Mr. Claghorn's Daughter Part 12

"What if she does? You always had the Professor, and she'll see that you look on her as his successor."

He rose, as if to go, but hesitated. Not because of any delicacy about volunteering the counsel that hovered on his lips, but in doubt whether it might not be well to permit her to injure her aspirations as much as she could. The certainty that she was, if she cared to be, too influential to offend him, determined him. He felt, with a sigh, that the time might come when he might be compelled to share his power; better that than risk losing it.

"I was in New York this week and saw Ellis Winter," he said. "Ellis told me that 'Liph Claghorn's daughter is in this country. He seemed to think you might invite her here."

"I intended to do so."

"Don't. She's French and, I suppose, a Romanist. Winter was close-mouthed, but I could see there was something. There's talk enough about idolatry and St. Perpetual's. I happen to know that Miss Achsah wants her, too, to convert her."

"Really, Mr. Hacket----"

"Good-bye," he said. "I've acted on the square. There's more in the matter than you think."

After his departure the lady of Stormpoint spent a few moments of indulgence in silent indignation; but when Paula came and preferred the request for that urgent invitation to Natalie, which was to circ.u.mvent the designs of Miss Claghorn, she found the lady inclined to recognize the claims of that person. Nevertheless, she promised to send the invitation, and did so that afternoon.

CHAPTER XI.

THE DEVIL WALKS TO AND FRO IN HAMPTON.

The ancient city of Hampton and its Theological Seminary are well known.

To the wanderer under the elms of the quaint old town there is imparted an impression of cleanliness and a serene complacency, derived, doubtless, from the countenances of the many who, clad in sombre vesture and clean linen, pa.s.s and repa.s.s in the quiet streets. No man can be long in Hampton without feeling the theological influence; unconsciously the wayfarer adopts the prevailing manner, becomes deliberate in his walk and grave of aspect; his moral tone acquires rigidity, his taste severity; he inwardly rejoices if clad in fitting black and secretly covets gold-rimmed spectacles.

The best hotel, facing the Square, has the Hampton air, being even severely theological in aspect. Ordinary commercial travelers prefer "The United States," also a grave hostelry, though less austere in tone; but some descend at "The Hampton," reverend appearing gentlemen these, with white chokers conspicuous, and dealing in churchly wares and theological publications.

In this house Leonard had lived since his father's death had made the old home desolate, being, by reason of his personal as well as his professional attributes, a guest of note; and here there happened to him one day a new and strange experience.

He was breakfasting, later than his usual hour, when he became conscious of the scrutiny of the strangest eyes he had ever seen--eyes belonging to a woman, who, plainly clad in traveling attire, faced him from an adjacent table where she sat, with another woman, whose back was toward Leonard.

The gaze, though fixed, was not in appearance intentionally bold. The woman's eyes, dreamy, languis.h.i.+ng, seemed to sink into his own, as though seeking what might be in the depths they tried to penetrate. It was as though, for them, the veil behind which man hides his inner self was lifted, and a sense of pleasure stole over him and willingness to surrender to this scrutiny; withal a shrinking from disclosure of that which he instinctively felt was unknown, even to himself. It required some effort to rise and leave the room.

An hour later, while waiting for the time of his morning lecture, and hardly freed as yet from the sensation resulting from his breakfast experience, while sitting in the s.p.a.cious hall of the quiet house, he suddenly became aware of drapery, and looking up, encountered the eyes again; not as he had been seeing them since he had escaped them, but again bodily where they belonged, under the heavy brows of a dark-faced, large, and rather handsome woman.

"Pardon," she said in musical tones, and with a scarce perceptible smile at the ruddy flush which mantled his face. "_Est ce Monsieur Claghorn?_"

"Surely," exclaimed Leonard, "this is not----"

"The maid of Mademoiselle Claghorn," she replied, still in French. "The clerk indicated you as Monsieur----"

"Certainly. Your mistress----"

"This way, Monsieur." She led him toward the parlor, and had his ears been keen enough, he might have heard her murmur: "_Il est adorable._"

Natalie had been, in Leonard's eyes, a very beautiful girl, and he found her now a very beautiful woman. She was tall, dark, slender and indescribably graceful, as well as with the nameless manner, born with some and never in perfection acquired, of exceeding yet not obtrusive graciousness. Had she been born a d.u.c.h.ess, she could not have had a better manner; had she been born a washerwoman, it would have been as good, for it was born, not made. The mere beauty of her face was hardly remembered in contemplation of qualities apparent, yet not wholly comprehensible. Ordinarily serene, if not joyous in expression, there was an underlying sadness that seldom left it. Perhaps she still grieved for the father she had lost; perhaps, unconsciously, she craved the love or the religion which the Marquise had said a woman needs.

The travelers were on their way to Easthampton, having arrived in the night train from New York. On learning that less than an hour's drive would bring her to the home of Miss Claghorn, Natalie declined Leonard's escort. "I wish to see my grand-aunt alone," she explained. "She has written a most kind invitation----"

"Which I hope you will accept, Cousin."

"Which I greatly desire to accept, but----"

"If for any reason," he interrupted, "you should decide not to accept Cousin Achsah's invitation, I know that at Stormpoint----"

"I have letters from both Mrs. Joe and Paula; but my first duty, and my inclination as well, take me to my father's aunt."

Though he had at first agreed with Paula that residence with Miss Achsah would not "do" for Natalie, he saw the fitness of her decision. She recognized her own status as a Claghorn and appreciated the Claghorn claim upon her. "I am glad you feel so," he said. "You will discern Cousin Achsah's real excellence beneath an exterior which, at first sight, may seem unpromising. She is not French, as you will soon discover, but as for true kindness----"

She interrupted with a laugh. "You and Mr. Winter are both eloquent in apologizing for my grand-aunt's sort of kindness, which, it seems, differs from the French variety."

"We only mean she will seem to you undemonstrative. She is very religious."

"That does not alarm me; everybody is--except myself," and now her laugh had a cadence of sadness.

It touched him. He knew the task laid out for him by Providence, and he felt that he ought to say a fitting word. But all the time he knew that the eyes of the maid were upon him. The knowledge made him appear somewhat constrained--he who ordinarily had an ease of manner, which was not the least of his charms.

"They are well at Stormpoint, of course?" questioned Natalie. "Mrs. Joe and Paula?"

"Perfectly. You will be charmed with their home. Mrs. Claghorn has transformed a desert. The sea----"

"Paula sent me some views, and better, an appreciative description. I should think they would never wish to leave it--none of them?" She looked inquiringly at him.

"As to that," he laughed, "Mrs. Joe flits occasionally; and, of course, Paula with her. But they are becoming more and more content to remain at home. Mrs. Joe is quite a public character."

"A chatelaine--the head of the house?" Again her eyes questioned more insistently than her lips.

"Quite so," was the answer. "Mark's a rover. He's in Russia."

A sigh of relief--or regret? It was quickly checked. Leonard noticed her pallor. "You are tired," he said. "Why not rest for an hour or two here?

If you will do so, I can myself drive you to Easthampton. Just now I must attend to my cla.s.s at the Seminary."

But she would not wait for his escort; so he procured a conveyance, and surmising that, under the circ.u.mstances, the maid was an embarra.s.sment, he suggested providing her with a book and the hospitality of his sitting-room, and having seen his cousin depart, he conducted Mademoiselle Berthe to his room and handed her a volume of the "Revue des Deux Mondes," which the maid accepted graciously.

"There," he said pleasantly, and in his best French, "you can look out of the window or read, as you please. I hope you will not find the time long."

She smiled in reply. Her penetrating eyes sought that other self within him, which leaped to the call and looked out of his eyes into hers. For a moment only. His gaze dropped. Wondering, he found himself trembling.

"I--I shall look in in an hour, to see if you want anything."

"Monsieur is very good," murmured Berthe. They were not far apart; her hand touched his. She looked downward.

"Good-bye," he said abruptly.

She watched him crossing the square toward the Seminary. There was a half smile upon her lips. "He is adorable," she murmured again. "Ah! I thought so," as Leonard, now some hundred yards away, looked back.

When he had disappeared she lazily inspected her surroundings, noting the various objects with faint interest. "_Son pre_," she muttered as her glance fell upon the portrait of Professor Jared Claghorn. But she examined more minutely that of his mother. "_Belle femme_," was her comment, and though her eyes wandered from the picture, they often returned to it, verifying the close resemblance between it and the occupant of the room. "Ah-h!" she exclaimed, throwing up her arms, and then letting them fall listlessly, "_Qu'il est beau_!"