Nobody

"I have nothing to say, Mr. Dillwyn, – that you would like to hear," sheadded, remembering that her first utterance was rather indefinite.

"You do not mean that?" he said hurriedly.

"Indeed I do."

"I know," he said, "you never say anything you do not mean. But how do you mean it, Lois? Not to deny me? You do not mean that?"

"Yes," she said. And it was like putting a knife through her own heartwhen she said it. O, if she were at home! O, if she had never come onthis drive! O, if she had never left Esterbrooke and thosesick-beds! – But here she was, and must stand the question; and Mr.Dillwyn had not done.

"What reason do you give me?" – and his voice grated now with pain.

"I gave none," said Lois faintly. "Don't let us talk about it! It is nouse. Don't ask me anything more!"

"One question I must. I must know it. Do you dislike me, Lois?"

"Dislike? O no! how should I dislike you?" she answered. There was alittle, very slight, vibration in her voice as she spoke, and hercompanion discerned it. When an instrument is very high strung, a quitesoft touch will be felt and answered, and that touch swept all thestrings of Mr. Dillwyn's soul with music.

"If you do not dislike me, then," said he, "what is it? Do you, possibly like me, Lois?"

Lois could not prevent a little hesitation before she answered, andthat, too, Philip well noted.

"It makes no difference," she said desperately. "It isn't that. Don'tlet us talk any more about it! Mr. Dillwyn, the horses have beenwalking this great while, and we are a long way from home; won't youdrive on?"

He did drive on then, and for a while said not a word more. Lois waspanting with eagerness to get home, and could not go fast enough; shewould gladly have driven herself, only not quite such a fresh and gaypair of horses. They swept along towards a region that she could seefrom afar was thicker set with lights than the parts where they were.Before they reached it, however, Mr. Dillwyn drew rein again, and madethe horses walk gently.

"There is one question still I must ask," he said; "and to ask it, Imust for a moment disobey your commands. Forgive me; but when thehappiness of a whole life is at stake, a moment's pain must beborne – and even inflicted – to make sure one is not suffering needlesslya far greater evil. Miss Lois, you never do anything without a reason; tell me your reason for refusing me. You thought I liked some one else;it is not that; I never have liked any one else. Now, what is it?"

"There is no use in talking," Lois murmured. "It is only pain."

"Necessary pain," said he firmly. "It is right I should know, and itmust be possible for you to tell me. Say that it is because you cannotlike me well enough – and I shall understand that."

But Lois could not say it; and the pause, which embarrassed herterribly, had naturally a different effect upon her companion.

"It is not that!" he cried. "Have you been led to believe somethingfalse about me, Lois? – Lois?"

"No," she said, trembling; the pain, and the difficulty of speaking, and the struggle it cost, set her absolutely to trembling. "No, it issomething true." She spoke faintly, but he listened well.

"True! What is it? It is not true. What do you mean, dear?"

The several things which came with the intonations of this lastquestion overset the remnant of Lois's composure. She burst into tears; and he was looking, and the moonlight was full in her face, and hecould not but see it.

"I cannot help it," she cried; "and you cannot help it. It is no use totalk about it. You know – O, you know – you are not a Christian!"

It was almost a cry at last with which she said it; and the usuallyself-contained Lois hid her face away from him. Whether the horseswalked or trotted for a little while she did not know; and I think itwas only mechanical, the effort by which their driver kept them at afoot pace. He waited, however, till Lois dropped her hands again, andhe thought she would attend to him.

"May I ask," he then said, and his voice was curiously clear andcomposed, – "if that is your only objection to me?"

"It is enough!" said Lois smotheredly, and noticing at the same timethat ring in his voice.

"You think, one who is a Christian ought never to marry another who isnot a Christian?"

"No!" she said, in the same way, as if catching her breath.

"It is very often done."

She made no reply. This was a most cruel discussion, she thought. Wouldthey never reach home? And the horses walking! Walking, and shakingtheir heads, with soft little peals of the bells, like creatures whohad at last got quiet enough to like walking.

"Is that all, Lois?" he asked again; and the tone of his voiceirritated her.

"There need not be anything more," she answered. "That is enough. It isa barrier for ever between us; you cannot overcome it – and I cannot. O,do make the horses go! we shall never get home! and don't talk anymore."

"I will let the horses go presently; but first I must talk a littlemore, because there is something that must be said. That was abarrier, a while ago; but it is not now. There is no need for either ofus to overcome it or try to overcome it, for it does not exist. Lois,do you hear me? It does not exist."

"I do not understand," she said, in a dazed kind of way, turningtowards him. "What does not exist?"

"That barrier – or any barrier – between you and me."

"Yes, it does. It is a barrier. I promised my dear grandmother – andif I had not promised her, it would be just the same, for I havepromised to obey God; and he forbids it."

"Forbids what?"

"Forbids me, a Christian, to have anything to do with you, who are nota Christian. I mean, in that way."

"But, Lois – I am a Christian too."

"You?" she said, turning towards him.

"Yes."

"What sort of a one?"

Philip could not help laughing at the naïve question, which, however,he perfectly understood.

"Not an old one," he said; "and not a good one; and yet, Lois, truly anhonest one. As you mean the word. One whose King Christ is, as he isyours; and who trusts in him with the whole heart, as you do."

"You a Christian!" exclaimed Lois now, in the greatest astonishment.

"When did it happen?"

He laughed again. "A fair question. Well, it came about last summer.

You recollect our talk one Sunday in the rain?"

"O yes!" —

"That set me to thinking; and the more I saw of you, – yes, and of Mrs.Armadale, – and the more I heard of you from Mrs. Barclay, the more theconviction forced itself upon my mind, that I was living, and hadalways lived, a fool's life. That was a conclusion easily reached; buthow to become wise was another matter. I resolved to give myself to thestudy till I had found the answer; and that I might do ituninterruptedly, I betook myself to the wilds of Canada, with not muchbaggage beside my gun and my Bible. I hunted and fished; but I studiedmore than I did either. I took time for it too. I was longing to seeyou; but I resolved this subject should be disposed of first. And Igave myself to it, until it was all clear to me. And then I made openprofession of my belief, and took service as one of Christ's declaredservants. That was in Montreal."

"In Montreal!"

"Yes."

"Why did you never say anything about it, then?"

"I am not accustomed to talking on the subject, you know. But, really,I had a reason. I did not want to seem to propitiate your favour by anysuch means; I wished to try my chances with you on my own merits; andthat was also a reason why I made my profession in Montreal. I wantedto do it without delay, it is true; I also wanted to do it quietly. Imean everybody shall know; but I wished you to be the first."

There followed a silence. Things rushed into and over Lois's mind withsuch a sweep and confusion, that she hardly knew what she was thinkingor feeling. All her positions were knocked away; all her assumptionswere found baseless; her defences had been erected against nothing; herfears and her hopes were alike come to nought. That is, bien entendu,her old fears and her old hopes; and amid the ruins of the latter newones were starting, in equally bewildering confusion. Like little greenheads of daffodils pushing up above the frozen ground, and fairblossoms of hepatica opening beneath a concealing mat of dead leaves.Ah, they would blossom freely by and by; now Lois hardly knew wherethey were or what they were.

Seeing her utterly silent and moveless, Mr. Dillwyn did probably thewisest thing he could do, and drove on. For some time the horsestrotted and the bells jingled; and by too swift approaches thatwilderness of lights which marked the city suburb came nearer andnearer. When it was very near and they had almost entered it, he drewin his reins again and the horses tossed their heads and walked.

"Lois, I think it is fair I should have another answer to my questionnow."

"What question?" she asked hurriedly.

"You know, I was so daring as to ask to have the care of you for therest of your natural life – or of mine. What do you say to it?"

Lois said nothing. She could not find words. Words seemed to tumbleover one another in her mind, – or thoughts did.

"What answer are you going to give me?" he asked again, more gravely.

"You know, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois stammeringly, "I never thought, – Inever knew before, – I never had any notion, that – that – that youthought so." —

"Thought so?– about what?"

"About me."

"I have thought so about you for a great while."

Silence again. The horses, being by this time pretty well exercised, needed no restraining, and walked for their own pleasure. Everythingwith Lois seemed to be in a whirl.

"And now it becomes necessary to know what you think about me," Mr.

Dillwyn went on, after that pause.

"I am very glad – " Lois said tremulously.

"Of what?"

"That you are a Christian."

"Yes, but," said he, half laughing, "that is not the immediate matterin hand. What do you think of me in my proposed character as having theownership and the care of you?"

"I have never thought of you so," Lois managed to get out. The wordswere rather faint, heard, however, as Mr. Dillwyn's hand came just thenadjusting and tucking in her fur robes, and his face was thereby nearhers.

"And now you do think of me so? – What do you say to me?"

She could not say anything. Never in her life had Lois been at a lossand wrecked in all self-management before.

"You know, it is necessary to say something, that I may know where Istand. I must either stay or go. Will you send me away? or keep me 'forgood,' as the children say?"

The tone was not without a touch of grave anxiety now, and impatientearnestness, which Lois heard well enough and would have answered; butit seemed as if her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth. Mr. Dillwynwaited now for her to speak, keeping the horses at a walk, and bendingdown a little to hear what she would say. One sleigh passed them, thenanother. It became intolerable to Lois.

"I do not want to send you away," she managed finally to say, trembling.

The words, however, were clear and slow-spoken, and Mr. Dillwyn askedno more then. He drove on, and attended to his driving, even went fast; and Lois hardly knew how houses and rocks and vehicles flew past them, till the reins were drawn at Mrs. Wishart's door. Philip whistled; agroom presently appeared from the house and took the horses, and helifted Lois out. As they were going up the steps he asked softly,

"Is that all you are going to say to me?"

"Isn't it enough for to-night?" Lois returned.

"I see you think so," he said, half laughing. "I don't; but, however – Are you going to be alone to-morrow morning, or will you takeanother sleigh ride with me?"

"Mrs. Wishart and Madge are going to Mme. Cisco's matinée."

"At what o'clock?"

"They will leave here at half-past ten."

"Then I will be here before eleven."

The door opened, and with a grip of her hand he turned away.

CHAPTER XLVII

PLANS

Lois went along the hall in that condition of the nerves in which thefeet seem to walk without stepping on anything. She queried what timeit could be; was the evening half gone? or had they possibly not donetea yet? Then the parlour door opened.

"Lois! – is that you? Come along; you are just in time; we are at tea.

Hurry, now!"

Lois went to her room, wishing that she could any way escape going tothe table; she felt as if her friend and her sister would read the newsin her face immediately, and hear it in her voice as soon as she spoke.There was no help for it; she hastened down, and presently perceived toher wonderment that her friends were absolutely without suspicion. Shekept as quiet as possible, and found, happily, that she was veryhungry. Mrs. Wishart and Madge were busy in talk.

"You remember Mr. Caruthers, Lois?" said the former; – "Tom Caruthers, who used to be here so often?"

"Certainly."

"Did you hear he had made a great match?"

"I heard he was going to be married. I heard that a great while ago."

"Yes, he has made a very great match. It has been delayed by the deathof her mother; they had to wait. He was married a few months ago, inFlorence. They had a splendid wedding."

"What makes what you call a 'great match'?" Madge asked.

"Money, – and family."

"I understand money," Madge went on; "but what do you mean by 'family,'

Mrs. Wishart?"

"My dear, if you lived in the world, you would know. It means name, andposition, and standing. I suppose at Shampuashuh you are all alike – oneis as good as another."

"Indeed," said Madge, "you are much mistaken, Mrs. Wishart. We thinkone is much better than another."

"Do you? Ah well, – then you know what I mean, my dear. I suppose theworld is really very much alike in all places; it is only the names ofthings that vary."

"In Shampuashuh," Madge went on, "we mean by a good family, a housefulof honest and religious people."

"Yes, Madge," said Lois, looking up, "we mean a little more than that.We mean a family that has been honest and religious, and educated too, for a long while – for generations. We mean as much as that, when wespeak of a good family."

"That's different," said Mrs. Wishart shortly.

"Different from what you mean?"

"Different from what is meant here, when we use the term."

"You don't mean anything honest and religious?" said Madge.

"O, honest! My dear, everybody is honest, or supposed to be; but we donot mean religious."

"Not religious, and only supposed to be honest!" echoed Madge.

"Yes," said Mrs. Wishart. "It isn't that. It has nothing to do withthat. When people have been in society, and held high positions forgeneration after generation, it is a good family. The individuals neednot be all good."

"Oh – !" said Madge.

"No. I know families among the very best in the State, that have beenwicked enough; but though they have been wicked, that did not hindertheir being gentlemen."

"Oh – !" said Madge again. "I begin to comprehend."

"There is too much made of money now-a-days," Mrs. Wishart went onserenely; "and there is no denying that money buys position. I do notcall a good family one that was not a good family a hundred years ago; but everybody is not so particular. Not here. They are more particularin Philadelphia. In New York, any nobody who has money can push himselfforward."

"What sort of family is Mr. Dillwyn's?"

"O, good, of course. Not wealthy, till lately. They have been poor, ever since I knew the family; until the sister married ChaunceyBurrage, and Philip came into his property."

"The Caruthers are rich, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"And now the young one has made a great match? Is she handsome?"

"I never heard so. But she is rolling in money."

"What else is she?" inquired Madge dryly.

"She is a Dulcimer."

"That tells me nothing," said Madge. "By the way you speak it, the wordseems to have a good deal of meaning for you."

"Certainly," said Mrs. Wishart. "She is one of the Philadelphia

Dulcimers. It is an old family, and they have always been wealthy."

"How happy the gentleman must be!"

"I hope so," said Mrs. Wishart gravely. "You used to know Tom quitewell, Lois. What did you think of him?"

"I liked him," said Lois. "Very pleasant and amiable, and alwaysgentlemanly. But I did not think he had much character."

Mrs. Wishart was satisfied; for Lois's tone was as disengaged asanything could possibly be.

Lois could not bring herself to say anything to Madge that night aboutthe turn in her fortunes. Her own thoughts were in too much agitation, and only by slow degrees resolving themselves into settled conclusions.Or rather, for the conclusions were not doubtful, settling into suchquiet that she could look at conclusions. And Lois began to be afraidto do even that, and tried to turn her eyes away, and thought of thehour of half-past ten next morning with trembling and heart-beating.

It came with tremendous swiftness, too. However, she excused herselffrom going to the matinée, though with difficulty. Mrs. Wishart wassure she ought to go; and Madge tried persuasion and raillery. Loiswatched her get ready, and at last contentedly saw the two drive off.That was good. She wanted no discussion with them before she had seenMr. Dillwyn again; and now the coast was clear. But then Lois retreatedto her own room up-stairs to wait; she could not stay in thedrawing-room, to be found there. She would have so much time forpreparation as his ring at the door and his name being broughtup-stairs would give her. Preparation for what? When the summons came,Lois went down feeling that she had not a bit of preparation.

Philip was standing in the middle of the floor, waiting for her; andthe apparition that greeted him was so unexpected that he stood still, feasting his eyes with it. He had always seen Lois calm, collected, moving and speaking with frank independence, although with perfectmodesty. Now? – how was it? Eyes cast down, colour coming and going; alook and manner, not of shyness, for she came straight to him, but ofthe most lovely maidenly consciousness; of all things, that which alover would most wish to see. Yet she came straight to him, and as hemet her and held out his hand, she put hers in it.

"What are you going to say to me this morning, Lois?" he said softly; for the pure dignity of the girl was a thing to fill him with reverenceas well as with delight, and her hand seemed to him something sacred.

Her colour stirred again, but the lowered eyelids were lifted up, andthe eyes met his with a most blessed smile in them.

"I am very happy, Mr. Dillwyn," she said.

Everybody knows how words fail upon occasion; and on this occasion thesilence lasted some considerable time. And then Philip put Lois intoone of the big easy-chairs, and went down on one knee at her feet, holding her hand. Lois tried to collect her spirits to makeremonstrance.

"O, Mr. Dillwyn, do not stay there!" she begged.

"Why not? It becomes me."

"I do not think it becomes you at all," said Lois, laughing a littlenervously, – "and I am sure it does not become me."

"Mistaken on both points! It becomes me well, and I think it does notbecome you ill," said he, kissing the hand he held. And then, bendingforward to carry his kiss from the hand to the cheek, – "O my darling, how long I have waited for this!"

"Long?" said Lois, in surprise. How pretty the incredulity was on herinnocent face.

"Very long! – while you thought I was liking somebody else. There hasnever been any change in me, Lois. I have been patiently andimpatiently waiting for you this great while. You will not think itunreasonable, if that fact makes me intolerant of any more waiting, will you?"

"Don't keep that position!" said Lois earnestly.

"It is the position I mean to keep all the rest of my life!"

But that set Lois to laughing, a little nervously no doubt, yet somerrily that Philip could not but join in.

"Do I not owe everything to you?" he went on presently, with tenderseriousness. "You first set me upon thinking. Do you recollect yourearliest talk to me here in this room once, a good while ago, aboutbeing satisfied?"

"Yes," said Lois, suddenly opening her eyes.

"That was the beginning. You said it to me more with your looks thanwith your words; for I saw that, somehow, you were in the secret, andhad yourself what you offered to me. That I could not forget. I hadnever seen anybody 'satisfied' before."

"You know what it means now?" she said softly.

"To-day? – I do!"

"No, no; I do not mean to-day. You know what I mean!" she said, withbeautiful blushes.

"I know. Yes, and I have it, Lois. But you have a great deal to teachme yet."

"O no!" she said most unaffectedly. "It is you who will have to teachme."

"What?"

"Everything."

"How soon may I begin?"

"How soon?"

"Yes. You do not think Mrs. Wishart's house is the best place, or hercompany the best assistance for that, do you?"

"Ah, please get up!" said Lois.

But he laughed at her.

"You make me so ashamed!"

"You do not look it in the least. Shall I tell you my plans?"

"Plans!" said Lois.

"Or will you tell me your plans?"

"Ah, you are laughing at me! What do you mean?"

"You were confiding to me your plans of a little while ago;Esterbrooke, and school, and all the rest of it. My darling! – that'sall nowhere."

"But," – said Lois timidly.

"Well?"

"That is all gone, of course. But – "

"You will let me say what you shall do?"

"I suppose you will."

"Your hand is in all my plans, from henceforth, to turn them and twistthem what way you like. But now let me tell you my present plans. Wewill be married, as soon as you can accustom your self to the idea.Hush! – wait. You shall have time to think about it. Then, as early asspring winds will let us, we will cross to England."

"England?" cried Lois.

"Wait, and hear me out. There we will look about us a while and get such things as you may want for travelling, which one can get better in

England than anywhere else. Then we will go over the Channel and see

Paris, and perhaps supplement purchases there. So work our way – "

"Always making purchases?" said Lois, laughing, though she caught herbreath too, and her colour was growing high.

"Certainly, making purchases. So work our way along, and get to

Switzerland early in June – say by the end of the first week."

"Switzerland!"

"Don't you want to see Switzerland?"

"But it is not the question, what I might like to see."

"With me it is."

"As for that, I have an untirable appetite for seeing things.But – but," and her voice lowered, "I can be quite happy enough on thisside."

"Not if I can make you happier on the other."

"But that depends. I should not be happy unless I was quite sure it wasright, and the best thing to do; and it looks to me like a piece ofself-indulgence. We have so much already."

The gentle manner of this scruple and frank admission touched Mr.

Dillwyn exceedingly.

"I think it is right," he said. "Do you remember my telling you onceabout my old house at home?"

"Yes, a little."

"I think I never told you much; but now you will care to hear. It is agood way from this place, in Foster county, and not very far from abusy little manufacturing town; but it stands alone in the country, inthe midst of fields and woods that I used to love very much when I wasa boy. The place never came into my possession till about seven oreight years ago; and for much longer than that it has been neglectedand left without any sort of care. But the house is large andold-fashioned, and can be made very pretty; and the grounds, as Ithink, leave nothing to be desired, in their natural capabilities.However, all is in disorder, and needs a good deal of work done up onit; which must be done before you take possession. This work willrequire some months. Where can we be better, meanwhile, than inSwitzerland?"

"Can the work be done without you?"

"Yes."

He waited a bit. The new things at work in Lois's mind made the newexpression of manner and feature a most delicious study to him. She hada little difficulty in speaking, and he was still and watched her.