Sara, a Princess: The Story of a Noble Girl Part 38

"How snubbed I feel!" she sniffed, amid the laughter, making a face at him. "But if you knew it included you--Mr. Garth, do you believe in omens?"

"Really, Miss Molly, I never thought--in fact, I don't know of any, do I? What omens?"

"Oh, that you're going to quarrel, if you spill the salt, and that it's bad luck to step over a crack in the floor, and you musn't begin things on Friday, and"--

"Molly, what nonsense! I thought we agreed to forget all that kind of thing when the mirror broke," said Morton.

"Yes; when instead of bringing us misfortune it brought us comfort. Did we ever tell you about that, Mr. Garth?" asked Sara; then, as he gave a negative sign, she repeated the story.

He listened interestedly.

"Where did you live, then, Miss Olmstead?"

"In Killamet--a tiny fis.h.i.+ng-village on the coast. We are the children of a fisherman, perhaps you know."

"You?" surprisedly. "I would never have thought it! I supposed"--He stopped in some confusion, and colored.

"Say it out!" urged Morton.

"Yes, relieve your mind," added Molly; "it won't stand too much pressure."

"Molly, be quiet!" interposed Sara peremptorily.

"Well," said the young man at this, giving Molly a queer glance, "I had always supposed fishermen to be a rude sort of people--entirely unlike you all, of course."

"'With the exception of one,' you would say, if you dared," added Molly instantly. "But you needn't blame any of my ancestors for my tongue-- Sara will tell you our mother was a real lady, in speech and manners, and our father one of Nature's n.o.blemen. I was probably changed in the cradle by some wicked fairy."

"Let us thank the creature for leaving such a unique specimen, at least," laughed Mr. Garth, completely mollified; (if you will not accuse us of an insane desire to make a pun). "Come, fairy changeling, and let's have a song together."

"Yes, if you won't insist upon cla.s.sical music more than half the time.

Do you know what I'd like to sing to-night?" rising to go indoors; "one of those rollicking, rioting old sailor-songs, with no tune, and not many more words, but with a catchiness in the two or three bars that gives you the sensation of a s.h.i.+p rolling and pitching under your feet-- but Sara won't let me, so"--laughing mischievously--"I suppose I'll have to come down to Bach and Wagner!"

Sara left alone outside, for Morton now departed for the store, seated herself in one of the piazza-chairs to listen at her leisure. The twilight was deepening into the warm, scented dusk of a mid-summer eve, with nameless soft noises amid the dew and the perfume, as countless tiny creatures settled themselves to repose or came out for their nightly dance beneath the stars.

The tender influences of night and silence inwrapped the girl as if in motherly arms, and she felt glad, and hushed, and still. What was the little struggle of a day when all this great, yet minute world lived, slept, woke and worked, subject to one Will--a Will mighty enough to control the universe, precise enough to make perfect and beautiful the down upon the wing of an insect invisible except under a powerful microscope? Why should she fret, or worry, or dread?

"I have but one care," she said, "to do right--to abide by my inner heaven-given instinct, which we call conscience, the rest is of the Will."

She leaned her head back restfully against the small down pillow tied by gay ribbons to her chair; but her resting soul leaned against an Arm,-- mighty to save, and tender to feel. Amid all her musings ran the sweet strains of the old English ballad the others were singing inside, whose refrain only was clear to her,--

"Trust me, Love, only Trust!"

A figure moving with a springing motion came swiftly up the gravelled walk and mounted the steps. Not till then did Sara notice it. She turned, rose, and stepped forward; and as the figure advanced to meet her, it stood full in the light streaming through the drawing-room windows.

"Robert?" she questioned, still in a dream, and not realizing that she had used a name only whispered in her own heart till now.

"Yes, Sara," was the reply, "I have come--were you waiting for me?"

Still only half herself, so sudden and surprising was all this, she answered in his own tone, quiet, but threaded with deep meaning,--

"Yes, I--think I was."

He drew her to him, whispered three little words--and the new moon, just dipping her last upturned horn beneath the horizon, may have seen their kiss of betrothal; but if so, she modestly withdrew from sight, and never told the sweet secret.

I suppose my story should properly end here, but Sara felt that hers was just beginning. With arm linked in arm the two went softly down the steps, and strolled through the odorous hush of the garden, trying to tell the emotions of three years in as many minutes, while the unconscious couple within sang, and sparred, and sang again, perfectly certain of their unseen listener outside. After the first few moments, in which they could think of nothing but their own two selves, so strangely and quickly bound into one, Sara asked,--

"But how did you happen to be here just now, Robert?"

"Because I came! I was like a chained beast all the time you were ill, though Molly's letters gave only the most cheering news, but I knew I couldn't see you if I were here, and I mustn't leave aunt; but when word came from uncle that he was down with a malarial attack at Omaha, on his way home, and she started at once to nurse him, I made up my mind very shortly as to my next move--which was to pack my grip and come on, to 'put my courage to the test, to win or lose it all.'"

"It required a great deal of courage!" laughed Sara.

"More than you think, sweetheart. I was not at all sure of your feelings towards me--to tell the truth, I have been horribly jealous of that singing-fellow--what's his name--Garth, isn't it?"

Sara laughed merrily, and just then a booming strain rolled out from the drawing-room upon the silent air.

"Listen!" she said; "isn't that a fine baritone? That's something from Offenbach, I think."

"Magnificent!" returned Robert unsuspiciously, thrilling at her light, trustful touch upon his arm. "Who is it? Some friend of the Macons?"

"No, of ours. It is--Mr. Preston Garth."

He started, looked at her, and even in the dusk caught the amused flash of her eye.

"The rascal! Must I then run upon him the very first minute of my meeting you?" he queried tragically.

"Not necessarily--still perhaps, just for politeness' sake, we had better go back and say good-night to him. I think they have finished now, the music seems to have ceased."

They turned back towards the house just as Molly, who, with Mr. Garth, had now come out upon the veranda, cried excitedly,

"Why, she's gone. Sara! Sara! Where are you?"

"I am here, Molly," advancing with her companion, "here with--Mr.

Glendenning."

"Oh!" said Molly; and Mr. Garth, feeling a sudden twinge of doubt and dread, waited but a moment longer, going through with the introductions almost mechanically--then, becoming suddenly aware of his neglected engagement at the museum, hastened on his way--leaving Robert in full possession of the field.

After answering a question of Molly's he entered the house with the two girls. They had just stepped into the brightly-lighted drawing-room, when the younger, a trifle in advance, turned with some light remark, and was at once arrested by the beatified expression upon both faces.

Her remark died on her lips; and her eyes, filled with wonderment, travelled from one countenance to the other, as if determined to drag the secret from them by mesmeric force.

"Tell her, Robert," said Sara softly; upon which Molly's hands came together sharply, after an old, childish trick of hers.

"No need! No need!" she cried with her usual frankness; "I'm not blind-- and I never saw a couple so plainly ticketed 'sold' before!" Then holding out a hand to each of the somewhat abashed pair, she cried merrily, "It's lovely, though! And remember, Mr. Glendenning, I always share in all Sara's good things, so now you'll have to be my brother, if you have determined to be her--master," pointed by one of her indescribable grimaces.

"Master, eh?" queried the young man, raising his eyebrows. "Do you know, Molly, I shall be more than happy to be just her--husband?"

"Well, what's the difference? 'A rose by any other name,' you know; only look out for Sara! I never saw a girl quite like her; while she's seeming to give up she always gets her way"--