"Father has become a member of St. Margaret's, and he has a large mansion in the wealthy Bloomsbury district. He tells me that I must come home, the first opportunity that gives me a respectable companion."

"And it is just destiny, Maria, and not to be," said her grandmother; "for Mrs. Gordon was here this afternoon to bid me farewell. Colonel Gordon has been exchanged, and has reached New York, and they sail in Sat.u.r.day's packet for London. She will be delighted to hae your company, and a mair proper person to travel wi' you couldna find in America; for it isna only hersel', you will hae the Colonel also, to watch o'er you baith."

"Destiny or not, I won't go, grandmother."

"Dinna sow sorrow to yoursel'. They who cross destiny, make a cross for themsel's."

"I will hear what Ernest says about it."

"You arena your ain mistress yet, and G.o.d and man, baith, expect you to put your father's commands before all others," said the Elder.

"I think grandmother and you wish to get rid of me," and the tears sprang to her eyes, and she set her cup down with a noisy petulance.

There was a moment's silence and then the Elder continued, "Your education isna finished yet, as your father says; it was broken up by the war."

"And the lessons at Bradley's house were worse than nane at all,"

interrupted Madame.

"You are to have masters of a' kinds; and your stepmother is a grand musician, I hear, and willing to teach you hersel'."

"I will not go to school again. I know all I want to know."

"You will hae to be schooled for the station you are to fit; your father has turned his loyalty into gold, for he has got it noticed by His Majesty, and been appointed to a rich place in the government offices.

Forbye, he tells me, his new wife has a fortune in her ain right, and sae the world stands straight with him and his. You'll hae society o'

the best sort, and I hope you'll do your part, to show all and sundry, that a little Colonial maid isna' behind English girls, in any usefu' or ornamental particular."

But Maria was indignant and unhappy, and the thought of going to London and of being under authority again was very distasteful to her. The Elder went early upstairs, in order to escape her complaining, and Madame after his departure, was a little more sympathetic. She petted her grandchild, and tried to make her see the bright side of the new life before her.

"You'll be taken to Court, doubtless, Maria, and there is the grand opera you have heard so much about, and lords and ladies for company----"

"I have had enough of lords and ladies, grandmother."

"And fine houses, and nae cold rooms in them; and plenty o' food and clothing at Christian prices, and a rich, powerfu' father, and a musical mother----"

"Stepmother you mean. n.o.body can have more than one mother. My mother is dead, and no other woman can take her place."

"Ay, weel, I suppose you are nearby right. And I hae seen--mair than once or twice--that the bairn who gets a stepmother gets a stepfather, also. Sae mind your ways and your words, and give nae occasion to friend, or foe, for complaint."

As they were talking thus, they heard the garden gate open, and Madame said, "That is your Uncle Neil at last;" but Maria, with an eager, listening face, knew better. "It is not Uncle Neil," she said, "it is Ernest. Why does he come to-night? He told me he was going to a military dinner, given in honor of Colonel Gordon's return."

"If it is Lord Medway, bring him in here," said Madame. "Your grandfather is needing me, and doubtless wondering and fretting already at my delaying." She left the room with these words, and Lord Medway immediately joined Maria. He appeared hurried and annoyed, and without any preliminaries said:

"I must leave New York immediately, my dear Maria; sit down here, close beside me, my sweet one, and comfort me. I have worn out the patience of Lord Clinton, and now I must obey orders, not desires."

"I, also, am in the same predicament, Ernest. I am ordered to London, and must go by the first opportunity," said Maria; and then she told her lover the fear and trouble that was in her heart, and found plenty of sympathy in all that either wounded or angered her.

"But there is a remedy, my darling," said Medway. "Marry me to-morrow morning. I will make all the arrangements to-night--see the clergyman--see Mrs. Gordon, and your uncle Neil----"

"Stop, Ernest. It is useless to talk of such a thing as that. It is beyond our compact, too."

"The compact is idle wind before our love--you do love me, Maria?" and he slipped down to his knees beside the little maid, and putting his arm around her waist, drew her face within the shining influence, the tender eagerness, of his entreating eyes.

Then a strange, wilful contradictious spirit took possession of her.

This very outlet to her position had been in her mind--though unacknowledged--from the first presentment of the journey, and the new mother, and the resumed lessons; but now, that the gate was opened to her desire, something within her obstinately refused to move a step.

Half the accidents in the hunting-field arise from arresting the horse in the leap, and half the disappointments of life may be laid to that hesitation, or stubbornness of will, which permits happiness--coming without notice, and demanding a confiding and instantaneous decision--to go past, and be probably lost for ever.

"You do love me, Maria? Oh, yes! you must have caught love from me. At this hour, say one word to a.s.sure me--will you not? Maria! Queen of my soul, say you love me--Speak--only yes----Maria!"

He waited, he watched her lovely face for some tender change, her eyes for some a.s.suring glance, her lips for the one little word that would make the hour heaven to him, and she was still and speechless as some exquisite picture.

"After all these happy weeks, will you send me away without one word? It is incredible--impossible! Why are you so cold?--now--when we must part--or be always together? Are you afraid to be with me always? You have promised to marry me----"

"Yes--when the time comes."

"Cannot love put the time forward?"

"I don't know."

"We could then go South together."

"I do not want to go South."

"With me, Maria?"

"No."

"Then you will go to London, and your father will have complete control of you, he may make you marry some other man."

"No one can make me break my word of honor--you have my promise."

"I am wretched. I am broken-hearted. I have failed in making you love me. I will go to the front--what does it matter if I am killed? You will not care."

"Of course I shall care, Ernest."

"Say that a little differently, then I shall be satisfied. Put your arms round my neck; kiss me, if only once, you never have kissed me yet, say, 'I love you, Ernest'; come, my dear one, comfort me a little!"

Her heart was on fire, it throbbed and struggled like a bound creature.

She looked sadly, even tenderly at her lover, but she could not break the thrall of careless impa.s.siveness that bound her, as streams are bound in ice. Medway wearied himself with entreaty. She trembled to its pa.s.sion, but remained inarticulate. He was at first disappointed, then astonished, then, weary with his own emotion, wounded and sorrowful. He rose, put on his hat and gloves, and prepared to leave her. It was like the nailing of the coffin lid over a sensitive form; but still that strange, insuperable apathy was not broken.

"Good-bye, Maria! My life, my love, good-bye! and if forever, still----_Maria! Maria!"_ and those two last words were not only speech, they were a cry from a heart hurt beyond hoping, a cry full of despairing affection. The door closed to them, and its clash broke the icy bounds of that soul stupor which had held her like a spell.

"Ernest! Ernest!" she called pa.s.sionately, but he was beyond hearing, and ere she reached the parlor door, she heard the entrance door clash in the same fatal, final manner. Yet, walking as if in some evil dream she reached it, and with a great effort threw it wide open. Her lover was just beyond the garden gate. Would he not turn his head? Oh, would he not look round and see her! No. He caught no sound of her sorrowful entreaty; he cast no backward glance to the distracted girl, who reached the outer gate, only to see his tall, soldierly figure blend itself with the misty night shadows, and then vanish entirely.

Never, never in all her life had Maria been so wretched. In the Bradley affair, she had at least the consciousness that it was not her doing; she was the victim of circ.u.mstances she could not control; but this cup of sorrow she had stubbornly mixed for herself. And that was the smallest part of her remorse; she had made the man who loved her so dearly, drink of it also. And it had all happened in such a tragically short time. Oh, to call back the last hour! only five minutes of it, that she might see again the handsome face that had never turned to her except with love and tender kindness! Alas, alas, there is no return to our lost Edens! Whatever gardens of pleasure we may find in the future, our past Edens are closed. The cherubim are at the gate, and the flaming sword.

She went despairingly to her room, and sat for two bitter hours speechless, astonished at her own folly and wilfulness. She could blame no one. Destiny in this case had used only the weapons she herself put into her hand. She did not complain, nor even weep, her grief found no pa.s.sage to her eyes, it sank inward and seemed for the first hour or two to drown her heart in a dismal, sullen stillness, which made her feel the most forlorn and abandoned of creatures.

But even in these dark hours she was trying the wings that should take her out of them. As she sat musing the inner woman returned to the post she had so criminally deserted, and at once began to suggest remedies.

"Nothing is desperate," she whispered; "in every loss, but the loss of death, there is room for hope; write a letter, Neil will take it, he may yet be detained."