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The Captain's Toll-Gate, a novel by Frank R Stockton |
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Chapter 36. Cold Tinder |
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_ CHAPTER XXXVI. Cold Tinder Olive and Dick Lancaster sat together in the captain's parlor. She was very quiet--she had been very quiet of late--but he was nervous. "It is very kind, Mr. Lancaster," said Olive, breaking the silence, "for you to come to see us instead of writing. It is so much pleasanter for friends--" "Oh, it was not kind," he said, interrupting her. "In fact, it was selfishness. And now I want to tell you quickly, Miss Asher, while I have the chance, the reason of my coming here to-day. It was not to offer you my congratulations or my sympathy, although you must know that I feel for you and your uncle as much in every way as any living being can feel. I came to offer my love. I have loved you almost ever since I knew you as much as any man can love a woman, and whenever I have been with you I could hardly hold myself back from telling you. But I was strong, and I did not speak, for I knew you did not love me." Olive was listening, looking steadily at him. "No," she said, "I did not love you." He paid no attention to this remark, as if it related to something which he knew all about, but went on, "I resolved to speak to you some time, but not until I had some little bit of a reason for supposing you would listen to me; but when I read the account of what you did in Washington, I knew you to be so far above even the girl I had supposed you to be; then my love came down upon me and carried me away. And all that has since appeared in the papers has made me so long to stand by your side that I could not resist this longing, and I felt that no matter what happened, I must come and tell you all." "And now?" asked Olive. "There is nothing more," said Dick. "I have told you all there is. I love you so truly that it seems to me as if I had been born, as if I had lived, as if I had grown and had worked, simply that I might be able to come to you and say, I love you. And now that I have told you this, I hope that I have not pained you." "You have not pained me," said Olive, "but it is right that I should say to you that I do not love you." She said this very quietly and gently, but there was sadness in her tones. Dick Lancaster sprang up, and stood before her. "Then let me love you" he cried. "Do not deny me that! Do not take the life out of me! the soul out of me! Do not turn me away into utter blackness! Do not say I shall not love you!" Olive's clear, thoughtful eyes were looking into his. "I believe you love me," she answered slowly. "I believe every word you say. But what I say is also true. I will admit that I have asked myself if I could love you. There was a time when I was in great trouble, when I believed that it might be possible for me to marry some one without loving him, but I never thought that about _you_. You were different. I could not have married you without loving you. I believe you knew that, and so you did not ask me." His voice was husky when he spoke again. "But you do not answer me," he said. "You have seen into my very soul. May I love you?" She still looked into his glowing eyes, but she did not speak. It was with herself she was communing, not with him. But there was something in the eyes which looked into his which made his heart leap, and he leaned forward. "Olive," he whispered, "can you not love me?" Her lips appeared as if they were about to move, but they did not, and in the next moment they could not. He had her in his arms. Poor foolish, lovely Olive! She thought she was so strong. She imagined that she knew herself so well. She had seen so much; she had been so far; she had known so many things and people that she had come to look upon herself as the decider of her own destiny. She had come to believe so much in herself and in her cold heart that she was not afraid to listen to the words of a burning heart! _Her_ heart could keep so cool! And now, in a flash, the fire had spread! The coolest hearts are often made of tinder. Poor foolish, lovely, happy Olive! She scarcely understood what had happened to her. She only knew that she had been born and had lived, and had grown, that he might come to her and say he loved her. What had she been thinking of all this time? "You are so quick," she said, as she put back some of her disheveled hair. "Dearest," he whispered, "it seems to me as if I had been so slow, so slow, so very slow!" It was a long time before Captain Asher returned, and when he entered the parlor he found these two still there. They had been sitting by the window, and when they came forward to meet him Dick's arm was around the waist of Olive. The captain looked at them for a moment, and then he gave a shout, and encircled them both in his great arms. When they were cool enough to sit down and Olive and Dick had ceased trying to persuade the captain that he was not the happiest of the three, Olive said to him: "I have told Dick everything--about the air-gun and all. Of course, he must know it." "And I have been looking at you," said Dick, putting his hand upon the captain's shoulder, "as the only hero I have ever met. Not only for what you have done, but for what you have refrained from doing." "Nonsense!" said the captain. "Olive now--" "Oh! Olive is Olive!" said Dick. And he did not mind in the least that the captain was present. * * * * * It was on the next afternoon that the Broadstone carriage stopped at the toll-gate. Mrs. Easterfield sprang out of it, asking for nobody, for she had spied Olive in the arbor. "It seems to me," she said, as she burst into tears and took the girl into her arms, "it does seem to me as if I were your own mother!" "The only one I have," said Olive, "and very dear!" It was some time after this that Mrs. Easterfield was calm enough to stop the flow of exciting conversation and to say to Olive, taking both her hands tenderly within her own: "My dear, we have been talking a great deal of sentiment, and now I want seriously to speak to you on a matter of business." "Business!" asked Olive in surprise. "Yes, it is really business from your point of view; and I have come round to that point of view myself. Olive, I want you to marry!" "Oh," said Olive, "that is it, is it? That is what you call business?" "Yes, dear; I am now looking at your future, and at marriage in the very sensible way you regarded those matters when you were staying with me." "But," said Olive, who could scarcely help laughing, "there was a good reason then for my being so sensible, and that reason no longer exists. I can now afford single-blessedness." "No, Olive, dear, you can not. Circumstances are all against that consummation. You are not made for that sort of thing. And your uncle is an old man, and even with him you need a young protector. I want you to marry Richard Lancaster. You know my heart has been set on it for some time, and now I urge it. You could never bring forth a single objection to him." "Except that I did not love him." "Neither did you love the young men you were considering as eligible. Now, do try to be a sensible girl." "Mrs. Easterfield, are you laughing at me?" asked Olive. "Far from it, my dear. I am desperately in earnest. You see, recent events--" "Dick Lancaster and I are engaged to be married," said Olive demurely, not waiting for the end of that sentence. "And," she added, laughing at Mrs. Easterfield's astonished countenance, "I have not yet considered whether or not it is sensible." After Mrs. Easterfield had given a half dozen kisses to partly express her pleasure, she said: "And where is he now? I must see him!" "He went back to his college late last night; it was impossible for him to stay here any longer at present." As Mrs. Easterfield was going away--she had waited and waited for the captain who had not come--Olive detained her. "You are so dear," she said, "that I must tell you a great thing." And then she told the story of the two men in the barouche. Mrs. Easterfield turned pale, and sat down again. She had actually lost her self-possession. She made Olive tell her the story over and over again. "It is too much," she said, "for one day. I am glad the captain is not here, I would not know what to say to him. I may tell Tom?" she said. "I must tell him; he will be silent as a rock." Olive smiled. "Yes, you may tell Tom," she said. "I have told Dick, but on no account must Harry ever know anything about it." Mrs. Easterfield looked at her in amazement. That the girl could joke at such a moment! When the captain came home Olive told him how she had entrusted the great secret to Mrs. Easterfield and her husband. "Well," said he, "I intended to tell you, but haven't had a chance yet, that I spoke of the matter to Mrs. Faulkner. So I have told two persons and you have told three, and I suppose that is about the proportion in which men and women keep secrets." _ |
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