It chanced that when Miss Fanny called, Gabriel was studying his lessons, using the dining-room table as a desk, and he was able to hear the conversation that ensued. Miss Fanny stood on no ceremony in entering. The front door was open and she entered without knocking, saying, "If there's nobody at home I'll carry the house away. Where are you, Lucy?"
"In my room, Fanny; come right in."
"How are you, and how is the high and mighty8 Gabriel?" Having received satisfactory answers to her friendly inquiries9, Miss Fanny plunged10 at once into the business that had brought her out so early. "What do you think, Lucy? Margaret Gaither and her daughter have returned. They are at the Gaither Place, and Miss Polly has just told me that there isn't a mouthful to eat in the house—and there is Margaret at the point of death! Why, it is dreadful. Something must be done at once, that's certain. I wouldn't have bothered you, but you know what the circumstances are. I don't know what Margaret's feelings are with respect to me; you know we never were bosom12 friends. Yet I never really disliked her, and now, after all that has happened, I couldn't bear to think that she was suffering for anything. Likely enough she would be embarrassed if I called and offered assistance. What is to be done?"
"Wouldn't it be best for some one to call—some one who was her friend?" The cool, level voice of Gabriel's grandmother seemed to clear the atmosphere. "Whatever is to be done should be done sympathetically. If I could see Polly, there would be no difficulty."
"Well, I saw Miss Polly," said Miss Fanny, "and she told me the whole situation, and I was on the point of saying that I'd run back home and send something over, when an upper window was opened, and Margaret Gaither's daughter stood there gazing at me—and she's a beauty, Lucy; there's a chance for Gabriel there. Well, you know how deaf Miss Polly is; if I had said what I wanted to say, that child would have heard every word, and there was something in her face that held me dumb. Miss Polly talked and I nodded my head, and that was all. The old soul must have thought the cat had my tongue." Miss Fanny laughed uneasily as she made the last remark.
"If Margaret is ill, she should have attention. I will go there this morning." This was Mrs. Lumsden's decision.
"I'll send the carriage for you as soon as I can run home," said Miss Fanny. With that she rose to go, and hustled13 out of the room, but in the hallway she turned and remarked: "Tell Gabriel that he will have to lengthen14 his suspenders, now that Nan has put on long dresses."
"Oh, no!" protested Mrs. Lumsden. "We mustn't put any such nonsense in Gabriel's head. Nan is for Francis Bethune. If it isn't all arranged it ought to be. Why, the land of Dorrington joins the land that Bethune will fall heir to some day, and it seems natural that the two estates should become one." Gabriel's grandmother had old-fashioned ideas about marriage.
"Oh, I see!" replied Miss Fanny with a laugh; "you are so intent on joining the two estates in wedlock15 that you take no account of the individuals. But brother Pulaski says that for many years to come, the more land a man has the poorer he will become."
"Upon my word, I don't see how that can be," responded Mrs. Lumsden. This was the first faint whiff of the new order that had come to the nostrils16 of the dear old lady.
Miss Fanny went home, and in no long time Neighbour Tomlin's carriage came to the door. At the last moment, Mrs. Lumsden decided17 that Gabriel should go with her. "It may be necessary for you to go on an errand. I presume there are servants there, but I don't know whether they are to be depended on."
So Gabriel helped his grandmother into the carriage, climbed in after her, and in a very short time they were at the Gaither Place. The young woman whom Gabriel had seen in Mr. Goodlett's hack18 was standing19 in the door, and the little frown on her forehead was more pronounced than ever. She was evidently troubled.
"Good-morning," said Mrs. Lumsden. "I have come to see Margaret. Does she receive visitors?"
"My name is Margaret, too," said the young woman, after returning Mrs. Lumsden's salutation, and bowing to Gabriel. "But of course you came to see my mother. She is upstairs—she would be carried there, though I begged her to take one of the lower rooms. She is in the room in which she was born."
"I know the way very well," said Mrs. Lumsden. She was for starting up the stairway, but the young woman detained her by a gesture and turned to Gabriel.
"Won't you come in?" she inquired. "We are old acquaintances, you know. Your name is Gabriel—wait!—Gabriel Tolliver. Don't you see how well I know you? Come, we'll help your grandmother up the stairs." This they did—the girl with the firm and practised hand of an expert, and Gabriel with the awkwardness common to young fellows of his age. The young woman led Mrs. Lumsden to her mother's bedside, and presently came back to Gabriel.
"We will go down now, if you please," she said. "My mother is very ill—worse than she has ever been—and you can't imagine how lonely I am. Mother is at home here, while my home, if I have any, is in Louisiana. I suppose you never had any trouble?"
"My mother is dead," he said simply. Margaret reached out her hand and touched him gently on the arm. It was a gesture of impulsive20 sympathy.
"What is it?" Gabriel asked, thinking she was calling his attention to something she saw or heard.
"Nothing," she said softly. Gabriel understood then, and he could have kicked himself for his stupidity. "Your grandmother is a very beautiful old lady," she remarked after a period of silence.
"She is very good to me," Gabriel replied, at a loss what to say, for he always shrank from praising those near and dear to him. As he sat there, he marvelled21 at the self-possession of this young woman in the midst of strangers, and with her mother critically ill.
In a little while he heard his grandmother calling him from the head of the stairs. "Gabriel, jump in the carriage and fetch Dr. Dorrington at once. He's at home at this hour."
He did as he was bid, and Nan, who was coming uptown on business of her own, so she said, must needs get in the carriage with her father. The combination was more than Gabriel had bargained for. There was a twinkle in Dr. Dorrington's eye, as he glanced good-humouredly from one to the other, that Gabriel did not like at all. For some reason or other, which he was unable to fathom22, the young man was inclined to fight shy of Nan's father; and there was nothing he liked less than to find himself in Dr. Dorrington's company—more especially when Nan was present, too. Noting the quizzical glances of the physician, Gabriel, like a great booby, began to blush, and in another moment, Nan was blushing, too.
"Now, father"—she only called him father when she was angry, or dreadfully in earnest—"Now, father! if you begin your teasing, I'll jump from the carriage. I'll not ride with a grown man who doesn't know how to behave in his daughter's company."
Her father laughed gaily23. "Teasing? Why, I wasn't thinking of teasing. I was just going to remark that the weather is very warm for the season, and then I intended to suggest to Gabriel that, as I proposed to get you a blue parasol, he would do well to get him a red one."
"And why should Gabriel get a parasol?" Nan inquired with a show of indignation.
"Why, simply to be in the fashion," her father replied. "I remember the time when you cried for a hat because Gabriel had one; I also remember that once when you were wearing a sun-bonnet, Gabriel borrowed one and wore it—and a pretty figure he cut in it."
"I don't see how you can remember it," said Gabriel laughing and blushing.
"Well, I don't see how in the world I could forget it," Dr. Dorrington responded in tone so solemn that Nan laughed in spite of her uncomfortable feelings.
"You say Margaret Gaither has a daughter, Gabriel?" said Dr. Dorrington, suddenly growing serious, much to the relief of the others. "And about Nan's age? Well, you will have to go in with me, daughter, and see her. If her mother is seriously ill, it will be a great comfort to her to have near her some one of her own age."
Nan made a pretty little mouth at this command, to show that she didn't relish24 it, but otherwise she made no objection. Indeed, as matters fell out, it became almost her duty to go in to Margaret Bridalbin; for when the carriage reached the house, the young girl was standing at the gate.
"Is this Dr. Dorrington? Well, you are to go up at once. They are constantly calling to know if you have come. I don't know how my dearest is—I dread11 to know. Oh, I am sure you will do what you can." There was an appeal in the girl's voice that went straight to the heart of the physician.
"You may make your mind easy on that score, my dear," said Dr. Dorrington, laying his hand lightly on her shoulder. There was something helpful and hopeful in the very tone of his voice. "This is my daughter Nan," he added.
Margaret turned to Nan, who was lagging behind somewhat shyly. "Will you please come in?—you and Gabriel Tolliver. It is very lonely here, and everything is so still and quiet. My name is Margaret Bridalbin," she said. She took Nan's hand, and looked into her eyes as if searching for sympathy. And she must have found it there, for she drew Nan toward her and kissed her.
That settled it for Nan. "My name is Nan Dorrington," she said, swallowing a lump in her throat, "and I hope we shall be very good friends."
"We are sure to be," replied the other, with emphasis. "I always know at once."
They went into the dim parlour, and Nan and Margaret sat with their arms entwined around each other. "Gabriel told me yesterday that you were a young girl," Nan remarked.
"I am seventeen," replied the other.
"Only seventeen! Why, I am seventeen, and yet I seem to be a mere25 child by the side of you. You talk and act just as a grown woman does."
"That is because I have never associated with children of my own age. I have always been thrown with older persons. And then my mother has been ill a long, long time, and I have been compelled to do a great deal of thinking. I know of nothing more disagreeable than to have to think. Do you dislike poor folks?"
"No, I don't," replied Nan, snuggling up to Margaret. "Some of my very bestest friends are poor."
Margaret smiled at the childish adjective, and placed her cheek against Nan's for a moment. "I'm glad you don't dislike poverty," she said, "for we are very poor."
"When it comes to that," Nan responded, "everybody around here is poor—everybody except Grandfather Clopton and Mr. Tomlin. They have money, but I don't know where they get it. Nonny says that some folks have only to dream of money, and when they wake in the morning they find it under their pillows."
Dr. Dorrington came downstairs at this moment. "Your mother is very much better than she was awhile ago," he said to Margaret. "She never should have made so long a journey. She has wasted in that way strength enough to have kept her alive for six months."
"I begged and implored26 her not to undertake it," the daughter explained, "but nothing would move her. Even when she needed nourishing food, she refused to buy it; she was saving it to bring her home."
"Well, she is here, now, and we'll do the best we can. Gabriel, will you run over, and ask Fanny Tomlin to come? And if Neighbour Tomlin is there tell him I want to see him on some important business."
It was very clear to Gabriel from all this that there was small hope for the poor lady above. She might be better than she was when the doctor arrived, but there was no ray of hope to be gathered from Dr. Dorrington's countenance27.
Pulaski Tomlin and his sister responded to the summons at once; and with Gabriel's grandmother holding her hand, the poor lady had an interview with Pulaski Tomlin. But she never saw his face nor he hers. The large screen was carried upstairs from the dining-room, and placed in front of the bed; and near the door a chair was placed for Pulaski Tomlin. It was the heart's desire of the dying lady that Neighbour Tomlin should become the guardian28 of her daughter. He was deeply affected29 when told of her wishes, but before consenting to accept the responsibility, asked to see the daughter, and went to the parlour, where she was sitting with Nan and Gabriel. When he came in Nan ran and kissed him as she never failed to do, for, though his face on one side was so scarred and drawn30 that the sight of it sometimes shocked strangers, those who knew him well, found his wounded countenance singularly attractive.
"This is Margaret," he said, taking the girl's hand. "Come into the light, my dear, where you may see me as I am. Your mother has expressed a wish that I should become your guardian. As an old and very dear friend of mine, she has the right to make the request. I am willing and more than willing to meet her wishes, but first I must have your consent."
They went into the hallway, which was flooded with light. "Are you the Mr. Tomlin of whom I have heard my mother speak?" Margaret asked, fixing her clear eyes on his face; and when he had answered in the affirmative—"I wonder that she asked you, after what she has told me. She certainly has no claims on you."
"Ah, my dear, that is where you are wrong," he insisted. "I feel that every one in this world has claims on me, especially those who were my friends in old times. It is I who made a mistake, and not your mother; and I should be glad to rectify31 that mistake now, as far as I can, by carrying out her wishes. You know, of course, that she is very ill; will you go up and speak with her?"
"No, not now; not when there are so many strangers there," Margaret replied, and stood looking at him with almost childish wonder.
At this moment, Nan, who knew by heart all the little tricks of friendship and affection, left Margaret, and took her stand by Neighbour Tomlin's side. It was an indorsement that the other could not withstand. She followed Nan, and said very firmly and earnestly, "It shall be as my mother wishes."
"I hope you will never have cause to regret it," remarked Pulaski Tomlin solemnly.
"She never will," Nan declared emphatically, as Pulaski Tomlin turned to go upstairs.
He went up very slowly, as if lost in thought. He went to the room and stood leaning against the framework of the door. "Pulaski is here," said Miss Fanny, who had been waiting to announce his return.
"You remember, Pulaski," the invalid32 began, "that once when you were ill, you would not permit me to see you. I was so ignorant that I was angry; yes, and bitter; my vanity was wounded. And I was ignorant and bitter for many years. I never knew until eighteen months ago why I was not permitted to see you. I knew it one day, after I had been ill a long time. I looked in the mirror and saw my wasted face and hollow eyes. I knew then, and if I had known at first, Pulaski, everything would have been so different. I have come all this terrible journey to ask you to take my daughter and care for her. It is my last wish that you should be her guardian and protector. Is she in the room? Can she hear what I am about to say?"
"No, Margaret," replied Pulaski Tomlin, in a voice that was tremulous and husky. "She is downstairs; I have just seen her."
"Well, she has no father according to my way of thinking," Margaret Bridalbin went on. "Her father is a deserter from the Confederate army. She doesn't know that; I tried to tell her, but my heart failed me. Neither does she know that I have been divorced from him. These things you can tell her when the occasion arises. If I had told her, it would have been like accusing myself. I was responsible—I felt it and feel it—and I simply could not tell her."
"I shall try to carry out your wishes, Margaret," said Pulaski Tomlin; "I have seen your daughter, as Fanny suggested, and she has no objection to the arrangement. I shall do all that you desire. She shall be to me a most sacred charge."
"If you knew how happy you are making me, Pulaski—Oh, I am grateful—grateful!"
At a signal from Pulaski Tomlin, Judge Odom cleared his throat, and read the document that he had drawn up, and his strong, business-like voice went far toward relieving the strain that had been put on those who heard the conversation between the dying woman and the man who had formerly34 been her lover. Everything was arranged as she desired, every wish she expressed had been carried out; and then, as if there was nothing else to be done, the poor lady closed her eyes with a sigh, and opened them no more in this world. It seemed that nothing had sustained her but the hope of placing her daughter in charge of Pulaski Tomlin.
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1
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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jauntiness
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| n.心满意足；洋洋得意；高兴；活泼 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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6
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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7
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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8
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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10
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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11
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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12
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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13
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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14
lengthen
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| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
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15
wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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16
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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17
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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18
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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19
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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21
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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23
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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24
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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25
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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26
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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28
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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29
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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30
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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31
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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32
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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33
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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34
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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