Nobody

Philip, but I will not forgive you!"

CHAPTER XLV

DUTY

The days of December went by. Lois was herself again, in health; andnothing was in the way of Madge's full enjoyment of New York and itspleasures, so she enjoyed them to the full. She went wherever Mrs.Wishart would take her. That did not involve any very outrageousdissipation, for Mrs. Wishart, though fond of society, liked it best inmoderation. Moderate companies and moderate hours suited her. However,Madge had enough to content her new thirst for excitement and variety, especially as Mr. Dillwyn continually came in to fill up gaps in herengagements. He took her to drive, or to see various sights, which forthe country-bred girl were full of enchantment; and he came to thehouse constantly on the empty evenings.

Lois queried again and again what brought him there? Madge it must be;it could hardly be the society of his old friend Mrs. Wishart. It wasnot her society that he sought. He was general in his attentions, to besure; but he played chess with Madge, he accompanied Madge's singing,he helped Madge in her French reading and Italian pronunciation, andtook Madge out. He did none of these things with Lois. Truly Lois hadbeen asked, and would not go out either alone or with her sister in Mr.Dillwyn's carriage or in Mr. Dillwyn's convoy. And she had beenchallenged, and invariably declined, to sing with them; and she did notwant to learn the game of chess, and took no help from anybody in herstudies. Indeed, Lois kept herself persistently in the background, andrefused to accompany her friends to any sort of parties; and at home, though she must sit down-stairs in the evening, she withdrew from theconversation as much as she could.

"My dear," said Mrs. Wishart, much vexed at last, "you do not think itis wicked to go into society, I hope?"

"Not for you. I do not think it would be right for me."

"Why not, pray? Is this Puritanism?"

"Not at all," said Lois, smiling.

"She is a regular Puritan, though," said Madge.

"It isn't that," Lois repeated. "I like going out among people as wellas Madge does. I am afraid I might like it too well."

"What do you mean by 'too well'?" demanded her protectress, a littleangrily.

"More than would be good for me. Just think – in a little while I mustgo back to Esterbrooke and teaching; don't you see, I had better notget myself entangled with what would unfit me for my work?"

"Nonsense! That is not your work."

"You are never going back to that horrid place!" exclaimed Madge.

But they both knew, from the manner of Lois's quiet silence, that theirpositions would not be maintained.

"There's the more reason, if you are going back there by and by, whyyou should take all the advantage you can of the present," Mrs. Wishartadded. Lois gave her a sweet, grateful look, acknowledging hertenderness, but not granting her conclusions. She got away from thesubject as soon as she could. The question of the sisters' return homehad already been broached by Lois; received, however, by Mrs. Wishartwith such contempt, and by Madge with such utter disfavour, that Loisfound the point could not be carried; at least not at that time; andthen winter began to set in, and she could find no valid reason formaking the move before it should be gone again, Mrs. Wishart'sintention being unmistakeable to keep them until spring. But how wasshe going to hold out until spring? Lois felt herself veryuncomfortable. She could not possibly avoid seeing Mr. Dillwynconstantly; she could not always help talking to him, for sometimes hewould make her talk; and she was very much afraid that she liked totalk to him. All the while she was obliged to see how much attention hewas paying to Madge, and it was no secret how well Madge liked it; andLois was afraid to look at her own reasons for disliking it. Was itmerely because Mr. Dillwyn was a man of the world, and she did not wanther sister to get entangled with him? her sister, who had made nopromise to her grandmother, and who was only bound, and perhaps wouldnot be bound, by Bible commands? Lois had never opened her Bible tostudy the point, since that evening when Mr. Dillwyn had interruptedher. She was ashamed to do it. The question ought to have no interestfor her.

So days went by, and weeks, and the year was near at an end, when thefirst snow came. It had held off wonderfully, people said; and now whenit came it came in earnest. It snowed all night and all day; and slowlythen the clouds thinned and parted and cleared away, and the westeringsun broke out upon a brilliant world.

Lois sat at her window, looking out at it, and chiding herself that itmade her feel sober. Or else, by contrast, it let her know how sobershe was. The spectacle was wholly joy-inspiring, and so she had beenwont to find it. Snow lying unbroken on all the ground, in one white, fair glitter; snow lying piled up on the branches and twigs of trees, doubling them with white coral; snow in ridges and banks on theopposite shore of the river; and between, the rolling waters. Madgeburst in.

"Isn't it glorious?" said Lois. "Come here and see how black the riveris rolling between its white banks."

"Black? I didn't know anything was black," said Madge. "Here is Mr.Dillwyn, come to take me sleigh-riding. Just think, Lois! – a sleighride in the Park! – O, I'm so glad I have got my hood done!"

Lois slowly turned her head round. "Sleigh-riding?" she said. "Are yougoing sleigh-riding, and with Mr. Dillwyn?"

"Yes indeed, why not?" said Madge, bustling about with great activity."I'd rather go with him than with anybody else, I can tell you. He hasgot his sister's horses – Mrs. Burrage don't like sleighing – and Mr.Burrage begged he would take the horses out. They're gay, but he knowshow to drive. O, won't it be magnificent?"

Lois looked at her sister in silence, unwilling, yet not knowing whatto object; while Madge wrapped herself in a warm cloak, and donned asilk hood lined with cherry colour, in which she was certainlysomething to look at. No plainer attire nor brighter beauty would beseen among the gay snow-revellers that afternoon. She flung a sparklingglance at her sister as she turned to go.

"Don't be very long!" Lois said.

"Just as long as he likes to make it!" Madge returned. "Do you thinkI am going to ask him to turn about, before he is ready? Not I, Ipromise you. Good-bye, hermit!"

Away she ran, and Lois turned again to her window, where all the whiteseemed suddenly to have become black. She will marry him! – she wassaying to herself. And why should she not? she has made no promise. I am bound – doubly; what is it to me, what they do? Yet if not right forme it is not right for Madge. Is the Bible absolute about it?

She thought it would perhaps serve to settle and stay her mind if shewent to the Bible with the question and studied it fairly out. She drewup the table with the book, and prayed earnestly to be taught thetruth, and to be kept contented with the right. Then she opened at thewell-known words in 2 Corinthians, chap. vi.

"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers" —

"Yoked together." That is, bound in a bond which obliges two to go oneway and pull in one draught. Then of course they must go one way; andwhich way, will depend upon which is strongest. But cannot a good womanuse her influence to induce a man who is also good, only not Christian,to go the right way?

Lois pondered this, wishing to believe it. Yet there stood the command.And she remembered there are two sides to influence; could not a goodman, and a pleasant man, only not Christian, use his power to induce aChristian woman to go the wrong way? How little she would like todisplease him! how willingly she would gratify him! – And then therestands the command. And, turning from it to a parallel passage in 1Cor. vii. 39, she read again the directions for the marriage of aChristian widow; she is at liberty to be married to whom she will,"only in the Lord." There could be no question of what is the will ofGod in this matter. And in Deut. vii. 3, 4, she studied anew thereasons there given. "Neither shalt thou make marriages with them; thydaughter thou shalt not give unto his son, nor his daughter shalt thoutake unto thy son. For they will turn away thy son from following me, that they may serve other gods."

Lois studied these passages with I cannot say how much aching of heart.Why did her heart ache? It was nothing to her, surely; she neitherloved nor was going to love any man to whom the prohibition couldapply. Why should she concern herself with the matter? Madge? – Well,Madge must be the keeper of her own conscience; she would probablymarry Mr. Dillwyn; and poor Lois saw sufficiently into the workings ofher own heart to know that she thought her sister very happy in theprospect. But then, if the question of conscience could be so got over,why was she troubled? She would not evade the inquiry; she forcedherself to make it; and she writhed under the pressure and the pain itcaused her. At last, thoroughly humbled and grieved and ashamed, shefled to a woman's refuge in tears, and a Christian's refuge in prayer; and from the bottom of her heart, though with some very hard struggles, gave up every lingering thought and wish that ran counter to the Biblecommand. Let Madge do what Madge thought right; she had warned her ofthe truth. Now her business was with herself and her own action; andLois made clean work of it. I cannot say she was exactly a happy womanas she went down-stairs; but she felt strong and at peace. Doing theLord's will, she could not be miserable; with the Lord's presence shecould not be utterly alone; anyhow, she would trust him and do herduty, and leave all the rest.

She went down-stairs at last, for she had spent the afternoon in herown room, and felt that she owed it to Mrs. Wishart to go down and keepher company. O, if Spring were but come! she thought as she descendedthe staircase, – and she could get away, and take hold of her work, andbring things into the old train! Spring was many weeks off yet, and shemust do different and harder work first, she saw. She went down to theback drawing-room and laid herself upon the sofa.

"Are you not well, Lois?" was the immediate question from Mrs. Wishart.

"Yes, ma'am; only not just vigorous. How long they are gone! It isgrowing late."

"The sleighing is tempting. It is not often we have such a chance. Isuppose everybody is out. You don't go into the air enough, Lois."

"I took a walk this morning."

"In the snow! – and came back tired. I saw it in your face. Suchdreadful walking was enough to tire you. I don't think you half knowhow to take care of yourself."

Lois let the charge pass undisputed, and lay still. The afternoon hadwaned and the sun gone down; the snow, however, made it still lightoutside. But that light faded too; and it was really evening, whensounds at the front door announced the return of the sleighing party.Presently Madge burst in, rosy and gay as snow and sleigh-bells couldmake anybody.

"It's glorious!" she said. "O, we have been to the Park and all over.It's splendid! Everybody in the world is out, and we saw everybody, andsome people we saw two or three times; and it's like nothing in all theworld I ever saw before. The whole air is full of sleigh-bells; and theroads are so thick with sleighs that it is positively dangerous."

"That must make it very pleasant!" said Lois languidly.

"O, it does! There's the excitement, you know, and the skill ofsteering clear of people that you think are going to run over you. It'sthe greatest fun I ever saw in my life. And Mr. Dillwyn drivesbeautifully."

"I dare say."

"And the next piece of driving he does, is to drive you out."

"I hardly think he will manage that."

"Well, you'll see. Here he is. She says she hardly thinks you will, Mr.

Dillwyn. Now for a trial of power!"

Madge stood in the centre of the room, her hood off, her little plaincloak still round her; eyes sparkling, cheeks rosy with pleasure andfrosty air, a very handsome and striking figure. Lois's eyes dwelt uponher, glad and sorry at once; but Lois had herself in hand now, and wasas calm as the other was excited. Then presently came Mr. DilIwyn, andsat down beside her couch.

"How do you do, this evening?"

His manner, she noticed, was not at all like Madge's; it was quiet, sober, collected, gentle; sleighing seemed to have wrought noparticular exhilaration on him. Therefore it disarmed Lois. She gaveher answer in a similar tone.

"Have you been out to-day?"

"Yes – quite a long walk this morning."

"Now I want you to let me give you a short drive."

"O no, I think not."

"Come!" said he. "I may not have another opportunity to show you whatyou will see to-day; and I want you to see it."

He did not seem to use much urgency, and yet there was a certaininsistance in his tone which Lois felt, and which had its effect uponher, as such tones are apt to do, even when one does not willinglysubmit to them. She objected that it was late.

"O, the moon is up," cried Madge; "it won't be any darker than it isnow."

"It will be brighter," said Philip.

"But your horses must have had enough."

"Just enough," said Philip, laughing, "to make them go quietly. Miss

Madge will bear witness they were beyond that at first. I want you to go with me. Come, Miss Lois! We must be home before Mrs. Wishart's tea.

Miss Madge, give her your hood and cloak; that will save time."

Why should she not say no? She found it difficult, against thatsomething in his tone. He was more intent upon the affirmative than sheupon the negative. And after all, why should she say no? She hadfought her fight and conquered; Mr. Dillwyn was nothing to her, morethan another man; unless, indeed, he were to be Madge's husband, andthen she would have to be on good terms with, him. And she had a secretfancy to have, for once, the pleasure of this drive with him. Why not, just to see how it tasted? I think it went with Lois at this moment asin the German story, where a little boy vaunted himself to his sisterthat he had resisted the temptation to buy some ripe cherries, and sohad saved his pennies. His sister praised his prudence and firmness."But now, dear Hercules," she went on, "now that you have done rightand saved your pennies, now, my dear brother, you may reward yourselfand buy your cherries!"

Perhaps it was with some such unconscious recoil from judgment thatLois acted now. At any rate, she slowly rose from her sofa, and Madge, rejoicing, threw off her cloak and put it round her, and fastened itsties. Then Mr. Dillwyn himself took the hood and put it on her head, and tied the strings under her chin. The start this gave her almostmade Lois repent of her decision; he was looking into her face, and hisfingers were touching her cheek, and the pain of it was more than Loishad bargained for. No, she thought, she had better not gone; but it wastoo late now to alter things. She stood still, feeling that thrill ofpain and pleasure where the one so makes the other keen, keeping quietand not meeting his eyes; and then he put her hand upon his arm and ledher down the wide, old-fashioned staircase. Something in the air of itall brought to Lois's remembrance that Sunday afternoon at Shampuashuhand the walk home in the rain; and it gave her a stricture of heart.She put the manner now to Madge's account, and thought within herselfthat if Madge's hood and cloak were beside him it probably did notmatter who was in them; his fancy could do the rest. Somehow she didnot want to go to drive as Madge's proxy. However, there was no helpingthat now. She was put into the sleigh, enveloped in the fur robes; Mr.Dillwyn took his place beside her, and they were off.

CHAPTER XLVI

OFF AND ON

Certinaly Madge had not said too much, and the scene was like witchery.The sun was down, but the moon was up, near full, and giving a whiteillumination to the white world. The snow had fallen thick, and neithersun nor wind had as yet made any impression upon it; the covering ofthe road was thick and well beaten, and on every exposed level surfacelay the white treasure piled up. Every twig and branch of the treesstill held its burden; every roof was blanketed; there had been no timeyet for smoke and soil to come upon the pure surfaces; and on all thisfell the pale moon rays, casting pale shadows and making the worldsomehow look like something better than itself. The horses Mr. Dillwyndrove were fresh enough yet, and stepped off gaily, their bellsclinking musically; and other bells passed them and sounded in thenearer and further distance. Moreover, under this illumination all lessagreeable features of the landscape were covered up. It was a pureregion of enchanted beauty to Lois's sense, through which they drove; and she felt as if a spell had come upon her too, and this bit ofexperience were no more real than the rest of it. It was exquisitelyand intensely pleasant; a bit of life quite apart and by itself, andnever to be repeated, therefore to be enjoyed all she could while shehad it. Which thought was not enjoyment. Was she not foolish to havecome?

"Are you comfortable?" suddenly Mr. Dillwyn's voice came in upon thesemusings.

"O, perfectly!" Lois answered, with an accentuation between delight anddesperation.

And then he was silent again; and she went on with her musings, justthat word having given them a spur. How exquisite the scene was! howexquisite everything, in fact. All the uncomelinesses of a city suburbwere veiled under the moonlight; nothing but beauty could be seen; herewere points that caught the light, and there were shadows that simplyserved to set off the silvery whiteness of the moon and the snow; whatit was that made those points of reflection, or what lay beneath thosesoft shadows, did not appear. The road was beaten smooth, the going wascapital, the horses trotted swiftly and steadily, Lois was wrapped insoft furs, and the air which she was breathing was merely cold enoughto exhilarate. It was perfection. In truth it was so perfect, and Loisenjoyed it so keenly, that she began to be vexed at herself for herenjoyment. Why should Mr. Dillwyn have got her out? all this luxury ofsense and feeling was not good for her; did not belong to her; and whyshould she taste at all a delight which must be so fleeting? And whathad possessed him to tie her hood strings for her, and to do it in thatleisurely way, as if he liked it? And why did she like it? Loisscolded and chid herself. If he were going to marry Madge ever so much, that gave him no right to take such a liberty; and she would not allowhim such liberties; she would keep him at a distance. But was she notgoing to a distance herself? There would be no need.

The moonlight was troubled, though by no cloud on the etherealfirmament; and Lois was not quite so conscious as she had been of thebeauty around her. The silence lasted a good while; she wondered if herneighbour's thoughts were busy with the lady he had just set down, tosuch a degree that he forgot to attend to his new companion? Nothingcould be more wide of the truth; but that is the way we judge andmisjudge one another. She was almost hurt at his silence, before hespoke again. The fact is, that the general axiom that a man can alwaysput in words anything of which his head and heart are both full, seemsto have one exception. Mr. Dillwyn was a good talker, always, onmatters he cared about, and matters he did not care about; and yet now, when he had secured, one would say, the most favourable circumstancesfor a hearing, and opportunity to speak as he liked, he did not knowhow to speak. By and by his hand came again round Lois to see that thefur robes were well tucked in about her. Something in the action madeher impatient.

"I am very well," she said.

"You must be taken care of, you know," he said; to Lois's fancy he saidit as if there were some one to whom he must be responsible for her.

"I am not used to being taken care of," she said. "I have taken care ofmyself, generally."

"Like it better?"

"I don't know. I suppose really no woman can say she likes it better.

But I am accustomed to it."

"Don't you think I could take care of you?"

"You are taking capital care of me," said Lois, not knowing exactlyhow to understand him. "Just now it is your business; and I should sayyou were doing it well."

"What would you say if I told you that I wanted to take care of you allyour life?"

He had let the horses come to a walk; the sleigh-bells only tinkledsoftly; no other bells were near. Which way they had gone Lois had notconsidered; but evidently it had not been towards the busy and noisyhaunts of men. However, she did not think of this till a few minutesafterwards; she thought now that Mr. Dillwyn's words regarded Madge'ssister, and her feeling of independence became rigid.

"A kind wish, – but impracticable," she answered.

"Why?"

"I shall be too far off. That is one thing."

"Where are you going to be? – Forgive me for asking!"

"O yes. I shall be keeping school in New England somewhere, I suppose; first of all, at Esterbrooke."

"But if I had the care of you – you would not be there?"

"That is my place," said Lois shortly.

"Do you mean it is the place you prefer?"

"There is no question of preference. You know, one's work is what isgiven one; and the thing given me to do, at present, seems to be there.Of course I do prefer what my work is."

Still the horses were smoothly walking. Mr. Dillwyri was silent amoment.

"You did not understand what I said to you just now. It was earnest."

"I did not think it was anything else," said Lois, beginning to wishherself at home. "I am sure you meant it, and I know you are very good; but – you cannot take care of me."

"Give me your reasons," he said, restraining the horses, which wouldhave set off upon a quicker pace again.

"Why, Mr. Dillwyn, it is self-evident. You would not respect me if Iallowed you to do it; and I should not respect myself. We New Englandfolks, if we are nothing else, we are independent."

"So? – " said Mr. Dillwyn, in a puzzled manner, but then a light brokeupon him, and he half laughed. – "I never heard that the most rampantspirit of independence made a wife object to being dependent on herhusband."

"A wife?" said Lois, not knowing whether she heard aright.

"Yes," said he. "How else? How could it be else? Lois, may I have you,to take care of the rest of my life, as my very own?"

The short, smothered breath with which this was spoken was intelligibleenough, and put Lois in the rarest confusion.

"Me? – " was all she could ejaculate.

"You, certainly. I never saw any other woman in my life to whom Iwished to put the question. You are the whole world to me, as far ashappiness is concerned."

"I? – " said Lois again. "I thought – "

"What?"

She hesitated, and he urged the question. Lois was not enough mistressof herself to choose her words.

"I thought – it was somebody else."

"Did you? – Who did you think it was?"

"O, don't ask me!"

"But I think I must ask you. It concerns me to know how, and towardswhom, my manner can have misled you. Who was it?"

"It was not – your manner – exactly," said Lois, in terribleembarrassment. "I was mistaken."

"How could you be mistaken?"

"I never dreamed – the thought never entered my head – that – it was I."

"I must have been in fault then," said he gently; "I did not want towear my heart on my sleeve, and so perhaps I guarded myself too well. Idid not wish to know anybody else's opinion of my suit till I had heardyours. What is yours, Lois? – what have you to say to me?"

He checked the horses again, and sat with his face inclined towardsher, waiting eagerly, Lois knew. And then, what a sharp pain shotthrough her! All that had gone before was nothing to this; and for amoment the girl's whole nature writhed under the torture. She knew herown mind now; she was fully conscious that the best gift of earth waswithin her grasp; her hands were stretched longingly towards it, herwhole heart bounded towards it; to let it go was to fall into an abyssfrom which light and hope seemed banished; there was everything in allthe world to bid her give the answer that was waited for; only dutybade her not give it. Loyalty to God said no, and her promise bound hertongue. For that minute that she was silent Lois wrestled with mortalpain. There are martyrs and martyrdoms now-a-days, that the world takesno account of; nevertheless they have bled to death for the cause, andhave been true to their King at the cost of all they had in the world.Mr. Dillwyn was waiting, and the fight had to be short, though well sheknew the pain would not be. She must speak. She did it huskily, andwith a fierce effort. It seemed as if the words would not come out.