Nobody

"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!"