Sea-gift

“Yes, indeed, Mr. Smith, there is a romantic interest that clings to the memory of these Nature’s lords. Their mysterious origin, their nobility of soul, their mute adoration of the Great Spirit, the wild poetry of their legends, all have combined to make me admire them with all the fervor of my nature. Oh! what indeed must be the agony of their bursting hearts, as they stand on some lone mountain, and read in the smoke of the steamer their certain doom. Ah! when we think of their wrongs, the tomahawk becomes the battle-axe of freedom, and the scalping-knife as sacred as the dagger of a Corday.”

Fearing, if I encouraged her, she might pack up and go West, to become the Florence Nightingale of the Comanches, I begged pardon for changing the subject, and asked her if she had seen my sister.

“Your sister!” she exclaimed, in her surprise, “I thought you were travelling alone, and expected to meet your family at Niagara.”

“So I did, but it seems they telegraphed of the change in their plans after I had left the University; and so I was very greatly surprised to find them here.”

“She is not your sister, except by adoption, is she? I have heard Mrs. Marshman speak of you in connection with her. You are expected to love and marry her, are you not?”

“No, I cannot love on compulsion,” I replied, looking very steadily at her; “the emotion must be spontaneous, and unaffected by circumstances.”

“You express my sentiments perfectly,” she said, looking at me with a glance that was meant to be searching.

“Have you ever loved, Miss Finnock?” I asked, artlessly. Her eyes fell to her lap, and her fingers twitched each other as nervously as if she were a mute and were spelling.

“I cannot say that I have,” she replied, after a pause. “I may, as a child, have felt heart throbs and bashfulness as the little boy over the way came to trundle hoops with me, but I have never felt that fervid and deep emotion which accords with my idea of love.”

“May I ask, then, Miss Finnock, if you have given nothing in return for the many hearts laid at your feet?”

“There have been no – ;” she commenced the truth but caught herself, and said:

“I have never had an offer of love I believed sincere, nor, indeed, one that I could reciprocate.”

I knew that I ought not to say anything more, but Carlotta had offended me, and I was reckless.

“But did you believe a love sincere, would you return it?” I asked, deepening my tone of voice to the dramatic.

Her eyes came timidly up to mine, and then fell again as she said softly:

“That depends on whose the love was.”

“Miss Finnock!” I said, drawing hearer, “If I – .”

“Hush! hush! here comes Lil,” she said, raising her hands in warning. “Oh, how provoking!” she added, with a look that was intended to be sweet.

As I looked up, Mrs. Marshman entered the room, and little knowing how de trop she was, took a seat near us and commenced some ordinary topic of conversation. I felt relieved, and was therefore quite affable, but Miss Finnock seemed put out about something, and was scarcely civil in her replies to her. She soon excused herself, and leaving Mrs. M. and myself in the parlor, ran up stairs. She was gone about ten minutes, and returning, brought with her a bark-and-bead cigar case, which, after a moment’s hesitation, she gave me, with the remark: “I purchased that from the old Indian, Mr. Smith, and I beg that you will accept and preserve it as a souvenir of this morning, and of our mutual admiration of the red man.”

“Why, Saph!” said Mrs. Marshman, while I was bowing my acknowledgments, “you do not know Mr. Smith well enough to make him a present.”

“Mr. Smith appreciates the gift, and will not misconstrue my motives. I dare say he will remember our conversation,” she added, glancing archly at me.

I assured her that I would, and would eternally treasure the case, with pleasant memories of the fair donor, and of our delightful converse, and even ventured on the hackneyed rhapsody about death alone being competent to part the said case and myself. She bowed and blushed, and I toyed with the case in the momentary silence that ensued, and opening saw that there was a crumpled note deep down in it. Just as I was inserting two fingers to reach it a waiter approached, and presented his salver, on which lay two cards. I looked up in surprise as I read the names, “Herrara Lola” and “Lola Rurlestone,” and asked where they were.

“In the lower parlor, sir,” he said, bowing as I rose to follow him. I excused myself to the two ladies, and thoughtlessly left the cigar case on an ottoman where I had laid it when I took up the cards.

In the lower parlor I found Carlotta and her cousin waiting for me. Carlotta was standing near the piano, looking expectantly towards the door, while Herrara was leaning carelessly against the instrument, turning over the leaves of a music portfolio.

“John, what on earth did you mean by leaving us so abruptly,” said Carlotta, making a feint of striking me with her glove. “I would have thought you offended if I could have imagined any cause.”

“You ought to have known me better,” was all I could think of for a reply.

“Well, it makes no difference now, but you must go back with us. Mrs. Smith sent us over after you. She says she has scarcely spoken to you since we found you.”

“I am at your service,” I said, and Herrara rose up from the piano languidly and said:

“Mr. Smith will escort you back, Lola; I’ll go to the billiard room.”

“May I tell him, Herra?” asked Carlotta, as he walked off; “it’s such a short time.”

“I don’t care,” he replied, as he lifted his hat gracefully and left the parlor.

“May I ask what it is you wish to tell?” I said, feeling an interest in all secrets between them.

“Everybody believes here that Cousin Herrara and I are engaged, and I assure you it is very inconvenient, for it deprives me of a quantity of attention which you know I would receive, and I believe from your conduct you have fallen into the same error.”

“I have had sufficient reason for such a belief,” I replied.

“Well, it’s no such thing. He is engaged to a lady in Madrid. He returns to Cuba next month, and then sails to Spain for his beautiful bride.”

“Then you are still in the market?” I said, with an unaccountable feeling of relief at my heart.

“Of course I am,” she replied, as we ran across the street to Congress Hall.

We had hardly joined father and mother in the parlor before a servant appeared with cards for Carlotta, and soon Monte and two others entered.

As she received them across the room I was left to a quiet talk with my parents. We had not told each other a tithe of what we had to tell when I saw the gentlemen rise and accompany Carlotta to the piano. As she seated herself gracefully at the instrument, and gave the warbling keys the petting of a prelude, there was a hush round the room, and I listened eagerly for the first note. She sang a soft Italian air, as full of mellow, rich trillings as a nightingale’s song, and her splendid voice, perfect in its culture, rose and fell with exquisite melody and wondrous expression through the difficult measures. Its floods of glorious music so filled the room that we could not have told where the notes came from but for the throbbing of her Parian throat. When the last sound had died away, like the sobbing of a silver bell, every one gave the rapt applause of silence, till Monte, with his affected drawl, asked for a half dozen screeching arias. When she had sung enough the gentlemen left, and I was hoping that I would have her to myself, when another waiter appeared with more cards, and I found I would only have to play spectator at her levee.

I intended to move over to their hotel, but found, on application at the office, that it was too much crowded, and kept my rooms at the Union. That evening at tea I found Mr. Marshman and lady present, but Miss Finnock had finished and gone to her room. Underneath my plate I found the cigar case and a note. I looked up in some confusion, and found Mrs. Marshman smiling at me, as if she thought our love was a foregone conclusion.

“Sappho is a dear little girl, isn’t she?” she said, as I unfolded the note.

“Very,” I replied laconically, finding, without surprise, that the note was a string of verses, as follows:

“Forgotten the gift, the giver, alas!Cannot claim the least thought in the day.With me all the moments and seconds that passBear an image of thee on their way.This morning, suspenseful, I hung on thy speech,And Time, oh, too swiftly did fly;The cup is dashed down before my lips reachIt, and bliss is cut off with ‘If I – ’And oh! what a vista of happiness opesAt the touch of the Sesame ‘if;’What a sun-colored life, what a Canaan of hopesDo I glimpse through the unclosing rift.”

There was no signature, but a holly leaf was pinned at the bottom of the verses. The emblem of holly I knew to be “Forgotten;” but if I had picked the verses up in Bessarabia I would have known Miss Finnock wrote them. I folded them up carefully and put the cigar case in my pocket, and finished my tea in silence, Mrs. Marshman having risen from the table while I was reading. I was really annoyed at the turn things had taken. If Miss Finnock had been an experienced flirt I should have regarded the affair as capital fun, but I felt sure Miss F. was in earnest; for, though she was old enough, she had never had much experience, and I had not attained that very desirable point of social education when I could knowingly trifle with a young lady’s feelings. I resolved once not to see her again, but remembered that I had an engagement to visit the encampment with her next morning.

“Well,” I said, resignedly, as I lit my cigar on the lawn, “I will certainly not commit myself farther. No word or hint of love will I give to-morrow.”

CHAPTER XXXIV.

The waiter’s reveille was very unwelcome next morning, but I rose and dressed and found Miss Finnock already in the parlor.

“Oh, the morning air is so bracing, is it not?” she said, as we left the hotel; “it buoys one up so; I feel so light-hearted and free early in the morning; I am as airy as a feather,” and she almost skipped in her youthful exuberance of spirits.

“You had better weigh,” I said, somewhat morosely, as we passed the old lame man and his scales.

I confess I was out of humor. Can you blame me? To be roused at such an hour, to parade over to see tiresome Indians, with a fidgety little woman, who was trying to captivate me, and whom I hated now. Would not her very flow of spirits be provoking?

“See yon dew-drops how they sparkle,” she exclaimed, pointing with a finger on which shone a diamond ring over her glove. “Nature, unlike the ladies, wears her jewels at morn.”

“Then the ladies are not natural,” I said emptily.

“Oh! I confess we are quite artificial in many respects, though not artful – at least I am not.”

“Really, Miss Finnock, do you confess to artificial aid in your beauty?”

“If I had any beauty it would be artificial, of course. You admire beauty, do you not – your lady love is so beautiful?”

“To whom do you refer as my lady love, Miss Finnock?”

“Why, the lady who called you away from me yesterday. Please tell me if you love her. Now, confide in me, won’t you?” and she looked up at me with an affected squint in her broad little eyes.

“I would trust you, Miss Finnock, but there is nothing to confide.”

“Then, of course, there is no love, as that is something of great importance.”

“Do you think so?” I said, vacantly, as we entered the camp ground. We spent half an hour strolling about, and after I had given five dollars for an old bead basket, that was said to have some Indian legend connected with it, and presented it to the little enthusiast, we turned back to our hotel. I was unusually dull, for I felt that it would be inconsistent with previous attentions and her expectations to introduce commonplace topics, and I had determined not even to hint at love. She seemed to notice my reticence, and tried to rally me.

“You do not seem as cheerful as usual, Mr. Smith. Can I have offended you in any way?”

“Thank you, Miss Finnock, for the hint that I am not entertaining,” I said, glad of anything to take up; “let us hasten our steps that you may be the sooner relieved of my presence.”

“Oh, how cruelly you misinterpret my meaning. The pleasure of your company is as great – I mean that – ” she feigned confusion, “I like to be with you, but there is such a change in your manner since yesterday.”

“Is there?” I said, mechanically, and thoughtlessly continued: “I was hardly aware of it. I am sure my feelings have not changed.”

“Have they not?” she exclaimed eagerly; “neither have mine.”

‘Twas too far gone to correct, and so I said nothing. After another pause she tried to look roguish and said, “Did you not chastise the waiter for his interruption yesterday?”

What could I say but that I feared she had already rewarded him for so opportune an entrance.

“I regretted it as much as you possibly could,” she said, softly looking down at the beaten path.

It was abrupt, perhaps unkind, but I inquired if she would take a glass of water, as we were just then near the springs. She assented with a slightly reproachful look, and we approached the circular railing, which was surrounded by a throng of health-seeking drinkers, all eagerly waiting for the glasses from the long whirling dippers.

It was the same crowd that is always there. The stylish young lady, who puts her glass down after the third sip; the pale young man with the large Adam’s apple, which goes up and down his throat like the piston of a pump, carrying down whole gills of water at every gulp; the tall school girl, with her hair plaited in ribbons, leaning over to the glass and holding her dress back with one hand from its drippings; the fat bad child, his mother holding a glass to his mouth, and resting her hand on his head as if it was the faucet she had to hold open for the water to run down; and the delicate, meek boy, who has been brought to the springs by his father, who is now standing by, watching with deep interest and a notch stick the glasses he takes. Poor little fellow! standing with a Hogarth’s curve in his shoulders, both hands grasping the glass, he swigs away, while the veins and leaders in his neck swell and tighten, and the dark lines under his eyes grow deeper, and his eyelids redder, as they disappear behind the rising edge of the tumbler. He takes it down and blows out: “How many’s that, pa?” and receiving the plaudit, “Five, my dear boy,” is led away to the hotel, to spend the day in his room, instead of playing himself into health with other children.

When Miss Finnock and I had left the pagoda, and were walking up the hill towards the hotel, she made a pretence of pondering over something, and suddenly said:

“Mr. Smith, will you tell me something if I ask you?”

“Most assuredly, Miss Finnock, if it is in my power to do so.”

“Well, I want to know – no, I can’t ask you now, I’ll wait till we part at the hotel.”

When we ascended the steps I begged to know her question.

“Oh! I cannot tell, it sounds so silly,” she said, twirling the Indian basket with assumed bashfulness.

“I must bid you good morning, then,” I said, turning to leave.

“No, I will tell you; I don’t mind; I only wanted to know the remainder of the sentence you left unfinished yesterday.”

“I will tell you soon,” I replied, bowing and leaving her, for I knew not what else to say. Now I am in for it, I said to myself, as I walked across the street to Congress Hall, to breakfast with our family. I will consult Carlotta upon it and take her advice.

As unpleasant as my walk had been in some respects, it had imparted an appetite that made porterhouse steaks and omelettes souffle disappear with a celerity alarming to the proprietors. As we rose from the table Carlotta told me that she and Lola were going over to the lake, and insisted that I should join them. As I now felt no delicacy about obtruding, since she had informed me of the relation she sustained to him, I consented. Lola and I had scarcely finished our cigars when his carriage was announced, and, going up to our parlors we found Carlotta waiting, the picture of perfect loveliness, beneath a broad sun hat. The road was already filled with vehicles, and the dust was floating in clouds about our faces; Lola leaned forward and spoke to the driver; “Go ahead, Michael,” and with dizzy speed his splendid horses whirled us past every team, and we were breathing again the pure fresh air.

When we reached the lake house, and had refreshed with some ices, I went down and secured a boat for a sail. Lola said he preferred the bowling alley, and Carlotta and I took our places in the graceful little craft I had chosen. My experience on the Sound at home had made me a good sailor, and I dismissed the boatman.

Running up the sail and getting before the wind, so that there was no danger of a gybe, I lashed the rudder so as to direct our course across the lake, and took my seat by Carlotta under the awning. The scene and situation were enchanting. The purple hills held the crystal lake in their bosom, like an immense dew drop, while soft fleecy clouds floated off from their hazy tops like smoke from an altar. The glittering surface of the lake was crimped by the breeze into myriad ruffles, that rustled their little foam against our vessel’s side. Other boats were sailing far off, and with their glistening canvas looked like white herons flying hither and thither with a slow, objectless flight. Behind us was the lake-house, its verandahs thronged with people, its carriage way crowded with constantly arriving and departing vehicles, and at the water’s edge, a long walk-way extending out into the lake – all receding farther and farther from us. By my side was Carlotta, a bright glow on her cheeks, her beautiful eyes beaming with pleasure, and her magnificent hair caught up in an immense coil, that seemed oppressive in its weight as it was bewitching in its negligée. One glove was withdrawn and her sleeve pushed high up the swelling arm, while the dimpled hand dangled in the rippling waters, that reflected the smooth white fingers in crooked, dancing outlines. Out on the lake alone, and Heaven only knows how I loved her! yet I did not dare to disclose it. The very intimacy of our childhood, the relations we bore to each other in our family, the brilliancy of her career in society, and the constant adulation she received, all made me feel that she could regard my tame proposal of love with nothing less than ridicule. So, while my heart fluttered with its restrained emotion, I spoke carelessly and lightly, admiring the view with her, and quoting Wordsworth and Tupper with pedantic inaptitude. Leaving scenery we became more personal, and, after asking her secrecy, I told her of my affair with Miss Finnock and asked her advice.

“And you promised to finish the sentence soon?” she said, laughing, and flipping the water from her fingers’ ends as she drew on her glove; “what was its intended conclusion?”

“I was about to ask her that, if I were to offer my hand and heart, would she accept?” feeling a little ashamed of the commonplace phrases.

“A subjunctive courtship, truly,” she said, smiling, as she took off her hat and threw back her hair from her white forehead to catch the fresh breeze. “Well, you have, indeed, committed yourself. You have attached too much importance to the matter, by deferring it, to give it some trivial conclusion, such as, ‘were I to raise the piano would you play?’ or, if I call this evening, will you ride with me? You have promised, and her heart is beating high with expectation.”

“It will beat a long time before it is satisfied, then,” I said, somewhat morosely.

“Suppose you write her a note, and candidly inform her that your feelings have undergone a change,” she suggested archly.

“That would wound her feelings,” I said, “and I cannot do that.”

“But are you sure the lady loves you? That is a matter of some importance.”

“I have every reason to believe it.”

“I see nothing that you can do but wait the issue of events. Wouldn’t it be funny if you had to marry her, or be sued for a breach of promise?”

“Pardon me for not seeing the fun in either case,” I replied, shuddering at the bare idea of marrying her; “but see, here comes another boat!”

The large boat at the lake house had been manned, and was rapidly catching up with us, under the pressure of sails, and oars to which a couple of stout Irishmen were bending. As they drew nearer we saw that the occupants were Mr. Marshman and party. Miss Finnock was sitting in the prow of the boat, armed with an opera glass, which she now lowered from the hills to our boat. I fancied her eyes grew wider apart as she saw who my companion was. Their boat came swiftly on, foaming at her prow, and bearing down upon us like a pirate on a prize.

They were near enough now to bow, and I raised myself from my reclining position to touch my hat. Mr. Finnock was steering, and I saw he knew nothing about it.

As I had tied my rudder I did not unloose it, as I thought of course they would pass by. Such was Finnock’s intention, but attempting to bear to one side, he gave the rudder too strong a turn, and to correct that turned too much the other way, and their boat, at full speed, ran obliquely against us. Carlotta and Miss Finnock both had risen to their feet as they saw the impending collision, and were both precipitated into the water, between the boats, which separated as soon as they struck.

Carlotta had scarcely touched the water before I was by her side.

Did you ever see waves close over one you love? then you know the horror that stamped the whole scene upon my memory, indelible in its distinctness, and perfectly vivid in its minutest detail. Her frightened look, as the boats came together, her agonizing cry for help as she fell, the dull splash of the water, the eddies that curled above the place she sank, all are present still. I remember now how clear the water was, and how, as with one stroke of my hands, I reached the spot, I saw her dress floating scarce beneath the surface, and then her face, distorted in her convulsive struggles for life, slowly rising upward. To draw her head above the surface was the work of a second, and as soon as she had cleared the water from her eyes and mouth sufficiently to become conscious, I bade her take my hand, and with the other commenced to swim to the nearest boat. As soon as she realized the situation she regained her presence of mind, and clung to me tenderly, though not so as to impede my movements. The large boat was not more than a dozen feet from us, and the occupants, as is usual in such cases, were in a frenzy of salvation, throwing overboard for our assistance, everything that would float. One of their intended life-buoys – a heavy oar – struck me on the head, almost stunning me, but I shook the water from my eyes and struggled on. The next moment my feet became entangled in a web of garments, a bubbling shriek burst forth close at my ear, and my arms were pinioned by the frantic Miss Finnock, who rose near me.

“B-r-r-sh ok – ok – Oh! chtl-Mr. Smith k-k – tl save your-k – d-arling, tlsave me k-ok – Oh! tlsave-k-me. D-ts-earest tsave me;” and, sputtering and choking, she clung to my neck, dragging me down irresistibly. As soon as Carlotta saw my danger, she let go my hand, and said, in her trembling voice, “Save yourself, John!”

But all this occurred in half the time I have taken to write it, and the people in the boat had now recovered their senses. The two Irishmen were in the water, and Mr. Marshman and Finnock stood ready with ropes to aid them. Carlotta was first drawn on board, then Miss Finnock and myself. Mr. Marshman fortunately happened to have a flask of brandy along, so the ladies went to work on the ladies, the gentlemen on me, while the boat hands overhauled our little boat, took down the sail, and lashed it fast to the large one. At first I felt weak and dizzy, but after a while I was able to sit up, though I could not render much help to the others. Carlotta was very pale, and her loosened hair, rendered still more glossy by the water, hung in jetty masses around her marble features. She was conscious, though faint, and lay helplessly in Mrs. Marshman’s lap, occasionally raising her soft eyes to mine with an expression so full of grateful meaning that it thrilled me into life and activity. Miss Finnock had fainted, of course, and lay like one dead in Miss Stelway’s lap.