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Say and Seal, Volume 1

<h3 id="id04493" style="margin-top: 3em">CHAPTER XXXIII.</h3> The week thereafter passed with the usual quiet business of those days. Friday evening, however, when the lamp was lit, instead of opening her books at once, Faith took the doctor's station on the rug. "Dr. Harrison has been here this afternoon, Mr. Linden; and asked me to go with you and him in the ride to-morrow." "Well, Miss Faith?" "I was afraid at first that it might hinder the good of your ride, if I went; but Dr. Harrison said no; and he put it so that at last I said I would. But I am afraid of it still." "How did he put it?" "I don't know," said Faith half laughing;—"in a way that left me no excuse; as if he thought it would be more pleasure both to you and to him, to have me along." "Miss Faith, if you go, you must give me leave to keep very near you. I trust my own care better than Dr. Harrison's. You will understand why I do it?" Faith did not understand very well. "I supposed of course, Mr. Linden, you would be very near! I knew mother would not let me go to ride with Dr. Harrison, but with you I thought she would not be afraid." He looked at her a little doubtfully—as if he wanted to say something; but whatever it might be, it was not what he did say,—a quiet "I will try and take care of you. Miss Faith." Which words were afterwards enlarged upon. "Miss Faith, may I trust that you will not fall behind my 'fleet' horse to-morrow?" "Do you mean, if he goes very fast?" said Faith, with questioning eyes. "His speed shall not put you to any inconvenience. Indeed it may chance that he will be obliged to go slower than you like,—in which case, Miss Faith, I hope your liking will change." The doctor came the next day in a gay mood. "I told you," said he, "I shouldn't be content with simple interest—I wanted compound. I hope you approve of my addition to our plan?" "So far so good," Mr. Linden said smiling. They went out, and Mr. Linden's first move was towards the horse with the side saddle; not with the intention of mounting him, however: but a more particular, thorough, systematic examination of every buckle and strap of his harness, that particular horse had never had. Then Mr. Linden turned and held out his hand to Faith. She gave him hers with a facile readiness that quite precluded interposition, and testified either that she had expected it or had not expected it; most probably the latter. Dr. Harrison bit his lips, but that was a second's emotion; his next step was to dismiss the groom who stood at the horse's head and take that office on himself. "You are more careful than is absolutely necessary in this case," said he smiling. "This horse, Miss Faith, is the mate, I presume, of the one Job used to take his exercise upon. I chose him for you, thinking of Mrs. Derrick.—Give 'Stranger' to Mr. Linden!"—The last words being a direction to the groom. A very different creature was Stranger! If it had been the purpose of Dr. Harrison to give his friend so much to do with his own particular affairs that he would have no leisure to bestow on those of other people, he had chosen the horse at least well. A very fine and beautiful animal, he deserved all the praise given him for facility of motion; no feet could disdain the ground more daintily; no carriage be more absolutely springy and soft. But the mischief and spirit of both the runaways combined would not match his case. He did not indeed appear to be vicious, any further than a most vehement desire to please himself and that in all manner of eccentric ways, totally irrelevant to the purpose of getting ahead on the road or serving the will of his rider, might be called vice. It rather seemed the spirit of power in full play. However it were, there was no lack of either 'motion' or 'emotion' during the first half mile of the way; for Stranger's manner of getting over so much of the ground was continually either calling Faith's blood into her cheeks, or driving it out from them. They were well matched, however, the horse and the rider,—and the spirit of power in equal exercise. Neither did Mr. Linden seem averse to the play—though Stranger presently found that what play he indulged in, was clearly matter of concession; his name, as regarded his rider, soon lost its point. On the whole, the performance came as near the 'Centaurship' declared impossible by Dr. Harrison, as most things have in modern times; but so far as the doctor had any stake depending upon Stranger's antics, so far he lost. Mr. Linden had never seemed more absolutely at leisure to attend to other people's affairs, and had rarely, it may be said, attended to them more thoroughly, than during that 'springy' half mile. An occasional Pas seul round the minuet of his companions, rather heightened the effect. On another score, too, perhaps the doctor lost; for whatever efforts he made, or she made, it was simply impossible for Faith to attend to anything else whatever with any show of consecutiveness, but the said horse and his rider. An attention sufficiently accounted for in the first place by the startled changes of colour in her face; latterly the colour rose and became steady, and a little varying play of smile on lip and eye during the third quarter of a mile attested the fact that other "emotions" had displaced that of fear. Clearly the doctor had lost upon Stranger. "How do you like him?" he said at last speaking across Faith who was not "good" for conversation. "Very much." "I see you do—and he likes you, which is, to be sure, a correlative position. As I see he don't fill your hands, may I impose upon you the care of my sister? We are an uneven number you are aware, and as I thought it desirable not to look odd, I gave her permission to go with us." Dr. Harrison did not see—if Faith did—the tiniest bit of a glance that sought her face while he was speaking; but nothing could be easier than the terms in which Mr. Linden declared himself ready to take charge of any number of ladies,—it was only equalled by Stranger's bound the next minute. How dismayed one of the party was at this addition of Miss Harrison's company, nobody guessed. They turned in at Judge Harrison's gate, and found Miss Sophy all ready for them. But to Faith, the play was suddenly taken out of "the play." She and Dr. Harrison set forward to be sure, over a pleasant road, in delicious weather; the doctor was in one of his balmiest moods; and though quietly, she was very well mounted. It was pleasant, or would have been pleasant; but all the while, what was Stranger doing behind her that she could not see! Then in answering some kindly, graceful remark of the doctor's, Faith chid herself for ungratefulness, and roused herself to give and take what good was in her power. The ride was pleasant after that! The air in all its calm sweetness was well tasted; the barren landscape, never barren to Faith's eyes, was enjoyed at every step. Her horse went agreeably, and the talk between her and Dr. Harrison grew interesting and enlivening. Meanwhile Mr. Linden's horse and his companion were at the antipodes—of each other. Thoroughly good and estimable as Miss Harrison was, she never left the beaten track,—and Stranger never kept in it. Between these two opposites Mr. Linden amused himself as best he might. To do him justice he tried his best to amuse his companion. Several miles of way had been passed over, when in a broad grassy reach of the road, the two riders ahead fell back upon the rest of the party; Faith taking Miss Harrison's side, while the doctor drew up by Mr. Linden. "How does it go?" he said good humouredly. "What is the impersonal in this case?" said Mr. Linden, while Stranger snorted and bounded, and by every means in his power requested the doctor to keep at a distance. "A conglomerate, for which I found no better term. You, Stranger, and my sister, and the world generally." "Stranger is in a sufficiently ardent mood, for his share—he gives me a fine view of the country," said Mr. Linden, as the creature brought himself to a tolerably erect position, and seemed to like it so well as to be in no hurry to come down; and when he did, took the precaution to take his hind feet off the ground before the fore feet touched. "Miss Faith—how does this agree with your ideal of Melancholy?" Faith forgot to answer, or thought answers impertinent. "That horse frightens me out of my wits," said Miss Harrison. "I have been jumping out of the saddle half the time, since I came out. Sometimes he'll go very quietly—as nice as anybody—and then he'll play such a caper as he did then. That was just because Julius came up alongside of him. He had been going beautifully this last mile. I wish he'd have nothing to do with such a creature!" "I suppose he's very pleasant to ride," said Faith eying the creature. Perhaps Stranger—with his full, wild eyes, took note of this look of partial favour, for he backed a little from the doctor, and came dancing round by Faith, and there danced along at her side for a few minutes; evidently in an excited state of mind. His rider meanwhile, gave Faith a quiet word of admonition about keeping so loose a rein, and asked, in the same half undertone, if she felt tired? "O no!" Faith said with a look of thanks and pleasure. "That piece of care I must trust in your hands—don't forget that I do so trust it. How would you like to cross Quapaw creek on this piece of quicksilver?" "I don't think you'd like to have me!" Faith said very decidedly. "I never saw anything so beautiful, quite, Mr. Linden—that I recollect at this minute," she added smiling. "I want to dance with you to-day—more than I ever did before," he answered, smiling too. "Miss Faith, if you have not yet said the 'few sensible words,' or if you have any left, won't you please say them to me?" "That question comes like a constable upon all my sense," said Faith laughing, "and it feels as I suppose a man does when he is clapped on the shoulder." "But then the man cannot run away, you know." "Nor my sense don't," said Faith,—"that I know of,—but it feels as if it hadn't possession of itself, Mr. Linden." "Well see if it is equal to this demand—What would be the consequences if you and I were to start off and scour the country 'on our own hook,' as people say?" "I think 'our hook' would draw two people after us," said Faith, looking very much amused and a little afraid of being overheard. "That is a melancholy fact! And my self-indulgence needs to be kept in check. Miss Faith," he said dropping his voice still more, "Stranger regrets very much that he must now go through that figure of the cotillion called 'Ladies change'!" And with a low and laughing bow, Mr. Linden reined back his horse and returned to his former place with all the soberness that circumstances allowed. There was no soberness whatever in the face with which Faith recommenced her tête-à-tête with Miss Harrison. The doctor was perfectly in order. "I have been thinking," he said, "since my question of how the world went with you, what a very insignificant thing, as to extent, 'the world' of any one person is." "Compared with the universe," said Mr. Linden. "What sort of a world have you got into?" said Dr. Harrison somewhat impatiently. "No—the actual extent of your and my consciousness—of that field of action and perception which we magnificently call our world! What a mighty limited field it is!" "I think you describe it correctly," said Mr. Linden: "it is both mighty and limited. A little space railed off for every man—and yet larger than that man can ever fill." "It seems to me too insignificant to be worth filling." "There is a little outlet on every side that makes it impossible to fill!" "What do you mean?" "I mean, that while our action at every step touches other people, and their consequent action moves on with like effect, the limits of our power in this world can never be known." "Will you think me impertinent if I ask once more what you mean?—or rather, ask you to enlarge a little?" "If a man plants the first clover seed or thistle-down in some great continent," said Mr. Linden, "from whose little field is it, that in a hundred years the whole land bears thistles or clover?" "It won't," said the doctor, "if a hundred other things are sown at the same time. And so it seems to me in life—that one action is counteracted by another, universally,—and nothing makes anything!—of any avail." "If nothing is of any avail, things don't counteract each other. You are proving my position." The doctor smiled, not unpleasantly. "I see," he said, "you can maintain any position you choose to take,—on the ground or in the air! I must give way to you on this ground." And Dr. Harrison reined back his horse and came into Faith's neighbourhood. "Miss Derrick, the road is getting too contracted for such a procession—will you draw bridle?" "I don't want to ride behind, Dr. Harrison," said Faith looking laughingly back at him. "I'll go on in front." Which she did, so briskly that the doctor had to bestir himself to come up with her. "I didn't know," he said, and he spoke somewhat in earnest,—"I didn't know that you cared anything about eminence or preëminence." "Didn't you, Dr. Harrison?" "Do you?" "I don't know—" said Faith gravely. "Eminence?—yes, I should care very much for that, in some things. Not for preëminence, I think. There's Mr. Simlins!—and I must speak to him." Faith's horse which had been on an easy canter, came to a stand; and so must the doctor. Mr. Simlins too was on horseback. "Mr. Simlins," said Faith after giving him her hand, "will you have half a day's leisure Monday or Tuesday?" "Leisure?" said the farmer with his best growl—"no, I sha'n't have it if you take it." "Do you think I may take it?" "I don't suppose there's anybody that can hinder you," said Mr. Simlins—"without excepting my own identity. I can't. Do you want to go up yonder again?" The doctor interposed to make offers of his father's horses, carriage, and servants; but Faith quietly negatived them all. "How did you get home the other night?" said the farmer. "Did you get over the river?" Then shifting his ground as Miss Harrison and Stranger came up into the group, he changed his question. "I say Mr. Linden!—I heerd Quapaw creek was choked up the other night—how did you get home?" "The same way I expect to now," said Mr. Linden. "How did you, Mr. Simlins." "The harness was all right," said Mr. Simlins—"if anything else was in a disorganized state, 'twas somebody's fault besides yourn. That lynch-pin made trouble though; it didn't fit more places than one. Did you get across Quapaw creek on your horses?" "Do you suppose I crossed on foot?" said Mr. Linden smiling. "Do you take me for a witch, Mr. Simlins?" "I haven't just made up my mind about that," said the farmer. "I've a temptation to think you air. What's that you're on?" "Only a broomstick in disguise, Mr. Simlins. As he belongs to Dr. Harrison, I am willing to own so much." "He's as well-shaped a broomstick as ever I see," said the farmer consideratively. "I shouldn't mind puttin' him in harness. Well good-day! I'm glad this girl didn't have to go all round again the other night—I was afeard she had. I'll take you over creation," he sung out after her as they parted company,—"and I'll be along Monday." "Quapaw creek?" said Dr. Harrison, as the interrupted procession took up its line of march again,—"I think I remember that. What was the matter?" "The bridge was broken, with a loaded wagon upon it," Faith explained. "And you crossed by fording?" "Yes." "Isn't it rather a difficult ford? If I remember right, the bed of the stream is uneven and rough; doesn't it require some guiding of the horses?" "I believe so—yes. It isn't safe for an ignorant rider." "I didn't give you credit," said he looking at her, "for being such a horsewoman. That is quite a feat for a lady." Faith coloured high. But she was not going a second time to fight the doctor "with his own weapons." A very little she hesitated, then she said boldly, though not in very bold tones it must be confessed,— "I am not a horsewoman—Mr. Linden carried me over." The doctor looked very moody for a few minutes; then his brow brightened. Faith's straightforward truth had served her as well as the most exquisite piece of involution. The doctor could not very well see the face with which her words were spoken and had to make up his mind upon them alone. "It is so!" was his settled conclusion. "She has only a child's friendly liking for him—nothing more—or she never, simple as she is, would have said that to me with that frankness!" Moodiness returned to the doctor's brow no more. He left Quapaw creek in the distance and talked of all manner of pleasant things. And so, with no second break of the order of march, they went on and went home. "Mr. Linden," said Faith when she was lighting the lamp for study in the evening,—"you'll never ask anything of me so hard to do as that was to-day." "Hard?" he replied. "Why?" "To keep in front, where I could not see you and that horse." "Miss Faith! I am very sorry!—But you know I had you in charge—I felt bound to keep you in sight." "I know,"—she said; and sat down to her work. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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