Hearts Afire

TROUBLE WITH FATHER.

It was a very hot afternoon; and Joris Morgan's machine shop, though open to the morning-breezes, was not by any means a cool or pleasant place. Harleigh was just within the doors, upon entrance he received a cool silence from Joris Morgan; but whether the coolness was of intention or preoccupation, Harleigh did not perceive it. Once unwrapped and settled he trod to the office of Joris Morgan, a small room, intensely warm and sunny at that hour of the day.

“Your servant, Mr Morgan.”

“Yours, most sincerely, Mr Morgan. It is a hot day.”

“That is so. We come near to spring time. Is there anything I can oblige you in, Harleigh?”

Joris asked the question because the manner of the young man struck him as uneasy and constrained; and he thought, “Perhaps he has come to borrow money.” It was notorious that his employees gambled, and were often in very great need of it; and, although Joris had not any intention of risking his gold, he thought it as well to bring out the question, and have the refusal understood before unnecessary politeness made it more difficult. He was not, therefore, astonished when Harleigh Daly answered,—

“Sir, you can indeed oblige me, and that in a matter of the greatest moment.”

“If money it be, Harleigh, at once I may tell you, that I borrow not, and I lend not.”

“Sir, it is not money—in particular.”

“So?”

“It is your daughter Charlotte.”

Then Joris stood up, and looked steadily at the suitor. His large, amiable face had become in a moment hard and stern; and the light in his eyes was like the cold, sharp light that falls from drawn steel.

“My daughter is not for you. Harleigh, it is a wrong to her, if you speak her name.”

“By my honor, it is not! Though I come of as good family as any, and may not unreasonably hope to work my way up, I do assure you, sir, I humbly ask for your daughter's hand as if she were a princess.”

“Your family! Talk not of it.”

“I protest that I love your daughter. I wish above all things to make her my wife.”

“Many things men desire, that they come not near to. My daughter is to another man promised.”

“Look Sir that would be monstrous. Your daughter loves me.”

Joris turned white to the lips. “It is not the truth,” he answered in a slow, husky voice.

“By the sun in heaven, it is the truth! Ask her.”

“Then a great scoundrel are you, unfit with honest men to talk. Ho! Yes, your sword pull from its scabbard. Strike. To the heart strike me. Less wicked would be the deed than the thing you have done.”

“In faith, sir, tis no crime to win a woman's love.”

“No crime it would be to take the money from my purse, if my consent was to it. But into my house to come, and while warm was yet my welcome, with my bread and wine in your lips, to take my gold, a shame and a crime would be. My daughter than gold is far more precious.”

There was something very impressive in the angry sorrow of Joris. It partook of his own magnitude. Standing in front of him, it was impossible for Harleigh not to be sensible of the difference between his own slight, nervous frame, and the fair, strong massiveness of Mr. Morgan; and, in a dim way, he comprehended that this physical difference was only the outward and visible sign of a mental and moral one quite as positive and unchangeable.

Yet he persevered in his solicitation. With a slight impatience of manner he said, “Do but hear me, sir. I have done nothing contrary to the custom of people in my condition, and I assure you that with all my soul I love your daughter.”

“Love! So talk you. You see a girl beautiful, sweet, and innocent. Your heart, greedy and covetous, wants her as it has wanted, doubtless, many others. For yourself only you seek her. And what is it you ask then! That she should give up for you her father, mother, home, her own faith, her own people, her own country,—the poor little one!—for a cold, cheerless house among strangers, alone in the sorrows and pains that to all women come. Love! In God's name, what know you of love?”

“No man can love her better.”

“What say you? How, then, do I love her? I who carried her—in these arms before yet she could say to me, “Father!” His wrath had been steadily growing, in spite of the mist in his eyes and the tenderness in his voice; and suddenly striking the desk a ponderous blow with his closed hand, he said with an unmistakable passion, “My daughter you shall not have!”

“Sir, you are very uncivil; but I am thankful to know so much of your mind. And, to be plain with you, I am determined to marry your daughter if I can compass the matter in any way. It is now, then, open war between us.”

“Stay. To me listen. Not one penny will I give to my daughter, if”—

“To the pit with your money! Dirty money made in dirty business”—

“You bastard!”

“Sir, you have not a good leg which to stand.”

You know, that, being Charlotte's father, I will challenge you.”

“Sir, I will challenge you also a hundred times.”

“Christus!!” roared Joris, “challenge me one hundred times. A fool I would be to answer you. See you these arms and hands? In them you will be as the child of one year. Ere beyond my reason you move me, go!” and he strode to the door and flung it open with a passion that made everyone in the shop straighten themselves, and look curiously toward the two men.

White with rage, and with his hand fashioned in to a fist, Harleigh stamped his way through the shop to the dusty street. Then it struck him that he had not asked the name of the man to whom Charlotte was promised. He swore at himself for the omission. Whether he knew him or not, he was determined to fight him. In the meantime, the most practical revenge was to try and see Charlotte before her father had the opportunity to give her any orders regarding him. Just then he met Sir Edward, and he stopped and asked him the time.

“It will be the half hour after nine, Harleigh. I am going home; shall I have your company, sir?”

“I have not much leisure this morning. I beg a thousand regrets.”

Sir Edward's calm, complacent gravity was unendurable. He turned from him abruptly, and, muttering passionate exclamations, went toward the Semple House. Often he had seen Charlotte between nine and ten o'clock at the foot of the Semple House garden; for it was then possible for her to slip away while Mistress Gordon was busy about her house. And this morning he felt that the very intensity of his desire must surely bring her to their trysting-place behind the lilac hedge.

Whether he was right or wrong, he did not consider; for he was not one of those potent men who have themselves in their own power. Nor had it ever entered his mind that “love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice,” or that the only love worthy of the name refuses to blend with anything that is low or vindictive or clandestine. And, even if he had not loved Charlotte, he would now have been determined to marry her. Never before in all his life had he found an object so engrossing. Pride and revenge were added to love, as motives; but who will say that love was purer or stronger or sweeter for them?

In the meantime Joris was suffering as only such deep natures can suffer. There are domestic fatalities which the wisest and tenderest of parents seem impotent to contend with. Joris had certainly been alarmed by Harleigh's proposal, and his positive assertion that Charlotte loved him, had fallen upon the father's heart with the force of a blow, and the terror of a shock. And the sting of the sorrow was this,—that his child had deceived him. Certainly she had not spoken false words, but truth can be outraged by silence quite as cruelly as by speech.

After Harleigh's departure, he shut the door of his office, walked outside, and stood there some minutes, clasping and unclasping his large hands, like a man full of grief and perplexity. Ere long he remembered his friend Elder Van Heemskirk. This trouble concerned him also, for if Harleigh were informed of the marriage arranged between Charlotte and Sir Edward, he would no doubtless feel himself bound in honor to seek revenge on Sir Edward. Joris put himself in Harleigh's place; and he was certain, that, under the same circumstances, he would feel it disgraceful not interfere with the love-affairs of his wife to be.

He found Elder Van Heemskirk with his hat in his hand, giving his last orders before leaving the office for the day; but when Joris said, “There is trouble, and your advice I want,” he returned with him to the back of the office, where, through half-opened shutters, the sunshine and the warm-breeze stole into an atmosphere laden with the aromas of tea and coffee and West Indian produce.

In a few short, strong sentences, Joris put the case before Elder Van Heemskirk. The latter stroked his right knee thoughtfully, and listened. But his first words were not very comforting: “I must say, that it is mostly your own fault, Joris. You have given Harleigh but a half welcome, and you should have made things plain and to the point to Charlotte. Such skimble-skamble, why didn’t you say to her, out and out, 'I have promised you to Sir Edward, my lass. He'll make you the best of husbands; you'll marry him at the New Year, and you'll get gold and silver and all things suitable?”

“I hadn’t the time yet, Elder.”

There are men who can talk their troubles away: Joris was not one of them. He was silent when in sorrow or perplexity; silent, and ever looking around for something to do in the matter. As they walked homewards, the elder talked, and Joris pondered, not what was said, but the thoughts and purposes that were slowly forming in his own mind. He was later than usual for lunch, and the tea and the cakes had passed their prime condition; but, when Lysbet saw the trouble in his eyes, she thought them not worth mentioning. But Charlotte fretted about her father's delay, and it was at her Joris first looked. The veil had now been taken from his eyes; and he noticed her pretty dress, her restless glances at the clock, her ill-concealed impatience at the slow movement of the afternoon meal.

When it was over, Lysbet Morgan rose to put away her silver and china. “So warm as it is!” said Charlotte. “Into the garden I am going, mother.”

“Well, then, there are weeds to pull. The dish take with you.”

Joris rose then, and laying his hand on Charlotte's shoulder said, “There is something to talk about. Sit down, Lysbet; the door shut close, and listen to me.”

It was impossible to mistake the stern purpose on her husband's face, and Lysbet silently obeyed the order.

“Charlotte, this morning there comes to my office the young man, Harleigh. To thy father he said many ill words. To him thou shalt never speak again. Thy promise give to me.”

Charlotte sat silent, with dropped eyes, and cheeks as red as the pomegranate flower at her breast.

“No man, shall speak to me that way.”

Weeping bitterly, Charlotte rose and went to her mother, and laid her head upon Lysbet's shoulder.

“Look now, Joris. One must know the “why” and the “wherefore.” What mean you?”

“This I mean, Lysbet. No more meetings with Harleigh will I have. No love secrets will I bear. Danger is with them; yes, and sin too.”

“Joris, if he has spoken to you, then where is the secret?”

“Too late he spoke. When worked was his own selfish way, to tell me of his triumph he comes. It is a shameful wrong. Forgive it? No, I will not,—never!”

No one answered him; only Charlotte's low weeping broke the silence, and for a few moments Joris paced the room sorrowful and amazed. Then he looked at Lysbet, and she rose and gave her place to him. He put his arms around his darling, and kissed her fondly.

“Charlotte, listen to me thy father. It is for thy happy life here, it is for thy eternal life, I speak to thee. This man for whom thou art now weeping is not good for thee. He is not of thy breeding, he is an uneducated man; none of thy equal, he talks of fashion, of loose talk, of principles still more loose. If with the hawk a singing-bird might mate happily, then this scoundrel thou might safely marry. My Charlotte, do I love thee?”

“My father!”

“Do I love thee?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Dost thou, then, love me?”

She put her arms round his neck, and laid her cheek against his, and kissed him many times.

“Wilt thou go away and leave me, and leave thy mother, in our old age? My heart thou would break. My gray hairs to the grave would go in sorrow. Charlotte, my dear, dear child, what for me, and for thy mother, wilt thou do?”

“Thy wish—if I can.”

Then he told her of the provision made for her future. He reminded her of Sir Edward's long affection, and of her satisfaction with it until Harleigh had wooed her from her love and her duty. And, remembering the elder's reproach on his want of explicitness, he added, “Tomorrow, about thy own house, I will take the first step. Near my house it shall be; and when I walk in my garden, in thy garden I will see thee, and only a little fence shall be between us. And at the new year’s feast thou shalt be married. And money, plenty of money, I will give thee; and all that is proper thy mother and thee shall buy. But no more, no more at all, shalt thou see or speak to that bad man who has so beguiled thee.”

At this remark Charlotte sadly shook her head; and Lysbet's face so plainly expressed caution, that Joris somewhat modified his last order, “That is, little one, no more until the new year’s feast. Then thou wilt be married and then it is good, if it is safe, to forgive all wrongs, and to begin again with all the world in peace and good living. Wilt thou these things promise me? Me and thy mother?”

“My promise shall I give. But, Harleigh I must see once more. That is what I ask.”

“Harleigh! Must you thrust the dagger in your father’s heart?”

She did not answer; and Joris rose, and looked at the girl's mother inquiringly. Her face expressed assent; and he said reluctantly, “Well, then, I will as easy make it as I can. Once more, and for one hour, thou may see him. But I lay it on thee to tell him the truth, for this and for all other time.”

“Now may I go? He is nigh. His apointed time at the Semple House is at hand;” and Charlotte stood up, intent, listening, with her fair head lifted, and her wet eyes fixed on the distance.

“Well, be it so. Go.”

With the words she slipped from the room; and Joris called his servent to bring him some hot coals, and began to fill his pipe. As he did so, he watched Lysbet with some anxiety. She had offered him no sympathy, she evinced no disposition to continue the conversation; and, though she kept her face from him, he understood that all her movements expressed a rebellious temper. In and out of the room she passed, very busy about her own affairs, and apparently indifferent to his anxiety and sorrow.

At first Joris felt some natural anger at her attitude; but, as the Virginia tobbaco calmed and soothed him, he remembered that he had told her nothing of the details of his interview with Harleigh, and that she might be feeling and reasoning from a different standpoint from himself. Then the sweetness of his nature was at once in the ascendant, and he said, “Lysbet, come then, and talk with me about the child.”

She turned the keys in her press slowly, and stood by it with them in her hand. “What has been told thee, Joris, today? And who has spoken? Tongues venimous and envious, I am sure of that.”

“Thou art right. The young man to me spoke himself. He said, 'I love your daughter. I want to marry her.'“

“Well, then, he did no wrong. And as for Charlotte, it is in nature that a young girl should want a lover. It is in nature she should choose the one she likes best. That is what I say.”

“That is what I say, Lysbet. It is in nature, also, that we want too much food and wine, too much sleep, too much pleasure, too little work. It is in nature that our own way we want. It is in nature that the good we hate, and the sin we love. My Lysbet, to us God gives his own good grace, that the things that are in nature we might put below the reason and the will.”

“So hard that is, Joris.”

“No, it is not; so far thou hast done the right way. When Charlotte was a babe, it was in nature that with the fire she wanted to make play. But thou said, 'There is danger, my precious one; and in thy arms thou carried her out of the temptation. When older she grew, it was in nature she said, 'I like not the school, and my Heidelberg is hard, and I cannot learn it.' But thou answered, For thy good is the school, and go thou every day; Now then, it is in nature the child should want this handsome stranger; but with me thou wilt certainly say, He is not fit for thy happiness; he has not the true faith, he gambles, he fights duels, he is a waster, he lives badly, he will take thee far from thy own people and thy own home.'“

Lysbet drew close to him, and laid her arm across his broad shoulders; and he took his pipe from his lips and turned his face to her. “Kind and wise art thou, my husband; and whatever is thy wish, that is my wish too.”

“A good woman thou art. And what pleasure would it be to thee if Charlotte was a countess, and went to the court, and bowed down to the king and the queen? Thou would not see it; and, if thou spoke of it, thy neighbors they would hate thee, and mock thee behind thy back, and say, How proud is Elder Van Heemskirk of his noble son-in-law that comes never once to see him! And dost thou believe he is an earl? Not I.”

“That is where the mother's love is best, Joris. What my neighbors said would be little care to me, if my Charlotte was well and was happy. With her sorrow would I buy my own pleasure? No; I would not so selfish be.”

“Would I, Lysbet? Right am I, and I know I am right. And I think that Sir Edward will be a very great person. Already, as a man of affairs, he is much spoken of. He is handsome and of good morality. The elders in the kirk look to such young men as Sir Edward to fill their places when they are no more in them. On the judge's bench he will sit down yet.”

“A good young man he may be, but he is a very bad lover; that is the truth. If a little less wise he could only be! A young girl likes some foolish talk. It is what women understand. Little fond words, very strong they are! Thou thyself said them to me.”

“That is right. To Sir Edward I will talk a little. A man must seek a good wife with more heart than he seeks gold. Yes, yes; her price above rubies is.”

When Elder Van Heemskirk arrived at home, he found that his wife was out making calls with Mistress Gordon, so he had not the relief of a marital conversation. He took his solitary tea, and fell into a nap, from which he awoke in a querulous, uneasy temper. Sir Edward was walking about the terrace, and he joined him.

“You are stepping in a very majestic way, Sir Edward; what's in your thoughts, I wonder?”

“I have a speech to make tomorrow, sir. My thoughts were on the law, which has a certain majesty of its own.”

“You'd better be thinking of a speech you ought to make tonight, if you care at all about saving yourself with Charlotte Morgan; and I am certain it will be an extraordinary case that is worth more than gold.”

The elder was not in the habit of making unmeaning speeches, and Sir Edward was instantly alarmed. In his own way, he loved Charlotte with all his soul. “Yes,” continued the old man, “you have a rival, sir. Harleigh Daly asked Joris Morgan for his daughter hand.”

“What a dirty scoundrel he is!—to feather his nest with my straw.”

“Take your time, Sir Edward, and you won't lose your judgment. How was he to know that Charlotte Morgan was your sweetheart? You made little fuss over the lass, very little, I may say. Lawyer-like you may be, but none could call you lover-like. I'll have no fighting with him—you have only yourself to blame, you should of laid claim to your love instead of laying bout your law books. Take a word of advice now,—I'll give it without a fee,—you are fond enough to plead for others, go and plead an hour for yourself. Certain! When I was your age, I was noted for my persuading way. Your father, Sir Edward, never left a square on the picnic blanket for a rival. And I can tell you this: a woman isn’t to be counted yours, until you have her inside a wedding-ring.”