CHAPTER TENTH.

ALREADY half the time allotted to Olive's vacation had passed, and she was beginning to think with mingled pain and pleasure of a speedy return to Basswoods, and her duties there. She knew that she was sure of a very warm welcome, not only from Ruth and Augusta, but also from her pupils, who were almost all very much attached to her. She liked the place and the people; perhaps too, she enjoyed the idea of being a person of a good deal of consequence; she liked the quiet and regular employment, and there was a great pleasure in witnessing the gradual improvement of the girls under her charge, not only in book-learning, but also in manners and in those minor morals which affect so much the comfort of our daily lives.

Sadly as the matter had resulted, she felt as though a mountain's weight was removed from her mind in getting rid of her secret, and she could not help whispering to herself that the marriage might after all turn out better than they feared—that William might settle down, now that he had the responsibility of a wife upon his hands, and become an industrious man, after all. She intuitively felt that this consolation would not bear much examination, but it comforted her for the time.

She had rather reluctantly given up her plan of stopping in M. to make Abby a visit, at Mr. Merton's urgent advice.

"You had better defer your visit, at least till your return, Olive," he said, when she mentioned her desire to him. "Abby will be in no state to bear reason just now. She has not had time to find out her mistake yet. Moreover, I do not believe you will be very welcome—at least to Mr. Forester. He will not be likely to forgive your plain speaking to him and to Abby, and especially your bringing him out in a downright falsehood. Abby is altogether under his influence, and sees through his eyes. I shall not forbid your going, but if you will be advised by one who has seen much more of the world than you have, you will defer your visit for the present."

So Olive wrote to her sister to say she was not coming, and had the mortification to perceive by the tone of Abby's next letter that it was a great relief to her. For the first time, Mr. Merton asked to see the letter.

"You see I was right," said he, briefly, as he handed it back to her, "but do not be grieved, my dear. The time will come when Abby will be glad enough to have you with her."

Of Laura, Olive saw very little. Aunt Dimsden had never encouraged their intimacy to any great degree, and she now told Olive plainly that she filled Laura's head with notions very unfit for a girl in her circumstances. "Your romantic ideas of disinterestedness and independence sound very well, but let me tell you, you will find out their fallacy when it is too late."

"When will that be, aunt?" asked Olive.

"When you see Miss Dimsden at the head of society, mistress of a fine establishment, and surrounded with every luxury, while Miss McHenry is still a drudging school-mistress, and a faded old maid, or at best, the wife of some country parson, obliged to struggle the year round to make both ends meet, and darning her children's ragged stockings, while her sister is spending her hundreds a day."

"I don't think I shall ever marry a minister," said Olive, "though I know some ministers' wives who are very happy people."

"Well, a school-master, then—perhaps the other teacher in the academy."

Olive gave way to incessant laughter at the idea of exchanging her maiden name for the style and title of Mrs. Simon Prendergrass. "I might do worse," she said, endeavoring to compose her risibles. "Mr. Prendergrass is a very nice man, and has quite a good little property, only he invests it all in books that nobody can read but himself."

"You had better set your cap for him," was the elegant reply. "I don't believe you will ever do any better. But be that as it may, I will not have you filling Laura's head with romantic notions. I have brought her up, and I have the best right to her, and I will agree to give up," ("what" she did not state,) "if she does not turn out better than any of you. As for Charlotte, she is an impertinent little hussy. I only wish I had her. I'd bring down her spirits, I'll engage."

True to her word, Mrs. Dimsden contrived to keep the sisters apart, and Olive hardly saw any thing of Laura, except in presence of others. Even when they were together, she could not help feeling very painfully how very little they had in common. Charlotte was much more of a companion for her, for though, as we have seen, almost entirely irreligious, she was not frivolous, and she utterly despised that dependence for happiness upon fashion and position in which poor Laura had been educated.

Mrs. Merton was, perhaps, almost as worldly as Mrs. Dimsden, but it showed itself in a different way. Having been for many years at the head of society, in the place where she resided, and needing no struggle to maintain her position, she was quite too firm to care much about being fashionable. She gave parties when and how she pleased, and was always sure of as many people as she chose to invite. She was not at all afraid to dress as she liked, or to say that she could not afford this or that, nor was she ashamed of having her carriage seen standing in an unfashionable street, at the doors of unfashionable people. Regarded in a religious point of view, her worldliness was, perhaps, no better than that of her sister-in-law, but it must be admitted that it was less destructive to every thing like integrity and solidity of character.

There was one subject of contemplation which was constantly presenting itself to Olive's mind, and from which she as constantly turned her thoughts, as far as she could, and that subject was Walter Landon. Would he come and see her? she wondered. Augusta had said nothing more about him, though she spoke of the Vander Heydens several times, and Ruth had never mentioned his name.

"And why," she proceeded to ask herself with severity, "should she wish him to come? What was he to her, more than any other acquaintance in the world? Would not—ought not all his thoughts and affections to be buried in Annette's grave?"

Olive felt a loss of self-respect every time she suffered her mind to dwell upon these topics, and invariably told herself that Mr. Landon was nothing to her, and that it was very wrong and foolish to think of him at all. But, though all this was undoubtedly true, it did not prevent her from reading Augusta's first letter several times over, nor hinder her heart from beating faster every time the door-bell rang, and sinking sadly when the person who was nothing to her did not make his appearance.

One night, during the last week of her vacation, there was a ring at the door, and a strange voice was heard, inquiring whether Mrs. Merton lived there, and secondly whether she was at home.

"I wonder who that is?" said Charlotte.

Olive did not answer, though she had recognized the first tone of his voice. Her heart was beating inconceivably fast just then.

A tall, gentlemanly personage entered the room, with a bow which even Laura might have approved.

"Mr. Landon," announced Edward, the Black Prince, approvingly; for Edward was an excellent judge of a gentleman.

Mr. Landon was greeted with perfect composure, and a proper degree of warmth by Miss McHenry, and then presented to her uncle and aunt. Mr. Merton remembered having seen the young lawyer in court, and was quite prepared to like him, and Mrs. Merton was evidently pleased by his manners and address.

Olive was provoked at herself for feeling anxious about the impression he was likely to make, and asked herself again, severely, what he was to her.

He was very glad to see her that was certain, and replied with warmth to her inquiries about Basswoods and its people. The sickness had almost disappeared, the society had resumed its meetings, Mr. Prendergrass was well, but melancholy and lonely—with a mischievous glance at Olive, who blushed, of course, to the roots of her hair, thereby provoking Charlotte to make various inquiries about that gentleman.

Olive could not help thinking Mr. Landon was in remarkably good spirits for a young gentleman who had so lately passed through such a severe affliction.

She had refrained from making any inquiries about the family on the hill for fear of wounding his feelings, but it seemed really quite unnecessary.

"You have not inquired for the Vander Heydens," said Mr. Landon, himself, turning from Charlotte to Olive.

"Augusta wrote that Jenny was out of danger," replied Olive, more and more surprised, and somewhat hurt; for the idea of doubting Dr. Gordon's intelligence never entered her mind.

"Yes, they are all well, now, but very sad. The joy and life of the household is gone."

"Annette seemed an interesting girl," remarked Olive, hardly knowing what to say.

"You did not know her, Olive—Miss McHenry," he said, correcting himself. "Annette never did herself justice with strangers, and the absurd family pride with which her mother's head is filled, though she had less of it than the rest, often made her appear at a disadvantage. She had many excellent qualities, more than she herself was aware of. I think she would have made a splendid woman."

Olive wondered more and more. Was it possible that Walter could speak so of a woman to whom he had been engaged, dead only two weeks?

"You were more intimate with them than most people in the village," she said, without exactly knowing why.

"We were cousins, you know, and Louise has always been with them a great deal since my mother died. I believe the good people of Basswoods were so kind as to give us to each other, at one time, but they were quite mistaken. We were more like brother and sister than cousins."

"I was told that you were engaged," said Olive, feeling that she must say something. "Dr. Gordon thought so."

"Dr. Gordon was mistaken," replied the gentleman, with more warmth than seemed exactly necessary. "I was very much attached to Annette, but I should think that any one who knew us well might have seen that we were not at all suited to each other."

Why did her mother look so amused? Charlotte wondered.

She certainly did look amused, and perhaps Mr. Landon saw it; for he colored, and rather hastily turned the conversation by asking Mr. Merton some questions about the courts in M. Henceforth the conversation ran upon law and lawyers. Mr. Merton was enthusiastic in his profession, and of course was delighted to find Mr. Landon the same.

Mrs. Merton and Olive sat by, apparently much interested, though it is doubtful whether either of them could have repeated a word of the conversation five minutes after it ceased.

By and by, music was proposed. Olive played, whether well or ill she could not have told, and then she and Charlotte sang a duet together.

"Do you sing, Mr. Landon?" asked Charlotte.

"Sometimes, in church and Sunday-school," said Mr. Landon, smiling; "and I know a few old ballads." And being farther pressed, he sang without accompaniment, one of Burns's inimitable songs.

"That is charming. That is the sort of music that I like," said Mrs. Merton, quite enthusiastically, for her. "I confess I do not find half the pleasure in modern music that I do in those old songs. Pray sing something else if you are not tired."

Mr. Landon was not tired, and he sang "Molly Bawn," much to the amusement of Mr. Merton, who had never heard it before.

"I wonder you do not cultivate your musical talents," observed Charlotte; "there are so few gentlemen that sing."

"I did at one time, Miss Merton, but to tell you the truth, I found it too engrossing. It was present to my mind a great many times when I knew very well that I ought to be occupied with something else. It took time from more important studies, and so I dropped it."

"And very rightly, too," said Mr. Merton, approvingly. "Accomplishments are often very dangerous things to one who has his own way to make in the world. They may do for a man who has no business but to amuse himself."

"A man who has nothing to do but to amuse himself is a very poor creature, in my estimation," said Mr. Landon.

"And a nuisance to society, besides," observed Charlotte. "There is our old acquaintance, Major Trumbull, for instance, Olive. What a bore he is, with his everlasting prattle about art and architecture, and the æsthetic, and so on. And after all, he does not know a good picture from a bad one, unless he hears some one else give opinion beforehand."

Mr. Landon discovered that it was growing very late, and took his leave, after accepting an invitation from Mrs. Merton to dine with them the next day, which was Sunday.

"A very well-informed, unassuming, well-mannered young man," was Mr. Merton's verdict, after the visitor had departed, "and pretty sure to rise in his profession. We shall see him a distinguished lawyer, one of these days."

"What connections has he in Basswoods?" asked Mrs. Merton, of Olive.

"None nearer than the Vander Heydens, and one sister," was the reply.

"What is she like?"

"A very nice little girl—one of my best scholars. Her health is not strong, and I have to watch and see that she does not work too hard; for she is as fond of study as her brother."

"How came Mr. Landon to know your Christian name?" was the next question.

"From hearing it at the rectory, I presume," said Olive. "Mr. Gregory's family all call me Olive, and he is there a great deal."

Mrs. Merton seemed satisfied, but she had one question more. "What do you suppose brought him to M., Olive?" she asked, with something of a smile.

"I don't know; perhaps he had business," replied Olive, vexed at feeling the color rise in her cheeks.

Perhaps he had—we all know that lawyers travel a great deal. But why should Olive blush at that? And why, after going up-stairs, should Olive sit for an hour, looking out of the window, when, even if it had not been very dark, there was nothing to be seen but Mr. Watson's highly respectable mansion over the way? Why, to be sure?

When they went to church, the next morning, Mr. Landon was standing in the porch. Of course Mr. Merton invited him to sit with them, and of course he accepted. He was very attentive and devout, thereby winning still more of Mr. Merton's approbation. Olive thought she had never felt the beauty of the service so deeply. Mrs. Merton guessed, in her own mind, that her niece's thoughts might be wandering a little: but for once she was mistaken. Olive had left all earthly thoughts at the church-door, and her mind was filled with one absorbing desire—that she might be reconciled to the will of God, whatever that will might be. She had never felt so much at peace with herself since she first discovered that she loved Walter Landon.

Charlotte, who for the most part went to church only to please her mother and had nothing to do but to use her eyes, thought she had never seen Olive look so nearly beautiful.

Some one else in the church was using her eyes and that was Mrs. Dimsden who had discovered the genteel stranger with the Mertons the moment he entered. For the first time in her life, she thought well of the free-church system, as it enabled her to take a seat directly behind them, instead of the one she usually occupied. She did not take much by her motion, however, for Mr. Landon sat with his back to her, and never looked round once during the whole service.

"I wonder who that is!" she said to Laura, as they were coming out of church. "I never saw him before."

"Some country friend of Olive's, probably," answered Laura, carelessly, "or some office acquaintance of my uncle's. He looks like a young lawyer."

Mrs. Dimsden was not satisfied. She thought the stranger had something distinguished in his appearance, and she was immediately anxious to find out all about him.

"You had better go over and see Olive this afternoon," she said, after luncheon; "you know she is going in two or three days."

"It will look just as though I want to see this person, whoever he is," objected Laura.

"Never mind that; I will be answerable for appearances, if you do as I bid you. You can stay to dinner, and come to church with them this evening."

Laura was vexed, but there was nothing for it but to obey.

"I did not come of my own accord, Olive," she said, as she went up-stairs with her sister to take off her bonnet. "Aunt Dimsden sent me, so you need not think I want to steal your beau from you."

"I do wish you would not use that word," replied Olive, rather impatiently. "Why should you not come over here if you choose? There is nothing in it to need an apology."

"I thought you would all think I came over to see who your visitor was," said Laura; "and, to tell the simple truth, I suppose that was what aunt sent me for. Don't tell me any thing about him, and then I shall have the pleasure of disappointing her."

"Laura, Laura, how perverse you are! If she had not told you to find out, you would never have rested till you knew all there is to know."

"Maybe so. Is he coming to dinner?"

"I believe aunt invited him."

"Then I suppose she will depart from her rule of giving the servants their Sunday. She would not ask a stranger to a cold dinner."

"I do not believe she has made any difference," said Olive. "I know all the servants went to church this morning."

So it proved. Mrs. Merton made no apology for the cold fowl and ham, except to say that it was one of her rules never to have unnecessary cooking done on Sunday.

"So much for being above the fashion," thought Laura. "I wonder whether the Eatons would dare to do such a thing."

The conversation was cheerful enough, though somewhat serious in its character. Mr. Landon was interested in hearing an account of the different charities of the city, in almost all of which Mr. and Mrs. Merton were more or less engaged. Free churches, homes for old people, parish schools and Sunday-schools, were discussed in all their bearings and relations. Laura thought it all very stupid, and Mr. Landon something between a Puseyite and a Methodist. He spoke of a certain Mr. Dennison, who was his particular friend. And after a little, it came out that he was a hatter, but no one seemed at all shocked. Aunt Merton was a good deal of a riddle to Laura: she was so very fashionable, and yet seemed to care so little about it.

They went to church in the evening, and walked round by Mrs. Dimsden's to leave Laura, who complained of headache. That young lady had to undergo a severe cross-examination from her excellent aunt, but as she had sedulously avoided finding out any thing, she had very little to tell, except that she believed Mr. Landon was a young lawyer from the country, who did not seem to have any distinguished connections.

"Your aunt is always inviting such persons. I do wonder she should. Even the clerks in the office are very often there, I am told."

"Yes, indeed," said Laura; "aunt makes a point of asking some of them to tea almost every week, and I never saw her or Charlotte take more pains to entertain any one. I remember how aunt set down Morgan Spencer once, for putting on airs to one of them. The sweet youth was nearly frightened out of what little wit he has."

"Well!" sighed Mrs. Dimsden. "I don't pretend to understand Rebecca Merton. She is beyond me. I knew her pride would have a fall, though, when she used to make such a display of Abby and Charlotte last winter, and if it does not have another, I shall miss my guess. If you will be a good girl, Laura, I will have you at the head of an establishment of your own long before Charlotte, with all her beauty and talent. Now go to bed, child, and put on your best looks to-morrow, for I think we shall have some company that you will like to see. And pray don't be perverse and romantic, my dear, for you know the only object I have is to see you settled in life."

Laura was delighted to see her aunt again in good humor. She promised that she would eschew romance and perverseness, and went to bed, feeling quite happy.

"Olive," said Mrs. Merton, "will you stay at home, and keep house this morning? Charlotte and I have shopping to do, and shall probably not be at home till luncheon-time?"

Olive assented, of course. There was something a little peculiar in her aunt's manner, she thought, and she found herself speculating over it more than once in the course of the long letter that she was writing to Augusta and Ruth, which was to be sent by Mr. Landon. She had just finished it, when the Black Prince ushered Mr. Landon himself into the drawing-room with the information that Madam and Miss Charlotte were out, but Miss Olive was at home.

Mr. Landon seemed to think that Miss Olive would answer every purpose, and the Prince retreated to his own dominions, apparently greatly amused with something in his own mind.

Mr. Landon did not converse with his usual freedom and elegance. On the contrary, he seemed a good deal embarrassed. Indeed, after a while, he was quite at a loss, and did not speak a word for all of five minutes, during which time he cut, ripped, twisted, and otherwise destroyed almost half a yard of elaborate tape trimming, besides dulling the little scissors in a very distressing manner. Strange to say, Olive had not the presence of mind to stop the mischief or, perhaps she was too much engaged on that camellia flower, whereof the pattern seemed to have become very difficult all at once.

"Olive!" said Walter at last.

Well, perhaps it is not necessary to tell the rest. I suppose these things are managed very much alike, all the world over. Of course, Mr. Landon did not fall on his knees, or conduct himself in any such absurd manner, because he was ordinarily a very sensible, practical young man, and not quite a fool, even in love. We may conclude, from what we know of the gentleman, that he told his love in a very manly, earnest fashion, and that Olive answered in the same way. If he kissed her hand, and—and so on, why, that is nobody's business.

Whether the Black Prince had his own thoughts about what was going on, I can not say; though, if he did not, why should he have made such a clatter in setting down the luncheon-tray outside the door, when there was no need to set it down at all, the said door being ajar? And why should he have indulged in a private and respectful giggle, when he went back for the pickled oysters?

Mrs. Merton and Charlotte came in almost as soon as luncheon was ready, and Mrs. Merton was graciousness itself, both to Mr. Landon and to her niece. Mr. Landon had quite recovered his fluency, and never appeared to better advantage, while Olive was silent and abstracted, though she did not seem particularly miserable.

By and by the gentleman took his leave, and Olive escaped to her own room. We will not follow her, for she needs solitude, wherein to collect her thoughts—to think what she has done and said—to wonder whether any one was ever so happy or so thankful before.

It would be paying a poor compliment to Mrs. Merton's care and discernment to imagine that she did not understand the whole matter. She was a woman of great penetration, and very much accustomed to judge of character. And, moreover, she was very skillful in drawing people out, and making them display their true colors. She saw nothing to object to, but very much to approve in the young lawyer, though she believed he might be a little Quixotic in his ideas of duty. She was very much pleased that he had, in a manner, referred the matter to her, even before speaking to Olive. His character as a lawyer was high—very high for so young a man, and he had a respectable property, and no vulgar relations. She would, indeed, have preferred to have Olive settled nearer home, and she could not help pitying her for being, in all probability, condemned to spend her life in a country village—a fate which seemed to her very deplorable, though Olive professed to like it.

Still, Olive was not a belle; she did not care very much for society and style, and all that, and she was not the kind of girl likely to make a brilliant match. On the whole, as she said to Charlotte, Olive had done quite as well as she expected—so different from that poor, foolish child, Abby, whom they all thought would have turned out so much better.

Olive was quite happy, when she received the congratulatory kiss of her aunt and uncle, on coming down to dinner. Mr. Merton had seen and talked with Walter, and expressed himself quite satisfied with the young man's views. It was all talked over in the family council that evening. Olive had quite made up her mind to return to Basswoods, and fulfill her engagement there, and Mr. Merton supported her in this resolve, against the opposition of his wife and Charlotte. The term would be out in the middle of July, and she could then come home to stay till she left it for good. The only other stipulation which Olive made was that the engagement should be kept a secret.

"But what will you do about Laura?" suggested Charlotte. "You must tell her."

"Yes, I suppose so, and perhaps it will be best to tell aunt, too, but I dislike having such an affair the theme of conversation. And then, if any thing happens—"

"I will manage that," said Mrs. Merton; "leave it to me, my dear." And to her, Olive was quite content to leave it.

Finally, the matter was thus settled. Olive was to return to Basswoods and finish her term there, giving Mr. Jones timely notice of her intention to resign, and Mrs. Merton was to use her own discretion about keeping the matter a secret. Olive tried timidly to bring in a word in favor of Abby, but was stopped at once by her uncle.

"Not a word about that, Olive! I have conceded much—more, perhaps, than I ought—in allowing you to visit her and correspond with her, and that is all you must ask. She shall never enter this house again, till she has, at least, expressed some sorrow for her misconduct, and a desire to be forgiven."

Olive sighed, but she could only submit, in the hope that her uncle would relent, or her sister come to her senses some day.