University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.
THE BIRTHDAY.

Mrs. Gordon's breakfast bell rang several times
next morning ere the young men made their appearance,
for, as a natural consequence, the late hours of
the previous night had been followed by protracted
slumbers. As they were making their hasty toilet,
Frederic said to Will:

“This is Marian's twentieth birthday.”

“Is it possible?” returned Will. “It seems but
yesterday since I saw her, a little girl in pantalets,
with long curls streaming down her back. I liked her
very much, she seemed so kind, so considerate of every
one's comfort; and I remember telling you once that
she would be a handsome woman, while you said—
`Never, with that hair!”

“Neither can she,” rejoined Frederic. “She may
be rather pretty. Yes, I am sure she is pretty, for the
face which bent over my pillow was not an ugly one;
but I still insist that a woman with red hair cannot be
handsome.”

“Tastes differ,” returned Will. “Now, I'll venture
to say Miss Grey's hair was red when she was a child.
It is not very far from it now, in the sunlight; and
everybody speaks of her hair as her crowning beauty.”

“I wish I could see her,” said Frederic; “for, as
she will not be your wife, I suppose she will be Alice's
governess. And it is quite proper that I should have
an interview with her, and talk the matter over. Will
you call with me this evening?”

“Certainly,” returned Will; “for, though it will
afford me more pain than pleasure to meet her, I will
not be so foolish as to avoid her.”

Breakfast being over, the young men started for a
walk down town, going by Mrs. Sheldon's house, of
course, although it was entirely out of their way. But
neither thought of this, and they passed it on the opposite
side of the street; so that Will could, unobserved,
point out Marian's room to Frederic.

“That's it,” he said—“the one with the blinds
thrown open. There she has often sat, I suppose,
thinking of the villain who stands between me and
happiness. The rascal! I tell you, Fred, I wish I had
him as near to me as you are!” and Will Gordon fancied
how, in such a case, he would treat a man who
did not love Marian Grey!

Frederic made no answer, for his eyes were fixed intently
upon the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of
one who was fast becoming an object of interest even
to him. But he looked in vain, for Marian had not
yet risen. Pale, weary and weak, she reclined among
her pillows, her fair hair falling about her face in
beautiful disorder, and her eyes turned also toward the
window, not because she knew that Frederic was looking
in that direction, but because the morning sun was
shining there, and she was watching it as it danced
upon the curtain of bright crimson.

“I have seen the suns of twenty years,” she
thought, “and I am growing old so fast. I wonder if
Frederic would know me now.”

At this moment, Mrs. Sheldon came in, and advanceing
toward the window, looked down into the street.
Catching a view of her brother and his friend, she exclaimed:

“Frederic Raymond! I wonder when he came?”

“What? Where? Who is it?” Marian asked,
quickly, at the same time raising herself upon her
elbow, and looking wistfully in the direction Frederic
had gone.

“Mr. Raymond, Will's friend, from Kentucky,” returned
Mrs. Sheldon. “He must have come last
night?” and as little Fred just then called to her from
without, she left the room.

When she was alone, Marian buried her face in the
bed-clothes, and murmured:

“Oh, if I could only see him! I long so to test his
powers of recognition, and see if he would know me.”

She almost hoped he would, and claim her for his
wife, as this, she fancied, might cure Will Gordon
sooner than aught else which could be done. She was
sure they would talk of her, for Frederic had bidden
Will propose, and he would naturally ask the result
of that proposal. Will would say she had refused him
because she loved another, and would not something
whisper to her husband that “the other” was himself
—that Marian Grey was his Marian—the Marian of
Redstone Hall—and he would come to her that very
day, perhaps, and all the morning she waited anxiously
for a step she was certain she would know,
though it might not be as elastic and bounding as of
old, ere she had trammeled it with a heavy weight.
She listened nervously for its full, rich tones, asking
for her, in the parlor below. But she listened in vain
and the restless excitement brought on a severe headache,
which rendered it impossible for her to leave the
room, even if he came. This Mrs. Sheldon greatly lamented,
for she had invited the young men to tea, and
while accepting her invitation, Will had asked if Miss
Grey would not be able to spend a part of the evening
with them.

“She is to be Fred's governess, you know,” he said,
“and he naturally wishes to make her acquaintance.”

This request Mrs. Sheldon made known to Marian,
who asked, eagerly, if “to-morrow would not do as
well?”

“It might,” returned Mrs. Sheldon, “were it not
that he leaves on the early train.”

Marian sighed deeply, and turning upon her pillow

tried to sleep, hoping thus to lose the throbbing pain
in her head—but it would not be lost; and when, as it
was growing dark, she heard the sound of feet upon
the gravelled walk, and knew whose feet they were,
it ached as it had not done before during the entire day.
She heard them as they entered the lower hall, and
fancied she saw Frederic place his hat and shawl upon
the stand, and pass his fingers through his hair ere he
entered the parlor, which was directly beneath her
room. She knew when he was there, for she heard his
well-remembered voice speaking to the children, and
covering her face with her hands she wept aloud to
think she should not see him.

Meantime, in the parlor below, little Fred had
climbed into his uncle's lap and commenced a rather
embarrassing conversation. Somehow Will reminded
him of Marian, for the two were associated together
in his mind; and he said, rather as a piece of news:
“Miss Day is sick—up stairs she is; and when I told
her you was comin' she vomucked and cried so hard!”

Frederic could not help laughing, and, emboldened
by this proof of appreciation, the child continued:
“What made her cry, Uncle Will? I asked her didn't
she want you to come, and she say yes. Don't she
like you?”

“I guess not,” said Will, trying himself to laugh,
while Frederic, pitying his embarrassment, strove to
divert the little fellow's mind by asking about the sled
he saw upon the steps as he came in.

This had the desired effect, for a sled was of more
consequence to Fred than Miss Grey's tears, and he
prattled on about it until his nurse came to take him
from the room. After he was gone Mr. Raymond
spoke of Miss Grey, asking if he should not have the
pleasure of seeing her.

“She is suffering from a nervous headache,” returned
Mrs. Sheldon, “and cannot come down, for
which I am very sorry, as I wish you to hear her
play.”

“I do not care so much for that,” returned Frederic,
“as for seeing her, so as to carry back a good account
to Alice. Do tell me, Mrs. Sheldon, is she really as
beautiful, and fascinating, and accomplished as report
would make her out to be?”

“I should say she would fully warrant any praise
you may have heard of her,” returned Mrs. Sheldon,
“although her beauty is not of the brilliant style. She
is very modest and gentle in her appearance, and there
is in her eyes and in her smile something so very sad
and plaintive, that I often feel like crying when I look
at her, for I know she must have suffered some great
trouble, young as she is.”

Involuntarily Frederic and William glanced at each
other, for they knew what that trouble was, and the
latter felt as if he would like to take vengeance on the
man who could be indifferent to love like that of Marian
Grey!

After a moment, Mrs. Sheldon continued:

“There has been something said, I believe, about
her going to you next September, but I warn you now
that I shall use every possible effort to keep her. We
sail for Europe in August, you know, and she will be
of invaluable service to me then, as she speaks French
and German so readily. The tour, too, will do her
good, and you must not be surprised to hear that she
cannot come to Riverside.”

Mr. Raymond was too polite to oppose Mrs. Sheldon
openly, but he had become too deeply interested in
Marian Grey to give her up without a struggle, and
when alone again with Will, in the chamber of the
latter, he broached the subject, asking his companion
if he thought there was any probability of Miss Grey's
disappointing him.

“I mean to write her a note,” he said, and sitting
down by Will's writing desk he took up a sheet of
gilt edged paper and commenced, “My dear Marian.”

“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, “what am I thinking
about?” and tearing up the sheet he threw it into the

grate and commenced again, addressing her this time
as “Miss Grey.”

He considered her services engaged to himself, he
said, and should expect her at Riverside early in September.
She could come sooner if she liked, for Mrs.
Jones was to leave the first of August.

“That European trip may tempt her,” he thought,
and he added, “I am glad to learn from Mrs. Sheldon
that you are such a proficient in German and French,
for I have serious thoughts of visiting the Old World
myself ere long, and as Alice, of course, will go with
me, we shall prize your company all the more on account
of these accomplishments.”

This note he gave to Will, who said, “Perhaps I
shall try again, and if I succeed, I suppose you will
give her up to me.”

“Yes,” answered Frederic, “I'll give way for Will
Gordon's wife, but for no one else,” and there the conversation
ceased concerning Marian Grey; nor was it
resumed again, for early the next morning he started
for New York, as he intended stopping at Riverside
ere he returned to Kentucky.

True to his trust, Will gave the note to Marian the
first time that he met her, after she was well enough
to come down stairs as usual.

“It is from Mr. Raymond,” he said, and Marian's
face was scarlet as she took it and looked into his eye
with an eager, searching glance, to see if he knew her
secret.”

But he did not, and with spirits which began to ebb,
she broke the seal and read the few brief lines, half
smiling as she thought how very formal and businesslike
they were. But it was Frederic's hand-writing,
and when sure Will did not see her she pressed it to
her lips.

“What you do that for?” asked little Fred, whose
sharp eyes saw everything not intended for them to
see.

“Sh—sh,” said Marian; but the child persisted.
“Say, what you tiss that letter for?”

Will Gordon was standing with his back to her, but,
at this strange question, he turned quickly and fastened
his eyes on Marian's face, as if he would fathom
her inmost soul.

“There's something there,” she said, passing the
note again over her lips as if she would brush the
“something” away.

This explanation was wholly satisfactory to Fred,
who, with childish simplicity, asked, “Did you get
it?”

But Will was not quite certain, and for several days
he puzzled his brain with wondering whether “Marian
Grey really did kiss Frederic Raymond's note or not.”
If so, why did she? She could not be in love with a
man she had never seen. She was not weak enough
for that, and at last rejecting it as an impossibility and
accepting the troublesome “something” as a reality,
his mind became at rest upon that subject.