John Halifax [69]
had been telling how it held forth to me during my long, lonely days)--"I wonder what it would say to me? Can we hear it from the bottom of this field?"
"Not clearly; we had better go into the wood." For I knew John would like that, though he was too great a hypocrite to second my proposal by a single word.
Miss March was more single-minded, or else had no reason for being the contrary. She agreed to my plan with childish eagerness. "Papa, you wouldn't miss me--I shall not be away five minutes. Then, Mr. Fletcher, will you go with me?"
"And I will stay beside Mr. March, so that he will not be left alone," said John, reseating himself.
What did the lad do that for?--why did he sit watching us so intently, as I led Miss March down the meadow, and into the wood? It passed my comprehension.
The young girl walked with me, as she talked with me, in perfect simplicity and frankness, free from the smallest hesitation. Even as the women I have known have treated me all my life--showing me that sisterly trust and sisterly kindness which have compensated in a measure for the solitary fate which it pleased Heaven to lay upon me; which, in any case, conscience would have forced me to lay upon myself--that no woman should ever be more to me than a sister.
Yet I watched her with pleasure--this young girl, as she tripped on before me, noticing everything, enjoying everything. She talked to me a good deal too about myself, in her kindly way, asking what I did all day?--and if I were not rather dull sometimes, in this solitary country lodging?
"I am dull occasionally myself, or should be, if I had time to think about it. It is hard to be an only child."
I told her I had never found it so.
"But then you have your friend. Has Mr. Halifax any brothers or sisters?"
"None. No relatives living."
"Ah!" a compassionate ejaculation, as she pulled a woodbine spray, and began twisting it with those never-quiet fingers of hers. "You and he seem to be great friends."
"John is a brother, friend, everything in the world to me."
"Is he? He must be very good. Indeed, he looks so," observed Miss March, thoughtfully. "And I believe--at least I have often heard-- that good men are rare."
I had no time to enter into that momentous question, when the origin of it himself appeared, breaking through the bushes to join us.
He apologized for so doing, saying Mr. March had sent him.
"You surely do not mean that you come upon compulsion? What an ill compliment to this lovely wood."
And the eyes of the "nut-browne mayde" were a little mischievous. John looked preternaturally grave, as he said, "I trust you do not object to my coming?"
She smiled--so merrily, that his slight haughtiness evaporated like mist before the sunbeams.
"I was obliged to startle you by jumping through the bushes; for I heard my own name. What terrible revelations has this friend of mine been making to you, Miss March?"
He spoke gaily; but I fancied he looked uneasy. The young lady only laughed.
"I have a great mind not to tell you, Mr. Halifax."
"Not when I ask you?"
He spoke so seriously that she could choose but reply.
"Mr. Fletcher was telling me three simple facts:--First, that you were an orphan, without relatives. Secondly, that you were his dearest friend. Thirdly--well, I never compromise truth--that you were good."
"And you?"
"The first I was ignorant of; the second I had already guessed; the third--"
He gazed at her intently.
"The third I had likewise--not doubted."
John made some hurried acknowledgment. He looked greatly pleased-- nay, more than pleased--happy. He walked forward by Miss March's side, taking his natural place in the conversation, while I as naturally as willingly fell behind. But I heard all they said, and joined in it now and then.
Thus, sometimes spoken to, and sometimes left silent, watching their two figures, and idly noting their comparative heights--her head came just above John's shoulder--I followed these young people through the quiet wood.
Let
"Not clearly; we had better go into the wood." For I knew John would like that, though he was too great a hypocrite to second my proposal by a single word.
Miss March was more single-minded, or else had no reason for being the contrary. She agreed to my plan with childish eagerness. "Papa, you wouldn't miss me--I shall not be away five minutes. Then, Mr. Fletcher, will you go with me?"
"And I will stay beside Mr. March, so that he will not be left alone," said John, reseating himself.
What did the lad do that for?--why did he sit watching us so intently, as I led Miss March down the meadow, and into the wood? It passed my comprehension.
The young girl walked with me, as she talked with me, in perfect simplicity and frankness, free from the smallest hesitation. Even as the women I have known have treated me all my life--showing me that sisterly trust and sisterly kindness which have compensated in a measure for the solitary fate which it pleased Heaven to lay upon me; which, in any case, conscience would have forced me to lay upon myself--that no woman should ever be more to me than a sister.
Yet I watched her with pleasure--this young girl, as she tripped on before me, noticing everything, enjoying everything. She talked to me a good deal too about myself, in her kindly way, asking what I did all day?--and if I were not rather dull sometimes, in this solitary country lodging?
"I am dull occasionally myself, or should be, if I had time to think about it. It is hard to be an only child."
I told her I had never found it so.
"But then you have your friend. Has Mr. Halifax any brothers or sisters?"
"None. No relatives living."
"Ah!" a compassionate ejaculation, as she pulled a woodbine spray, and began twisting it with those never-quiet fingers of hers. "You and he seem to be great friends."
"John is a brother, friend, everything in the world to me."
"Is he? He must be very good. Indeed, he looks so," observed Miss March, thoughtfully. "And I believe--at least I have often heard-- that good men are rare."
I had no time to enter into that momentous question, when the origin of it himself appeared, breaking through the bushes to join us.
He apologized for so doing, saying Mr. March had sent him.
"You surely do not mean that you come upon compulsion? What an ill compliment to this lovely wood."
And the eyes of the "nut-browne mayde" were a little mischievous. John looked preternaturally grave, as he said, "I trust you do not object to my coming?"
She smiled--so merrily, that his slight haughtiness evaporated like mist before the sunbeams.
"I was obliged to startle you by jumping through the bushes; for I heard my own name. What terrible revelations has this friend of mine been making to you, Miss March?"
He spoke gaily; but I fancied he looked uneasy. The young lady only laughed.
"I have a great mind not to tell you, Mr. Halifax."
"Not when I ask you?"
He spoke so seriously that she could choose but reply.
"Mr. Fletcher was telling me three simple facts:--First, that you were an orphan, without relatives. Secondly, that you were his dearest friend. Thirdly--well, I never compromise truth--that you were good."
"And you?"
"The first I was ignorant of; the second I had already guessed; the third--"
He gazed at her intently.
"The third I had likewise--not doubted."
John made some hurried acknowledgment. He looked greatly pleased-- nay, more than pleased--happy. He walked forward by Miss March's side, taking his natural place in the conversation, while I as naturally as willingly fell behind. But I heard all they said, and joined in it now and then.
Thus, sometimes spoken to, and sometimes left silent, watching their two figures, and idly noting their comparative heights--her head came just above John's shoulder--I followed these young people through the quiet wood.
Let