CHAPTER XIII

“OLD HEADS AND YOUNG HEARTS”

I must be cruel only to be kind. SHAKESPEARE.

The next morning Em. awoke to the memory of the preceding day’s events—her unkind dismissal by Mrs. Bruce; her immediate engagement by Commodore Bruce; Ronald’s unaccountable absence from his mother’s drawing-room circle, and his strange omission to appear somewhere about the halls of the staircases to bid Em. good-night on her way to her room.

She felt a strong impulse to arise and dress quickly and hurry down to the breakfast-room, in the probability of seeing Ronald before any one else should be there.

She acted on this impulse; but by the time she had finished her simple toilet, reason had come to check impulse, and prudence to warn her that she must not seek an interview with her lover, and, furthermore, that she must not even risk an accidental meeting with Ronald Bruce if she would avoid giving new cause of offence.

So, instead of hastening down to the breakfast-room, Em. seated herself at her chamber window with a piece of needlework in her hand and sewed until the breakfast bell rang, and then, to make sure of not meeting Ronald alone, she waited five minutes after the bell had stopped ringing, for she concluded that it would be better that she should be a little late at the table than that she should give umbrage by a _tête-à-tête_ with Ronald.

She went leisurely downstairs and entered the breakfast-room, expecting to find all the family at the table.

She found no one present except Ronald Bruce, who stood on the rug with his back to the fire impatiently waiting for her.

“Em.!” he exclaimed, stepping forward and taking her hand, “I have been here half an hour, hoping you would be down early, perhaps earlier than usual, because we could not see each other last night. Why are you so late?” he inquired reproachfully.

“I am not late, Ronald. None of the family except yourself have yet come down. But, oh, Ronald! please do not plan to see me alone. Your having done so has already caused trouble. That was the reason why at lunch yesterday the ladies treated me so coldly——”

“Impertinently, insolently, _I_ call it! I saw it all, Em., and my blood boiled! But what can a man do with such women, except to avoid them?”

“But they were kinder to me at dinner,” said Em. apologetically.

“‘Kinder!’ They behaved towards you with proper politeness, that was all, and I know to whose power that must be attributed! The old commodore had ‘put his foot down’ to that effect, I feel sure. But, Em., I could not join those women in the drawing-room last night, when I felt that I should not be able to play the hypocrite and treat Miss Warde or her mother with the respect I could not feel for them, with the respect a man should always, and under all circumstances, show women. So to avoid them I absented myself from the drawing-room. I went up to my chamber, locked myself in, hated all my fellow-creatures except you, Em., and read satires in the original Greek all the evening.”

“And so that was the reason why you did not come to bid—any of us—good-night,” said Em.

“That, yes, that was one reason why I did not come to bide—_any of you_—good-night. But that was not the only reason. I was making up my mind and coming to a conclusion that I shall act upon to-day.”

“Oh, Ronald!” exclaimed Em., startled by his expression, “I hope you will never do or say anything to distress your good old uncle! His past life has been so full of trouble. His remaining days are few. Let them at least be filled with peace.”

“I must speak to him to-day, however, for your sake, Em.”

“Oh, no, no, no! It were must better that you should give me up altogether than bring discord to the last days of one to whom you owe so much!” exclaimed Em.

“To give you up, Em., would be to give up my freedom of choice in a matter where the whole happiness of my life and that of my chosen one is concerned! That would be too heavy a price to pay, even for the great benefits I have received at my uncle’s hands. No, Em., I will never, never give you up!” said the young man earnestly.

“WHAT!” exclaimed the voice of the commodore.

Both the young people started as at a thunder-clap and looked around to see the old man, leaning on his stick, as he advanced slowly into the room.

“No one down but two? But, then, you are always down first, and ought to have a medal for punctuality!” he continued as he paused and leaned more heavily upon his stick.

Ronald stepped quickly to his side and gave him the support of an arm, while Em. wheeled the big arm-chair to the fire.

Both the young people were filled with painful doubts as to whether or not the old commodore had heard the concluding words of Ronald’s impetuous speech. Their countenances were full of confusion, nor were their minds set at rest by the next words of the old man, who, as soon as he had sunk into his seat, turned a rather severe eye upon his nephew and said:

“‘My handsome young man,’ I have something very serious to say to you. Come to my room immediately after breakfast; I will meet you there.”

“Very well, sir. I will be punctual, the more so because I have an important communication to make to you,” replied Ronald.

“Oh, indeed!” exclaimed the old commodore.

The entrance of the ladies here put an end to the topic.

They greeted the party in the breakfast-room, received the commodore’s rebukes for their tardiness very good-humoredly, and gathered around the table.

As the meal progressed Ronald was taken to task for his desertion of the preceding evening.

He coldly excused himself by saying that he had been engaged in reading Greek and trying to solve a problem.

Miss Belinda hoped that he had succeeded in doing so.

Ronald said dryly that he hoped he had.

When breakfast was over Em. followed Mrs. Bruce to her sitting-room, where that lady filled her hands with needlework enough to last her all day long and left her alone.

Meanwhile Ronald Bruce repaired to his uncle’s study, fully resolved to avow his love for Em. and ask his uncle’s consent to marry her; but he thought that, as in duty bound, he would defer his communication until he should have heard what his uncle had to say to him.

When he entered the study he found the old man seated in his big leathern chair by the long study table.

There was an empty chair placed exactly opposite to him.

“Take this seat before me, that we may look each other in the face as we speak,” said the commodore with an emphatic rap upon the one indicated.

Ronald sat down, folded his hands before him, and waited with the air of a rebellious child about to be catechized or reprimanded.

The old commodore on his part dropped his head on his chest and reflected for a few moments before opening the discussion.

At length, however, he looked up, drew a long breath, and began:

“Ronald, I asked you to come here that I might talk to you on a very painful and very delicate subject, and I scarcely know how to open it.”

He paused and looked at his nephew; but that young gentleman said nothing to help him out.

“Perhaps you yourself may have some suspicion of the subject?” suggested the commodore.

“Is it Miss Palmer?” sulkily inquired the young man.

“Yes, it is Em. Palmer. Ronald, I do not wish to be hard on you. You are but a young man, shut up in a very dull country house with a very beautiful and attractive young girl. You could scarcely help falling a little in love with her, so I cannot blame you for that; but, Ronald, if you have let her perceive your love you have done wrong; and if you have won her love in return you have done very wrong.”

Ronald started, flushed, and was about to speak, when his uncle raised his hand and said:

“Hear me out, your turn will come presently.”

“But I _must_ speak now. I never intended any wrong to Em.—never, so help me Heaven!” burst forth Ronald.

“I quite believe it,” the commodore promptly admitted. “Yet you have already wronged her more than you know.”

“How? how?” impetuously demanded the young man.

“By your thoughtless pursuit of her since she has been in this house. By following her, lying in wait for her, meeting her in the breakfast-room, in the study, in the grounds, anywhere, in short, where you could find her alone. And this you have done without her connivance, I firmly believe!”

“Heaven knows that is true! Em. herself has rebuked me for pursuing her; and yet I meant her no wrong, as I soon hope to prove to you.”

“I need no proof. I know you, Ronald, and, therefore, I am sure you meant no harm; and yet, as I said before, you have by this conduct done her grievous wrong. You have drawn upon her the invidious notice of evil-thinking women. Do you know what happened yesterday?” suddenly inquired the commodore, breaking off in his discourse.

“I know that our lady guests presumed to treat Miss Palmer with insolence! But they will find——”

“Never mind what they will find. There was something worse than that happened! these women’s tongues obliged my sister-in-law to dismiss the girl from her service.”

Ronald sprang to his feet.

“Did my mother have the cruelty to do that?” he exclaimed.

“She could not help herself, with those two women nagging her on! But I was determined the child should not be sent back to her mother in that discreditable manner, and so I immediately engaged her as my reader and writer, and conveyed a hint to those ladies that they would oblige me by treating her with proper consideration. Since that, I must say, they have behaved better.”

“I thought the improvement in their manner to Miss Palmer was brought about through your interference; but I had no idea that she had passed from my mother’s service into yours,” said Ronald.

“She has not yet done so. She was warned to leave Mrs. Bruce’s employment on next Saturday, when her father will come for her. She is to come back and enter mine on Monday—unless her parents should raise some objection, which I do not think likely—_or_, unless you should persist in your dangerous pursuit of her.”

“‘Dangerous!’ sir?” echoed the young man.

“Yes, dangerous! Dangerous to her peace, honor and reputation!”

“But, sir, you misunderstand me, quite. I love Em.!”

“Then you are very foolish.”

“I have told her that I love her!”

“You were very rash to do so.”

“And, moreover, I know that I have won her love!”

“Then, Ronald Brace, you have been very much to blame. How will you ever answer to her, or to your own conscience, for that child’s disappointed heart and lost happiness?” sternly demanded the old commodore.

“My good uncle, I told you that you totally misapprehended me, and I repeat it. I do not intend to disappoint Em. Her happiness shall be the first object and fondest care of my life,” earnestly exclaimed Ronald.

“What—in the deuce—do you mean?” slowly demanded Commodore Bruce, staring at his nephew with distended eyes.

“What do I mean, do you ask, sir? What does any honorable man mean when he says that he loves a good young girl, that he has told her so, and that he intends to marry her?” exclaimed Ronald Bruce somewhat impatiently, as at his hearer’s want of comprehension.

“Eh? What? What the foul fiend are you saying to me, Ronald?” demanded the provoked and puzzled old man.

“I say that with your consent, sir, I will marry Em. Palmer,” firmly replied the young man.

“Marry—Em.—Palmer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are raving mad! You are fit for nothing but a strait jacket and a lunatic asylum! Marry Em. Palmer! Why, even if she were your equal in birth, position, and education you could not do so; for you are to marry Hermia Templeton, you know.”

“Indeed, I did not know it! No word or look of love has ever passed between me and Hermia. We like each other well enough as cousins, but _not_ enough to marry—especially as she loves another man and I another woman!” recklessly replied Ronald.

“Then you are a very disobedient, rebellious, and unmanageable young couple! That is all I have to say. But I shall talk to Hermia and bring her to reason. And as for you, Ronald, I shall expect you to give up this insane whim and make up your mind to marry Hermia Templeton. You two are my heirs, and you should marry and keep the property together.”

“I should be very sorry to disappoint you, uncle; but honor as well as love is engaged in this, and I cannot and will not give up the girl I love. I must and will marry Emolyn Palmer,” firmly responded Ronald Bruce.

“Come, come, now, nephew!” said the old man as soothingly as he would have talked to a sick and delirious patient. “Come, come, listen to reason! I can understand and appreciate your feelings! yes, better than you can yourself. This love of yours is a delusion of the senses, a mere hallucination that is sure to pass away whether you marry the object of it or not! If you were to marry that young girl under your present illusions they would pass away in a few months. You would cease to love her; but you would never cease to regret that you had so hastily married her. Unfitted for each other in birth, culture, position, and everything, your wedded life would be a life of misery to both! Think of this while there is yet time, and withdraw from this contemplated and most insane idea of marriage! I will say no more to you at present. Go and think of what I have said to you, and said with the most unselfish desire to promote your happiness,” said Commodore Bruce, rising as a signal that the interview was ended.

“I thank you, sir, for your great kindness to me in this as in all other matters. But I must not leave you under any false impressions. I love Em., and have won her love. I am of age and can do as I please. My pay as a lieutenant in the navy will support my wife in moderate comfort. Therefore, I shall certainly marry Emolyn Palmer just as soon as I can induce her to fix a day. I say this not in defiance of your wishes, sir, but that there may be no misapprehension of my intentions,” concluded the young man as he bowed and retired.

“Stubborn as a mule,” said the commodore as he sank back in his seat. “I must see the girl. With her I shall have more success.”