his long worldly experience could quite keep down, rose in his handsome face.

"So N. L. spoke to you of her. No wonder. She is an--an excellent person."

"An excellent person," repeated Agatha mischievously. "Then she is rather elderly, I conclude?"

"Elderly--Anne Valery elderly! By Heavens, no!" (And the excited Major used the solitary a.s.severation which clung to him, the last trace of his brief military experience.) "Anne Valery old! Not a day older than myself! We were companions as boy and girl, young man and young woman, until--stay--ten--fifteen years ago. Fifteen years!--ah, yes--I suppose she would be considered elderly now."

After this burst, Major Harper sank into one of his cloudy moods. At last he said, in a confidential and rather sentimental tone, "Miss Valery is an excellent lady--an old friend of our family; but she and I have not met for many years. Circ.u.mstances necessitated our parting."

"Circ.u.mstances?"

Agatha guessed the truth--or fancied she did; and her wrathful pride was up again. More trophies of the ill.u.s.trious Frederick's unwilling slaughters--more heart's blood dyeing the wheels of this unconscious Juggernaut of female devotees! Yet there he sat, looking so pathetically regretful, as if he felt himself the blameless, helpless instrument of fate to work the sentimental woe of all womankind! Agatha was absolutely dumb with indignation.

She was a little unjust, even were he erring. It is often a great misfortune, but it is no blame to a good man that good women--more than one--have loved him; if, as all n.o.ble men do, he hides the humiliation or sorrow of their love sacredly in his own heart, and makes no boast of it. Of this n.o.bility of character--rare indeed, yet not unknown or impossible--Frederick Harper just fell short. Kind, clever, and amusing, he might be, but he was a man not sufficiently great to be humble.