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An Original Belle, a novel by Edward Payson Roe |
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Chapter 26. Marian's Interpretation Of Merwyn |
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_ CHAPTER XXVI. MARIAN'S INTERPRETATION OF MERWYN
With all her faults, Marian had inherited from her father a strong nature. Her intuitions had become womanly and keen, and Merwyn's dumb agony affected her more deeply than a torrent of impetuous words or any outward evidence of distress. She went back to her chair and shed bitter tears; she scarcely knew why, until her father's voice aroused her by saying, "Why, Marian dear, what IS the matter?" "Oh, I am glad you have come," she said. "I have caused so much suffering that I feel as if I had committed a crime;" and she gave an account of the recent interview. "Let me reassure you," said her father, gravely. "You did mean kindly by Merwyn, and you gave him, without being unwomanly, the best chance he could possibly have to throw off the incubus that is burdening his life. If, with the opportunity he had to-night, and under the influence of his love, he did not speak, his secret is one of which he cannot speak. At least, I fear it is one of which he dares not speak to you, lest it should be fatal to him and all his hopes. I cannot even guess what it is, but at all events it is of a serious nature, too grave to be regarded any longer as secondary in our estimate of Mr. Merwyn's character. The shadow of this mystery must not fall on you, and I am glad he is going away. I hoped that your greater kindness and mine might lead him to reveal his trouble, that we could help him, and that a character in many respects so unique and strong might be cleared of its shadows. In this case we might not only have rendered a fellow-being a great service, but also have secured a friend capable of adding much to our happiness. This mystery, however, proves so deep-rooted and inscrutable that I shall be glad to withdraw you from his influence until time and circumstance make all plain, if they ever can. These old families often have dark secrets, and this young man, in attaining his majority and property, has evidently become the possessor of one of them. In spite of all his efforts to do well it is having a sinister influence over his life, and this influence must not extend to yours. The mere fact that he does not take an active part in the war is very subordinate in itself. Thousands who might do this as well as he are very well content to stay at home. The true aspect of the affair is this: A chain of circumstances, unforeseen, and uncaused by any premeditated effort on our part, has presented to his mind the most powerful motives to take a natural part in the conflict. It has gradually become evident that the secret of his restraint is a mystery that affects his whole being. Therefore, whether it be infirmity, fault, or misfortune, he has no right to impose it on others, since it seems to be beyond remedy. Do you not agree with me?" "I could not do otherwise, papa. Yet, remembering how he looked to-night, I cannot help being sorry for him, even though my mind inclines to the belief that constitutional timidity restrains him. I never saw a man tremble so, and he turned white to his very lips. Papa, have you read 'The Fair Maid of Perth'?" "Yes." "Don't you remember MacIan, the young chief of Clan Quhele? This character always made a deep impression on me, awakening at the same time pity and the strongest repulsion. I could never understand him. He was high-born, and lived at an age when courage was the commonest of traits, while its absence was worse than crime. For the times he was endowed with every good quality except the power to face danger. This from the very constitution of his being he could not do, and he, beyond all others, understood his infirmity, suffering often almost mortal agony in view of it. For some reason I have been led to reread this story, and, in spite of myself, that wretched young Scottish chieftain has become associated in my mind with Willard Merwyn. He said to-night that his imagination was stronger than his will. I can believe it from his words. His dead father and others have become distinct presences to him. In the same way he calls up before his fancy the horrors of a battle-field, and he finds that he has not the power to face them, that he cannot do it, no matter what the motives may be. He feels that he would be simply overwhelmed with horror and faint-heartedness, and he is too prudent to risk the shame of exposure." "Well," said her father, sighing, as if he were giving up a pleasing dream, "you have thought out an ingenious theory which, if true, explains Merwyn's course, perhaps. A woman's intuitions are subtle, and often true, but somehow it does not satisfy me, even though I can recall some things which give color to your view. Still, whatever be the explanation, all MUST be explained before we can give him more than ordinary courtesy." It soon became evident that Merwyn had gone to his country place, for his visits ceased. The more Marian thought about him,--and she did think a great deal,--the more she was inclined to believe that her theory explained everything. His very words, "You think me a coward," became a proof, in her mind, that he was morbidly sensitive on this point, and ever conscious of his infirmity. He was too ready to resent a fancied imputation on his courage. She strove to dismiss him from her thoughts, but with only partial success. He gave her the sense of being baffled, defeated. What could be more natural than that a high-spirited young man should enter the army of his own free will? He had not entered it even with her favor, possibly her love, as a motive. Yet he sought her favor as if it were the chief consideration of existence. With her theory, and her ideal of manhood, he was but the mocking shadow of a man, but so real, so nearly perfect, that she constantly chafed at the defect. Even her father had been deeply impressed by the rare promise of his young life,--a promise which she now believed could never be kept, although few might ever know it. "I must be right in my view," she said. "He proves his loyalty by an unflagging interest in our arms, by the gift of thousands. He is here, his own master. He would not shun danger for the sake of his cold-hearted mother, from whom he seems almost estranged. His sisters are well provided for, and do not need his care. He does not live for the sake of pleasure, like many other young men. Merciful Heaven! I blush even to think the words, much more to speak them. Why does he not go, unless his fear is greater than his love for me? why is he not with Lane and Strahan, unless he has a constitutional dread that paralyzes him? He is the Scottish chieftain, MacIan, over again. All I can do now is to pity him as one to whom Nature has been exceedingly cruel, for every fibre in my being shrinks from such a man." And so he came to dwell in her mind as one crippled, from birth, in his very soul. Meanwhile events took place which soon absorbed her attention. Lane's letter announcing the opening of the campaign proved a false alarm, although, from a subsequent letter, she learned that he had had experiences not trifling in their nature. On the rainy night, early in April, that would ever be memorable to her, she had said to Merwyn, "The army is on the march." This was true of the cavalry corps, and part of it even crossed the upper waters of the Rappahannock; but the same storm which dashed the thick drops against her windows also filled the river to overflowing, and the brave troopers, recalled, had to swim their horses in returning. Lane was among these, and his humorous account of the affair was signed, "Your loyal amphibian!" A young girl of Marian's temperament is a natural hero-worshipper, and he was becoming her hero. Circumstances soon occurred which gave him a sure place in this character. By the last of April, not only the cavalry, but the whole army, moved, the infantry taking position on the fatal field of Chancellorsville. Then came the bloody battle, with its unspeakable horrors and defeat. The icy Rappahannock proved the river of death to thousands and thousands of brave men. Early in May the Union army, baffled, depleted, and discouraged, was again in its old quarters where it had spent the winter. Apparently the great forward movement had been a failure, but it was the cause of a loss to the Confederate cause from which it never recovered,--that of "Stonewall" Jackson. So transcendent were this man's boldness and ability in leading men that his death was almost equivalent to the annihilation of a rebel army. He was a typical character, the embodiment of the genius, the dash, the earnest, pure, but mistaken patriotism of the South. No man at the North more surely believed he was right than General Jackson, no man more reverently asked God's blessing on efforts heroic in the highest degree. He represented the sincere but misguided spirit which made every sacrifice possible to a brave people, and his class should ever be distinguished from the early conspirators who were actuated chiefly by ambition and selfishness. His death also was typical, for he was wounded by a volley fired, through misapprehension, by his own men. The time will come when North and South will honor the memory of Thomas J. Jackson, while, at the same time, recognizing that his stout heart, active brain, and fiery zeal were among the chief obstructions to the united and sublime destiny of America. The man's errors were due to causes over which he had little control; his noble character was due to himself and his faith in God. Many days passed before Marian heard from Lane, and she then learned that the raid in which he had participated had brought him within two miles of Richmond, and that he had passed safely through great dangers and hardships, but that the worst which he could say of himself was that he was "prone to go to sleep, even while writing to her." The tidings from her other friends were equally reassuring. Their regiment had lost heavily, and Blauvelt had been made a captain almost in spite of himself, while Strahan was acting as lieutenant-colonel, since the officer holding that rank had been wounded. There was a dash of sadness and tragedy in the journal which the two young men forwarded to her after they had been a few days in their old camp at Falmouth, but Strahan's indomitable humor triumphed, and their crude record ended in a droll sketch of a plucked cock trying to crow. She wrote letters so full of sympathy and admiration of their spirit that three soldiers of the army of the Potomac soon recovered their morale. The month of May was passing in mocking beauty to those whose hopes and happiness were bound up in the success of the Union armies. Not only had deadly war depleted Hooker's grand army, but the expiration of enlistments would take away nearly thirty thousand more. Mr. Vosburgh was aware of this, and he also found the disloyal elements by which he was surrounded passing into every form of hostile activity possible within the bounds of safety. Men were beginning to talk of peace, at any cost, openly, and he knew that the Southern leaders were hoping for the beginning at any time of a counter-revolution at the North. The city was full of threatening rumors, intrigues, and smouldering rebellion. Marian saw her father overwhelmed with labors and anxieties, and letters from her friends reflected the bitterness then felt by the army because the North appeared so half-hearted. "Mr. Merwyn, meanwhile," she thought, "is interesting himself in landscape-gardening. If he has one spark of manhood or courage he will show it now." The object of this reproach was living almost the life of a hermit at his country place, finding no better resource, in his desperate unrest and trouble, than long mountain rambles, which brought physical exhaustion and sleep. He had not misunderstood Marian's final words and manner. Delicately, yet clearly, she had indicated the steps he must take to vindicate his character and win her friendship. He felt that he had become pale, that he had trembled in her presence. What but cowardice could explain his manner and account for his inability to confirm the good impression he had made by following the example of her other friends? From both his parents he had inherited a nature sensitive to the last degree to any imputation of this kind. To receive it from the girl he loved was a hundred-fold more bitter than death, yet he was bound by fetters which, though unseen by all, were eating into his very soul. The proud Mrs. Merwyn was a slave-holder herself, and the daughter of a long line of slave-owners; but never had a bondsman been so chained and crushed as was her son. For weeks he felt that he could not mingle with other men, much less meet the girl to whom manly courage was the corner-stone of character. One evening in the latter part of May, as Mr. Vosburgh and his family were sitting down to dinner, Barney Ghegan, the policeman, appeared at their door with a decent-looking, elderly colored woman and her lame son. They were refugees, or "contrabands," as they were then called, from the South, and they bore a letter from Captain Lane. It was a scrap of paper with the following lines pencilled upon it:-- "MR. VOSBURGH, No. -- -- ST.: I have only time for a line. Mammy Borden will tell you her story and that of her son. Their action and other circumstances have enlisted my interest. Provide them employment, if convenient. At any rate, please see that they want nothing, and draw on me. Sincere regard to you all.--In haste, "LANE, Captain.-- --U.S. Cav." _ |
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