CHAPTER XXXVIII
IN WHICH DARTS ARE COUNTED AS STUBBLE
IN the course of a somewhat diversified experience Brant had been constrained to fight his way through a few measurably perilous passages, and in such crises those who liked him least were fain to concede his courage. None the less, when the day of liberation darkened to its evening he went leaden-footed to the interview with Dorothy’s mother.
Now Hobart, in the goodness of his heart, had caused it to be whispered about that Brant would probably make his farewell call that evening, and for this reason it was Dorothy, and no hireling, who answered the bell.
Whatever may be said of Brant (and his most loyal apologist is fain to admit that his shortcomings were many and variegated), he was no laggard in love; and when he made sure of the identity of his unexpected welcomer, Dorothy had no cause to doubt the warmth of his passion. Nevertheless, she blushed and struggled a little--as what modest young woman, however affectionate, would not in a well-lighted reception hall which was a thoroughfare for the entire household? And so, mutely protesting, she drew him quickly into the library.
“Only a moment with you, my love,” he said tenderly; “just long enough to hear you say it again. Are you quite sure you love me?”
She hid her face on his arm--she was not tall enough to reach his shoulder. “I--I’d be ashamed to tell you how long I have been sure of it,” she confessed with sweet _naïveté_.
Whereat he kissed the parting of her hair.
“Thank you for that word, my darling. It would hold a worse man than I ever dared to be true to his purpose. Now there is but one thing more: we must have your mother’s consent and approval. Will you go and send her to me?”
But Dorothy hesitated, as well she might.
“If you are sure you must speak to her now,” she ventured to say. “But, oh, I am afraid----”
At that he drew her closer, and for some ecstatic moment the hard thing that remained became as naught. “The day of fear and trembling is past, little one, and whatever befalls, whatever your mother may say, we shall still belong to each other. And I will wait and serve for you, my love, as Jacob served for Rachel, if need be. Now kiss me good-bye, dear, and go--before the love of you unmans me.”
She lifted tear-brimmed eyes to his and said: “Oh, no; it must not be good-bye.”
“Only for a little while, sweetheart. I’ll join you with the others when I have done what I must do.”
“With the others? But how shall I know what she has said?”
He smiled and once more kissed the parting of her hair. “You’ll know without the telling, my beloved. And if you are the first to welcome me, I’ll know you know. Now go, and let me have it over with.”
She went obediently at that, and when she was gone, Brant began to walk the floor and to call up all his reserves of fortitude and courage, being well assured that he would presently need them.
While he was yet planning the assault, and before the flanking regiments were properly wheeled into line, the door opened behind him and he turned to confront not Mrs. Langford, as he had anticipated, but her son. The “unlicked cub” came in, swaggering a little as was his wont; but when he had closed the door and so shut himself in with his redoubtable preserver, he had an attack of embarrassment which quickly put to flight the offhand greeting he had meant to offer. Whereupon, instead of carrying it off with the easy nonchalance of a man of the world, he stammered like any schoolboy and Brant had to come to the rescue.
“How are you, Will? I am glad to see you,” he said, truthfully enough.
The unchastised one felt that some acknowledgment of his immense obligation to Brant ought properly to precede any mere desultory talk, but to save his life he could not twist his tongue to anything like the adequate speech. So he spoke of Brant’s plans rather than of the obligation.
“Heard you were off to the San Juan; Harry told us, you know. Jolly good layout, too, isn’t it? By gad, don’t you know I envy you?--no, that isn’t what I meant to say. Fact is, Mr. Brant, you see I’ve been hanging ’round the door so long waiting for Dorothy to come out that it’s got me rattled. What I wanted to ask was if you wouldn’t take me along. I reckon I don’t know enough about engineering to hurt me any--nothing much but what I learned at school--and folks say I’m too dead tough to breathe, but I’d like to learn, and--well, I don’t know, but I reckon I’ll never be any account till I get to work, and if anybody can brace me up, it’s you, and----”
Brant was generous enough to break in and so supply the period the boy was so helplessly pursuing; and he did it the more readily since he felt the sudden and urgent prompting of a new and imperative duty.
“If you will agree to carry chain and drive stakes to begin with, you may count it a settled thing so far as I am concerned,” he said. “But how about your father and mother? Will they let you go?”
“The governor’s all right; I’ve just had a talk with him, and he is so glad to get rid of me that he is scared to death for fear you won’t take me. And the mother will be all right, too; she’ll do anything I want her to, same as she always does, you know. I’ll go and tell her now, before----”
But just then the door opened again, and Mrs. Langford needed not to be sought. She came in with the air of one who does an unavoidable thing reluctantly, but her stateliness abated visibly at sight of her son. The “cub” promptly forestalled anything in the way of preliminary formalities.
“Just this minute talking about you, mother,” he burst out, in happy ignorance of constraints or embarrassments, social or other. “Come and shake hands with Mr. Brant and congratulate him on getting out of the horrible scrape I got him into. But that isn’t what we were talking about, you know; he starts for the San Juan to-morrow morning--going down to take charge of the Chipeta work--and he has promised to take me with him.”
“Subject, of course, to your approval and Judge Langford’s,” amended Brant, with a bow in Mrs. Langford’s direction.
“Oh, of course; but I told you that would be all right. What’s the matter with you, mother? Can’t you manage to thank Mr. Brant? It’s jolly good of him, y’know.”
“I--why, William, dear, this is dreadfully sudden! I didn’t know you were even thinking of such a thing!” The good lady had formulated quite a number of cool little speeches wherewith to dampen any small spark of ardour which the unwelcome visitor might attempt to blow alive, but here was a contingency for which no forethought could have made provision. So she hesitated, and before the needed access of severity came to forbid it she was doing very nearly as her son had commanded.
“We are glad--very glad, I am sure, Mr. Brant,” she faltered, not knowing just how fittingly to congratulate a man upon having got out of jail--out of the very noose of the hangman. “This is really an unexpected pleasure--no, not quite that, either, for I got your note. But about this--this expedition; I am afraid-- Hasn’t William been taking too much for granted?”
“Not on my part,” rejoined Brant civilly. “I assure you I shall be glad enough to have him with me, if he may go with your consent.”
“But it is so very sudden,” the mother protested, still unable to orient herself. “I had thought--that is, I had been led to believe that you came upon quite a different errand, Mr. Brant.”
“Oh, of course; he came to see Dorothy,” said William with brotherly brutality. “But that’s all right. They’ll have time enough to say any quantity of good-byes while you’re helping me to pack. Come on upstairs with me, please; I can’t begin to find half of my things if you don’t help me.”
Mrs. Langford gave up in mute despair; and Brant was beginning to fear that his errand would have to go undone; but at that moment the “cub” rescued the vanishing opportunity by rushing off to begin his preparations. Thus the mother and her visitor were left alone together, and Brant seized his courage with both hands:
“Mrs. Langford, one moment, if you please. You know why I came here to-night, and what I meant to ask. My happiness, which you may justly ignore, and that of your daughter, which is of far greater moment, depend upon your answer. Will you give it me now? or must I wait till I have earned a better right to it?”
He spoke hurriedly as the occasion compelled, and she heard him through without interrupting. When he paused she took his arm a little stiffly and led him toward the door.
“You will find the family in the drawing-room, Mr. Brant; and I hope you will excuse me if I go upstairs to help William. And, as I may not come down before you go, I will bid you good-bye now. I hope you will do well, and--and that you will succeed in whatever you undertake.”
They had reached the hall, and she turned and held out her hand. Brant took it and bowed low over it.
“Then I am to understand----”
“This: that I am willing to be neutral, and to wait.”
“It is all I ask,” he said gratefully, quelling a sudden and mighty insurrection of joy that threatened to unseat his self-control.
“It is all I can promise, now. Be lenient with me, Mr. Brant, as I shall try to be with you. You know my views, and you also know whether they are unsupported by reason and justice. I will say frankly that I came down a few moments ago to urge you to spare me; to tell you that I could not reconcile myself to this thing that you and my daughter have set your hearts upon. But while I delayed, you forestalled me with my son. He is my hostage, and I surrender him to you because I can not help myself; but when you return I shall require him at your hands. Deal gently with him, I beg of you--for his sister’s sake, if not for mine.”
She turned to go upstairs, and he stood aside to let her pass. “God do so to me, and more, if I do not regard him as the son of my own mother,” he said solemnly, and the promise touched her.
“I believe you--and trust you,” she added, pausing on the step above him. “Now go and join the others in the drawing-room. They will all be glad to welcome you.”
And they were; but Dorothy the most of all. For in his eyes she read the promise of the future, and ran to be the first to greet him. And though the others pressed upon him with kindly words and hearty hand-grips, he saw but one--the woman for whose love he lived, and would have died.
THE END
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“A touch of idealism, of nobility of thought and purpose, mingled with an air of reality and well-chosen expression, are the most notable features of a book that has not the ordinary defects of such qualities. With all its elevation of utterance and spirituality of outlook and insight it is wonderfully free from overstrained or exaggerated matter, and it has glimpses of humor. Most of the characters are vivid, yet there are restraint and sobriety in their treatment, and almost all are carefully and consistently evolved.”--_London Athenæum._
“‘Into the Highways and Hedges’ is a book not of promise only, but of high achievement. It is original, powerful, artistic, humorous. It places the author at a bound in the rank of those artists to whom we look for the skillful presentation of strong personal impressions of life and character.”--_London Daily News._
“The pure idealism of ‘Into the Highways and Hedges’ does much to redeem modern fiction from the reproach it has brought upon itself.... The story is original, and told with great refinement.”--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY’S PUBLICATIONS.
HAMLIN GARLAND’S BOOKS.
Uniform edition. Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.25.
=_WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS._=
“A faithful and an entertaining portrayal of village and rural life in the West.... No one can read this collection of short stories without feeling that he is master of the subject.”--_Chicago Journal._
“One of the most delightful books of short stories which have come to our notice in a long time.”--_Boston Times._
“The historian of the plains has done nothing better than this group of Western stories. Wayside courtships they are, but full of tender feeling and breathing a fine, strong sentiment.”--_Louisville Times._
=_JASON EDWARDS. An Average Man._=
“The average man in the industrial ranks is presented in this story in as lifelike a manner as Mr. Bret Harte presented the men in the California mining camps thirty years ago.... A story which will be read with absorbing interest by hundreds of working men.”--_Boston Herald._
=_A MEMBER OF THE THIRD HOUSE. A Story of Political Warfare._=
“The work is, in brief, a keen and searching study of lobbies and lobbyists. At least, it is the lobbies that furnish its motive. For the rest, the story is narrated with much power, and the characters of Brennan the smart wire-puller, the millionaire Davis, the reformer Tuttle, and Evelyn Ward are skillfully individualized.... Mr. Garland’s people have this peculiar characteristic, that they have not had a literary world made for them to live. They seem to move and act in the cold gray light of reality, and in that trying light they are evidently human.”--_Chicago Record._
=_A SPOIL OF OFFICE. A Story of the Modern West._=
“It awakens in the mind a tremendous admiration for an artist who could so find his way through the mists of familiarity to an artistic haven.... In reading ‘A Spoil of Office’ one feels a continuation of interest extending from the fictional into the actual, with no break or divergence. And it seems to be only a question of waiting a day or two ere one will run up against the characters in real life.”
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=_A LITTLE NORSK; or, Ol’ Pap’s Flaxen._ 16mo. Boards, 50 cents.=
“True feeling, the modesty of Nature, and the sure touch of art are the marks of this pure and graphic story, which has added a bright leaf to the author’s laurels.”--_Chicago Tribune._
“A delightful story, full of humor of the finest kind, genuine pathos, and enthralling in its vivid human interest.”--_London Academy._
By MAARTEN MAARTENS.
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=Some Women I have Known.= (_Nearly ready._)
“Maarten Maartens is one of the best novel writers of this or any day.”--_Chicago Times-Herald._
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=Her Memory.= With Photogravure Portrait.
“Maarten Maartens took us all by storm some time ago with his fine story christened ‘God’s Fool.’ He established himself at once in our affections as a unique creature who had something to say and knew how to say it in the most fascinating way. He is a serious story writer, who sprang into prominence when he first put his pen to paper, and who has ever since kept his work up to the standard of excellence which he raised in the beginning.”--_New York Herald._
=The Greater Glory.= A Story of High Life.
“It would take several columns to give any adequate idea of the superb way in which the Dutch novelist has developed his theme and wrought out one of the most impressive stories of the period. It belongs to the small class of novels which one can not afford to neglect.”--_San Francisco Chronicle._
=God’s Fool.=
“Throughout there is an epigrammatic force which would make palatable a less interesting story of human lives or one less deftly told.”--_London Saturday Review._
=Joost Avelingh.=
“Aside from the masterly handling of the principal characters and general interest in the story, the series of pictures of Dutch life give the book a charm peculiarly its own.”--_New York Herald._
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.