University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
PRESENTIMENTS.

The autumn lapsed into winter, and the household on the
Asten farm began to share the isolation of the season. There
had been friendly visits from all the nearest neighbors and
friends, followed by return visits, and invitations which Julia
willingly accepted. She was very amiable, and took pains to
confirm the favorable impression which she knew she had made
in the summer. Everybody remarked how she had improved
in appearance, how round and soft her neck and shoulders,
how bright and fresh her complexion. She thanked them,
with many grateful expressions to which they were not
accustomed, for their friendly reception, which she looked
upon as an adoption into their society; but at home, afterwards,
she indulged in criticisms of their manners and habits
which were not always friendly. Although these were given
in a light, playful tone, and it was sometimes impossible not
to be amused, Rachel Miller always felt uncomfortable when
she heard them.

Then came quiet, lonely days, and Julia, weary of her idle
life, undertook to master the details of the housekeeping.
She went from garret to cellar, inspecting every article in
closet and pantry, wondering much, censuring occasionally,
and only praising a little when she found that Rachel was
growing tired and irritable. Although she made no material
changes, it was soon evident that she had very stubborn
views of her own upon many points, and possessed a marked

tendency for what the country people call “nearness.”
Little by little she diminished the bountiful, free-handed
manner of provision which had been the habit of the house.
One could not say that anything needful was lacking, and
Rachel would hardly have been dissatisfied, had she not felt
that the innovation was an indirect blame.

In some directions Julia seemed the reverse of “near,”
persuading Joseph into expenditures which the people considered
very extravagant. When the snow came, his new
and elegant sleigh, with the wolf-skin robe, the silver-mounted
harness, and the silver-sounding bells, was the envy
of all the young men, and an abomination to the old. It
was a splendor which he could easily afford, and he did not
grudge her the pleasure; yet it seemed to change his
relation to the neighbors, and some of them were very
free in hinting that they felt it so. It would be difficult
to explain why they should resent this or any other slight
departure from their fashions, but such had always been
their custom.

In a few days the snow vanished and a tiresome season of
rain and thaw succeeded. The south-eastern winds, blowing
from the Atlantic across the intervening lowlands, rolled
interminable gray masses of fog over the hills and blurred
the scenery of the valley; dripping trees, soaked meadows,
and sodden leaves were the only objects that detached themselves
from the general void, and became in turn visible to
those who travelled the deep, quaking roads. The social
intercourse of the neighborhood ceased perforce, though the
need of it were never so great: what little of the main highway
down the valley was visible from the windows appeared
to be deserted.

Julia, having exhausted the resources of the house,

insisted on acquainting herself with the barn and everything
thereto belonging. She laughingly asserted that her education
as a farmer's wife was still very incomplete; she must
know the amount of the crops, the price of grain, the value
of the stock, the manner of work, and whatever else was
necessary to her position. Although she made many pretty
blunders, it was evident that her apprehension was unusually
quick, and that whatever she acquired was fixed in
her mind as if for some possible future use. She never
wearied of the most trivial details, while Joseph, on the
other hand, would often have willingly shortened his lessons.
His mind was singularly disturbed between the
desire to be gratified by her curiosity, and the fact that its
eager and persistent character made him uncomfortable.

When an innocent, confiding nature begins to suspect
that its confidence has been misplaced, the first result is a
preternatural stubbornness to admit the truth. The clearest
impressions are resisted, or half-consciously misinterpreted,
with the last force of an illusion which already foresees its
own overthrow. Joseph eagerly clung to every look and
word and action which confirmed his sliding faith in his
wife's sweet and simple character, and repelled—though a
deeper instinct told him that a day would come when it
must be admitted—the evidence of her coldness and selfishness.
Yet, even while almost fiercely asserting to his own
heart that he had every reason to be happy, he was consumed
with a secret fever of unrest, doubt, and dread.

The horns of the growing moon were still turned downwards,
and cold, dreary rains were poured upon the land.
Julia's patience, in such straits, was wonderful, if the truth
had been known, but she saw that some change was necessary
for both of them. She therefore proposed, not what she

most desired, but what her circumstances prescribed,—a
visit from her sister Clementina. Joseph found the request
natural enough: it was an infliction, but one which he had
anticipated; and after the time had been arranged by letter,
he drove to the station to meet the westward train from
the city.

Clementina stepped upon the platform, so cloaked and
hooded that he only recognized her by the deliberate grace
of her movements. She extended her hand, giving his a
cordial pressure, which was explained by the brass baggage-checks
thus transferred to his charge.

“I will wait in the ladies' room,” was all she said.

At the same moment Joseph's arm was grasped.

“What a lucky chance!” exclaimed Philip: then, suddenly
pausing in his greeting, he lifted his hat and bowed to
Clementina, who nodded slightly as she passed into the
room.

“Let me look at you!” Philip resumed, laying his hands
on Joseph's shoulders. Their eyes met and lingered, and
Joseph felt the blood rise to his face as Philip's gaze sank
more deeply into his heart and seemed to fathom its hidden
trouble; but presently Philip smiled and said: “I scarcely
knew, until this moment, that I had missed you so much,
Joseph!”

“Have you come to stay?” Joseph asked.

“I think so. The branch railway down the valley, which
you know was projected, is to be built immediately; but
there are other reasons why the furnaces should be in blast.
If it is possible, the work—and my settlement with it—will
begin without any further delay. Is she your first family
visit?”

He pointed towards the station.

“She will be with us a fortnight; but you will come,
Philip?”

“To be sure!” Philip exclaimed. “I only saw her face
indistinctly through the veil, but her nod said to me, `A
nearer approach is not objectionable.' Certainly, Miss
Blessing; but with all the conventional forms, if you please!”

There was something of scorn and bitterness in the laugh
which accompanied these words, and Joseph looked at him
with a puzzled air.

“You may as well know now,” Philip whispered, “that
when I was a spoony youth of twenty, I very nearly imagined
myself in love with Miss Clementina Blessing, and she encouraged
my greenness until it spread as fast as a bamboo or
a gourd-vine. Of course, I've long since congratulated myself
that she cut me up, root and branch, when our family
fortune was lost. The awkwardness of our intercourse is all
on her side. Can she still have faith in her charms and my
youth, I wonder? Ye gods! that would be a lovely conclusion
of the comedy!”

Joseph could only join in the laugh as they parted.
There was no time to reflect upon what had been said.
Clementina, nevertheless, assumed a new interest in his
eyes; and as he drove her towards the farm, he could not
avoid connecting her with Philip in his thoughts. She,
too, was evidently preoccupied with the meeting, for Philip's
name soon floated to the surface of their conversation.

“I expect a visit from him soon,” said Joseph. As she
was silent, he ventured to add: “You have no objections to
meeting with him, I suppose?”

“Mr. Held is still a gentleman, I believe,” Clementina
replied, and then changed the subject of conversation.

Julia flew at her sister with open arms, and showered on

her a profusion of kisses, all of which were received with
perfect serenity, Clementina merely saying, as soon as she
could get breath: “Dear me, Julia, I scarcely recognize
you! You are already so countrified!”

Rachel Miller, although a woman, and notwithstanding
her recent experience, found herself greatly bewildered by
this new apparition. Clementina's slow, deliberate movements
and her even-toned, musical utterance impressed her
with a certain respect; yet the qualities of character they
suggested never manifested themselves. On the contrary,
the same words, in any other mouth, would have often expressed
malice or heartlessness. Sometimes she heard her
own homely phrases repeated, as if by the most unconscious,
purposeless imitation, and had Julia either smiled or appeared
annoyed her suspicions might have been excited; as it was,
she was constantly and sorely puzzled.

Once only, and for a moment, the two masks were slightly
lifted. At dinner, Clementina, who had turned the conversation
upon the subject of birthdays, suddenly said to Joseph:
“By the way, Mr. Asten, has Julia told you her
age?”

Julia gave a little start, but presently looked up, with an
expression meant to be artless.

“I knew it before we were married,” Joseph quietly
answered.

Clementina bit her lip. Julia, concealing her surprise,
flashed a triumphant glance at her sister, then a tender one
at Joseph, and said: “We will both let the old birthdays
go; we will only have one and the same anniversary from
this time on!”

Joseph felt, through some natural magnetism of his nature
rather than from any perceptible evidence, that Clementina

was sharply and curiously watching the relation between
himself and his wife. He had no fear of her detecting misgivings
which were not yet acknowledged to himself, but
was instinctively on his guard in her presence.

It was not many days before Philip called. Julia received
him cordially, as the friend of her husband, while Clementina
bowed with an impassive face, without rising from her
seat. Philip, however, crossed the room and gave her his
hand, saying cheerily: “We used to be old friends, Miss
Blessing. You have not forgotten me?”

“We cannot forget when we have been asked to do so,”
she warbled.

Philip took a chair. “Eight years!” he said: “I am the
only one who has changed in that time.”

Julia looked at her sister, but the latter was apparently
absorbed in comparing some zephyr tints.

“The whirligig of time!” he exclaimed: “who can foresee
anything? Then I was an ignorant, petted young
aristocrat,—an expectant heir; now behold me, working
among miners and puddlers and forgemen! It's a rough
but wholesome change. Would you believe it, Mrs. Asten,
I've forgotten the mazurka!”

“I wish to forget it,” Julia replied: “the spring-house is
as important to me as the furnace to you.”

“Have you seen the Hopetons lately?” Clementina asked.

Joseph saw a shade pass over Philip's face, and he seemed
to hesitate a moment before answering: “I hear they will
be neighbors of mine next summer. Mr. Hopeton is interested
in the new branch down the valley, and has purchased
the old Calvert property for a country residence.”

“Indeed? Then you will often see them.”

“I hope so: they are very agreeable people. But I shall

also have my own little household: my sister will probably
join me.”

“Not Madeline!” exclaimed Julia.

“Madeline,” Philip answered. “It has long been
her wish, as well as mine. You know the little cottage
on the knoll, at Coventry, Joseph! I have taken it
for a year.”

“There will be quite a city society,” murmured Clementina,
in her sweetest tones. “You will need no commiseration,
Julia. Unless, indeed, the country people succeed in
changing you all into their own likeness. Mrs. Hopeton
will certainly create a sensation. I am told that she is very
extravagant, Mr. Held?”

“I have never seen her husband's bank account,” said
Philip, dryly.

He rose presently, and Joseph accompanied him to the
lane. Philip, with the bridle-rein over his arm, delayed to
mount his horse, while the mechanical commonplaces of
speech, which, somehow, always absurdly come to the lips
when graver interests have possession of the heart, were
exchanged by the two. Joseph felt, rather than saw, that
Philip was troubled. Presently the latter said: “Something
is coming over both of us,—not between us. I thought
I should tell you a little more, but perhaps it is too soon.
If I guess rightly, neither of us is ready. Only this, Joseph,
let us each think of the other as a help and a support!”

“I do, Philip!” Joseph answered. “I see there is some
influence at work which I do not understand, but I am
not impatient to know what it is. As for myself, I seem
to know nothing at all; but you can judge,—you see all
there is.”

Even as he pronounced these words Joseph felt that they

were not strictly sincere, and almost expected to find an expression
of reproof in Philip's eyes. But no: they softened
until he only saw a pitying tenderness. Then he knew that
the doubts which he had resisted with all the force of his
nature were clearly revealed to Philip's mind.

They shook hands, and parted in silence; and Joseph, as
he looked up to the gray blank of heaven, asked himself:
“Is this all? Has my life already taken the permanent
imprint of its future?”