Say and Seal, Volume I

"There was no malice prepense to-day," said Mr. Linden. "What have you been about all the afternoon?—I expect to hear that you have sailed up the Great Pyramid in a canal boat, or coasted Japan in a Chinese lantern."

"Nearly right," said the doctor. "We have been enacting the part of the wise men of Gotham—I can't imagine where I ever heard of them!—who went to sea in a tub."

"Went to see—what?—" said Mr. Linden laughing.

"Went to Se-vast-a-pool!" said the doctor with perfect gravity. "I hope you're better!"

"Don't I look well?"

"If I were to take the votes on that subject," said the doctor, "I presume the verdict would be unanimous. But looks are proverbially—unsatisfactory! Do you know what damage you have done me by your exploit this afternoon?"

"I should be very glad to hear."

"Why you have brought me into discredit and disfavour with half Pattaquasset, man, because I have let you go out too soon—don't you see? Mrs. Derrick has already laid it to her account against me—which is getting to be a score I shall never dare to foot up."

Faith had left the room for a minute, and coming back again began to make ready the table for tea. Dr. Harrison's eyes followed her. She was not looking as she had looked at his anemones; quiet, sweet, and grave, she went round gathering up the books, and arranging the cups and plates. But the doctor, though asked, would not stay. He went off and the tea was brought in.

"Miss Faith," said Mr. Linden, "if you are half as ready for that exercise as I am, we shall get on superbly to-night."

She almost started.

"You, Mr. Linden! Oh you're not fit for it!"

"Not fit for it!—Miss Faith, how can you say that to me?"

"Let it be so to-night, Mr. Linden!"

"I shall do nothing of the kind, Miss Faith, by your leave. You know I can rest here most comfortably, and make you work—after the same fashion, I hope. I am a little afraid," he said looking at her, "that you are working too much."

"Why, Mr. Linden? How could I?"

"By not keeping your studies well balanced with fresh air."

"O no!" she said smiling. "The work is a great deal better than the fresh air. Besides, I have been out to-day."

"You might as well say that bread is a great deal better than water. Yes, you have been out to-day, that is one good thing. And I shall try to throw somewhat into that scale myself, if I live. But I want all the books to-night, Miss Faith—and to-morrow, you know, is a half holiday, but you need not expect to have one."

Faith's tea went on after that in a manifestly different manner. Expeditiously the table was cleared after tea! And if ever Faith wrought with eager care to do perfections and save her teacher every word and thought that could be spared, she did it then. So the exercise was written, with most earnest guarding against anything 'german' or 'sophisticated' in her letters. Indeed Faith's handwriting, by dint of taking pains, was fast growing into stiff correctness—not without a certain beauty, of promise at least, but stiff still. And with all her other lessons, of thought or memory; what earnest quick effort could do was done that night, and done upon the back of a sound preparation.

Mr. Linden however did not spare himself words, riot much, and care not at all; watching and guiding his pretty scholar with equal gravity, gentleness, and attention; rarely diverging from the business view of the subject, unless Faith grew timid or frightened, in which case he indulged himself with making her laugh, and so brought her back to business again. What views Mrs. Derrick took of the two, thus engaged, it would be hard to say; save that they were wondrous pleasant ones—a little puzzled, a little thoughtful, loving and pleased to the last degree. How much she studied those two faces!—not Faith herself bestowed more care upon what she was about. But Faith came to conclusions—Mrs. Derrick never did; wanting help from the very person who cleared the path of learning for her daughter. His face—its gravity, its changes—she could not read; but she liked the study.

The doctor's plan about the Aquarium was excessively distasteful to Mrs. Derrick. She read the meaning and grounds of it, which Faith entirely failed to read; but then to give them to her was hardly an advisable thing. So the Aquarium came, after a few days; and Faith having found that Mr. Linden could give her some help, if necessary, in the care of it, relieved her mind of all concern about the responsibility and took the full good of the trust. In a sunny window it was placed, and many a happy minute between the times of other things Faith stood or sat there to watch the unfolding and shrinking Anemones, and the restless, eager, wild lives of the other and more distinctly animal inhabitants of this little section of Ocean. The only uncomfortable thing about it was that other people sometimes saw it and heard how it came there; and other people, Faith knew, drew very ridiculous inferences from nothing. And though ridiculous they were disagreeable. But however, she knew best how it came there and how simple a matter it was; and it was never the way of her simplicity to trouble itself overmuch about ridiculous things.

Another person, it may be remarked, knew how it got there; and he found it pleasant to come and see it some times. This was generally in the afternoon, now, when Mr. Linden was not at home and Faith was not occupied in household duties. Pleasant talks were held over the Aquarium; for there was never an end of things that might be told of old and new discoveries connected with what was in it. The conversations diverged often to other matters, religious or scientific as the case might be; and were clever, bright, interesting, or amusing accordingly—and invariably.

And so the time wore on towards the 29th. But in the fourth week of Mr. Linden's return to school duties, Faith began to have a new lesson—or rather she had it once and practised upon it many times. That once was at the end of a Wednesday afternoon, in exquisite Indian summer weather; when other subjects being dismissed for the time, Mr. Linden gave his scholar an interesting and precise account of the process of respiration; passing thence to the obvious benefits of fresh air, and finally requesting her to put on her things and come out and take them. After which, it may be observed, Faith was never heard to say that studies were "a great deal better than fresh air,"—often as the walk was repeated.

The other lessons made beautiful headway. Even the French talks at dinner. That was harder to Faith than any other trial to which she had been put. She shrank from it with great shrinking. But the desire to please her teacher overcame even fear. Rather than not do that,—Faith ventured, right or wrong; and once fairly launched, of course, with his good help and her own endeavours, soon got into smoother sailing.

Mr. Linden and the doctor now met not often; the doctor making his visits, as has been said, during school time. They met oftenest where the doctor went seldomest,—in those rooms where Dr. Harrison did sometimes let his profession call him, where Mr. Linden was drawn by somewhat beyond profession. Sometimes this intercourse was only of the eye,—sometimes they walked home together; the curious friendship between them deepening, as it seemed, from all sources.

Come home when Mr. Linden would, his room looked as if somebody had just stepped out of it. The fire was always in its best beauty; the hearth guiltless of ashes; the temperature genial whatever the weather out of doors might be; the books, the papers, the table, in their wonted order or disorder, as fresh as if dust never fell. But the fairy of the place was always out of sight.

CHAPTER XXXI

The 29th of November came on Wednesday, which permitted Mrs. Stoutenburgh to have her dinner at an earlier hour than would else have been possible. To this dinner the two older guests were invited—the boys were only to come to supper; and four o'clock was the time.

Till near three, studies and reading were in full force, but then other duties claimed attention.

"If I could only sit next you at dinner, Miss Faith," Mr. Linden said as he shut up the books, "we could talk French all the time!—but there is no hope of that. And Miss Faith—" he said as she turned to go upstairs, "do you know that all the things on my table are not in their proper place?"

Very much wondering, Faith was for a moment at a loss.

"What is wrong, Mr. Linden?"

"I would not give it so harsh a name, Miss Faith—only I thought perhaps you would go in there before I come up and see that all is left just as usual,—if you would be so good."

Faith went up, querying with herself whether Cindy could perhaps have been in there and committed some dire damage—or what it could be.

What could it!—if ever a room was scrupulously in order, that was; and the table—it had not been stirred, nor a book upon it, since Faith's arranging hands had been there. Even writing implements were not laid about, as they often were,—the table was just as usual. Unless–

Yes, in front of the books stood a glass of water, and therein one dark velvet rose, truly of a "Cramoisi supérieure," failing to support itself upon its own green leaves, laid its face half coquettishly and half wearily upon dark sprigs of heliotrope and myrtle. Thence it looked at Faith. And Faith looked at it, with a curious smile of recognition, and yet of doubt,—whether that could possibly be what he meant. But she was to see that all things were "left just as usual;" it did not admit of a serious question. So lifting the glass and the rose, Faith and it went off together.

Faith's best dress, of course put on for this occasion, was a black silk. She had thought that a little extravagant at the time it was got; but Mrs. Derrick would have it. It was made with the most absolute plainness, high in the neck, where the invariable little white ruffle graced the white throat; but the sleeves were short, and similar white ruffles softened the dividing line between them and the well rounded fair arms. Her hair was as usual, her feet were as usual, only the shoes were of fresh neatness; but when Faith had with eyes that saw only them, not herself, fastened the rose and myrtle on the bosom of her dress, a little figure stood there that in its soft angles and exquisite propriety of attire would have been noted in any circle of splendour, and might have satisfied the most fastidious lover of elegance. Wrapped up and hooded Faith went down stairs, and Mr. Linden put her in the Stoutenburgh carriage, which rolled off to the mansion of the same name in a very short space of time.

In solitary grandeur Faith was ushered into Mrs. Stoutenburgh's bedroom, where first the fire kept her company, and then Mrs. Stoutenburgh herself came in from another door and both unwrapped her and wrapt her up! But when all that could be done was done, Mrs. Stoutenburgh ran off again, and told Faith, laughing, that she hadn't seen her yet—and was all ready for her in the parlour. Faith being left to herself stepped out into the passage, where Mr. Linden was standing with folded arms before a window that looked out upon the closing November day. Faith came softly up beside him.

"I've seen Mrs. Stoutenburgh," she said, "but she says she hasn't seen me. Are your flowers right now, Mr. Linden?"

"Miss Faith! why do you wear velvet shoes?"—he said turning full upon her. "You have not been down stairs?"

"No, certainly. I saw Mrs. Stoutenburgh up here."

"Then shall I have the pleasure of taking you down?—I see nothing that is not right," he added smiling.

It was rather an odd new thing to Faith, to be taken down, or in, anywhere. The form of having a gentleman's arm was something rather startling. But she did not shew it. Down stairs they went, into the glowing parlour, where Faith was met and greeted by Mrs. Stoutenburgh de nouveau.

"Ah Miss Faith!" said the Squire as he gave her his salutation, "how extravagant you are to add roses to roses in that style! Don't you know it's a waste of material?"

"No, sir. I shall use it all up."

"I should like to see you after you get through!" said Mr. Stoutenburgh laughing. "Ask Mr. Linden if it's not waste."

Mr. Linden however entirely declined to assent to any such proposition,—nay, even hinted that if any one was to be charged with wasting roses just then, it was the Squire himself.

"Yes, I think so too!" said Mrs. Stoutenburgh,—"but how funnily you always see through things and turn them about!"

"Roses are not very opaque things to see through," he answered smiling, while Mrs. Stoutenburgh rescued Faith and putting her arm round her drew her off towards the sofa. Where Faith was glad to get at a distance from the rose-consumers. She felt rather nervous.