CHAPTER XVI

PROPOSALS

Heaven, forming each on other to depend, As master, or as servant, or as friend, Bids each on other for assistance call, Till one man’s weakness makes the strength of all. Wants, frailties, passions closer still ally The common interest, or endear the tie. To those we owe true friendship, love sincere, Each home-felt joy that life inherits here. POPE.

Ronald Bruce came in smiling. All the family arose to receive him.

“Don’t let me disturb you, pray. How do you do, Mr. Palmer! And you, madam!” said the young man, shaking hands with John, bowing to Susan, and then pressing the hand of Em. before he finally subsided into the chair set for him by Tom.

“Hope you left the commodore and all the family well, sir?” hospitably inquired John.

“Quite well, thank you, Mr. Palmer. And I have no doubt, if they had known I was coming here, they would have sent kindest remembrances to you and your daughter,” replied Ronald Bruce.

“Oh! They didn’t know you were coming, then?”

“No. They were all taking their Sunday afternoon naps in their chambers when I left home.”

“Ah! Well, I am very glad to see you, Lieutenant, I am sure! Always take such pleasure in your sea stories! It’s almost like going to sea myself to hear you! And—well, I was thinking only to-day that the first time I should see you I would ask you how you spend Sundays on board ship. How _do_ you, anyhow?”

“Well,” laughed the young man, “as variously as you do on land. It depends on the character of the captain of the ship at sea, as it does on the master of the house ashore. Of course, much of the routine of ship duty must go on, just as some housework must be done. If the captain of the ship is a religious man we have divine service in the forenoon. In the afternoon every one spends his leisure as he pleases. I remember one Sunday afternoon——”

And here, to please his desired father-in-law, Ronald Bruce launched into a sea story that soon absorbed all the attention of the family party.

Even old ’Sias and Aunt Monica stepped in and sat down in an obscure corner to listen. And not until it was finished could Mrs. Whitlock make up her mind to steal away and prepare an extra supper for the guest.

Then old Monica and Uncle ’Sias followed to lend their aid.

“I never see such idiwuts as John Palmer and Susan is! Do they think as that young hossifer comes here for the pleasure of seeing them, I wonder? Why don’t they all make some excuse and leave the young folks together and give ’em a chance!” burst forth Mrs. Whitlock as soon as she found herself in the kitchen.

“If he comes here after Miss Em., dey is right not to give him a chance to court her, ’cause no good can’t come out’n that; he being of a rich young gentleman, an’ she——”

“A _lady_, every inch of her,” broke in Mrs. Whitlock, cutting Aunt Monica’s speech short.

“And so she may be in her ways an’ manners, an’ I don’t deny so she is. But, la! dat ain’t what _his_ people would look at. Ole Marse Commodore Bruce is particular. Why, chillun, I used to know dat ole man good, an’ hear him talk, when he came to our old Marse Captain Wyndeworth’s oyster suppers. Bless patience, honeys, _blood_ was his first ’sideration an’ _money_ was his second, an’ dat was all he would look at. An’ ’less our young gal had blood an’ money, he’d never ’sent to ’ceiving _her_ inter de Bruce famberly.”

“I’d risk it,” said Ann Whitlock, as she addressed herself to the task of preparing a dainty supper for the guest to tempt him to repeat his visits, if other inducements besides Em. should be necessary.

Meanwhile, in the parlor, John Palmer engaged the visitor’s attention exclusively, keeping him so busy in telling sea stories that the young man was in peril of having to draw upon his imagination, as well as upon his memory.

Ronald got no opportunity of speaking a single word in confidence to Em.

Even when supper was announced and he drew the girl’s arm within his own to take her to the table, the family massed so closely that he could not even get a chance to breathe a syllable in her ear on the way to the dining-room.

While the family were at supper Ann Whitlock busily prepared the spare room upstairs for the accommodation of their guest, saying to herself as she laid hickory logs across the andirons to build a cheerful fire:

“_I_ will make everything as pleasant as possible for him, anyhow, so as to ’tice him to come often. And I’ll ’courage ’em to get married, too, no matter what nobody says. Once they’re safe married nobody can’t unmarry ’em. That’s so!”

After supper, when the family were regathered around the parlor fire, the sea stories were resumed, and never had a story-teller a more attentive and appreciative audience than had Ronald Bruce in John Palmer and his household.

When the usual bedtime came, however, Susan Palmer began to grow restless, and as soon as Mr. Bruce came to the end of the tale he was then telling she got up and lighted a candle and put it in the hand of her husband, saying:

“I reckon, John, as Mr. Bruce is about tired, and you’d better show him to his room.”

“Now I do reckon he can find it for himself!” said John, laughing, as he passed the candle over to Ronald, and added: “It’s the same room you occupied before, sir, and you know the way to it.”

“Certainly,” replied the young man smilingly; and then more gravely he added: “I came here, Mr. Palmer, especially to seek a private interview with you on a matter of very great importance to me, at least. Can you give me a few moments alone before I leave here to-morrow morning?”

“Why, of course I can,” said John, staring with surprise and curiosity.

Mr. Bruce then bowed good-night to the circle, raised the hand of Em. to his lips and left the room.

“Now I wonder what in the name o’ sense he’s got to say to you, John? Do you know?” eagerly inquired Susan Palmer as soon as their visitor had disappeared.

“Oh, something about crops, or stocks, or something! You know his uncle wants him to give up the sea and attend to agriculture, and he knows no more o’ that than I do of navigation,” said John.

“Yes, I s’pose that’s it,” concluded Susan.

“I never did see two such old goneys in my life!” muttered Ann Whitlock to herself. “Between them both, they’ll ruin that gal’s fortin, I know they will!”

But nothing more was said, as the family were even then separating to retire.

As Em. went up to bid her father good-night she whispered these enigmatical words into his ear:

“Oh, father, please, _please_ don’t deny him!” And she was gone before the startled and perplexed John could gather his scattered senses and ask what she meant.

Early the next morning Ronald Bruce arose, dressed in haste and hurried downstairs to seek the promised interview with his host.

He found John in the parlor waiting for him.

“Good-morning, Mr. Bruce! Fine, bright morning, sir, though we had heavy frost last night. Hope you slept well, sir,” said Palmer.

“Thanks, yes, very well,” replied the young man, telling an involuntary fib, for he had not slept a wink and had not meant to say so.

“I’ll just turn the key of this door, and we’ll be safe from interruption,” said John, suiting the action to the word.

Then placing a chair for his guest and taking another for himself, he sat down and said:

“Now I am ready to hear all that you have got to say, Lieutenant; but I warn you that I don’t know much more about crops and stocks than you do yourself.”

“‘Crops and stocks!’” echoed the young man in surprise.

“Yes! Wasn’t that what you wished to consult me upon?”

“Bless me, no!”

“What was it, then?” inquired Palmer in surprise.

Young Bruce hesitated in some confusion. The fact that the father-in-law-elect seemed so utterly unprepared to hear the honor that was intended him, had the natural effect of making the proposal doubly embarrassing to the suitor.

He paused for a few moments longer and then broke the ice suddenly by saying:

“Mr. Palmer, I love your daughter Emolyn, and I have reason to know that she likes me. I came here to pray you to make us both happy by consenting to our marriage.”

If I were to tell you that John’s hair stood on end, I should not much exaggerate. His eyes fairly started from his head as he stared at the speaker, and faltered forth:

“Now look a here, young gentleman, look a here! Quiet yourself like and think a bit. You _can’t_ know what you’re a-talking about!”

“Yes, I do!” impatiently replied the young man, giving his dark head an irritable shake.

“Well, then, maybe I didn’t understand you right,” said John helplessly.

“Then I will repeat what I said. I asked you if you would do me the honor of giving me your daughter for a wife,” repeated Ronald.

“Dear me! Dear me! What a pity! I never thought of such a thing! I am very sorry,” muttered John in a meditative way.

Ronald Bruce sat watching and waiting until he lost the last remnant of patience and broke forth with:

“Mr. Palmer, do you understand my question _now_?”

“Yes—yes! Don’t get excited! I know what you said! And I know, too, what my girl meant when she asked me last night not to deny you! Lord help me! I feel awful cut up about it!” sighed John, running his fingers through his shock of “pepper and salt” hair.

The young officer looked somewhat fallen in his selfesteem as he gazed upon the overseer, who evidently did not feel the honor conferred upon him as he should have done, and he inquired somewhat sulkily:

“Why should you feel ‘cut up,’ as you call it, by my proposal?”

“Oh, because it is like you have been making love to my child, and maybe getting her to be fond of you!” replied John with a profound sigh that seemed to come from the depth of his heart.

“Well, that is just exactly what I have been doing—in the hope of winning her for my wife, with your consent. I come now to ask that consent; I only wait for that!” said Ronald earnestly. “And I don’t see why you should take the matter so very deeply to heart,” he added rather sullenly.

John groaned and sighed, but answered nothing.

“May I hope for your consent to my proposal, Mr. Palmer?” at length inquired the suitor.

“No, Mr. Bruce! It can’t be, and it oughtn’t to be! I am hurt to the very bottom of my heart to have to say it, but I must say it. No, Mr. Bruce, you can’t have Em. for your wife!” said John Palmer firmly.

The young man turned pale with astonishment, mortification and anger.

“May I ask you _why_ you reject me? Have you any objection to me personally?” he hotly demanded, as he arose and stood before John.

“To you personally as you stand there, sir, I could have no possible objection. You are a very well made young man, sound in wind and limb, of steady habits and good temper, though a little spirited. No, to you personally I would have no objection. And if you were only a young journeyman mechanic, or a young workman, I do not know any man in the world to whom I would sooner give my girl as a wife, or whom I would sooner welcome as a son-in-law; because I like you, Lieutenant Bruce! And if it would not sound queer from a man’s lips, I might almost say, I love you! _That_ is what makes it so awfully cutting to have to refuse you! Oh, I wish you were a workman!”

“So do I, since you seem to consider it an indispensable condition; but if you approve of me as I am, why not accept me as I am?” inquired the young man, now half inclined to laugh and half to weep.

John shook his gray-black head in sorrowful silence.

“I can’t help being an officer in the navy; but I can help continuing to be so, and I will resign my commission and take up farming if you will give me Em.! I’ll do it at once, next week, to-day!”

“Yes, and repent week after week, or even to-morrow! No, it will not do, Mr. Bruce! You are a gentleman born and not fit for Em. You can’t unmake yourself and make yourself over again, and therefore you can never be fit for Em. You must give up all thoughts of her at once and forever! I say it, and by all my soul’s hopes I mean it, young sir.”

“But, good Heaven! I can not and will not give her up! To do so would be the ruin of our lives’ happiness!” exclaimed Ronald.

“Nonsense, young gentleman. To _marry_ would be the ruin of your lives! Listen to me, sir. You and Em. are both too young to know yourselves, or to know life. Of course, you think now that if you could marry you would be perfectly happy. And so you might be for a few short weeks, while the novelty lasted. But you are a gentleman—she a poor man’s child. You have been differently brought up; these differences would crop out in course of time. You might repent of your marriage, think you could have done so much better if you could have married a lady of your own class, and so on——”

“Believe me, sir——” began the suitor.

“Stop! hear me out,” said the father. “You might even come to despise my child, and to make her feel that she was despised. That would break her heart, and then—why, I might break your head!”

Ronald Bruce sprang to his feet and began to stride up and down the room in a sort of frenzy.

“What in the deuce do you take me for, Mr. Palmer,” he indignantly exclaimed, “that you should think me capable of such baseness! Or what do you take your daughter for, that you should deem it even possible that any man should ever ‘despise’ her! If you were not her father, I would not stand quietly to hear her maiden dignity so affronted!”

“You’re not standing so very quietly just at the present speaking, young gentleman, unless tearing up and down the room like a madman means your idea of standing quietly! Come, Mr. Bruce! Come, Mr. Bruce! You have no better friend on earth than I am. And the very friendliest thing I could do for you would be to put my foot down on the notion of you marrying my daughter. And what’s more, no girl ever had a lovinger father than Em. has in me, and the kindest thing I can do for her is to prevent her from becoming your wife.”

“I swear by all my hopes of salvation that I will make Emolyn Palmer my wife in the face of all the world and in defiance of all opposition!” exclaimed the young man, so transported with fury that he lost all self-command and sense of propriety.

“Now I wonder why I don’t lift him by the scruff of his neck and the slack of his pants and pitch him out of the window?” thought John Palmer to himself. “Why? Because, with all his impudence, he loves my Em., poor fellow, almost as hard as I did her mother, and I am sorry for him. So I’ll be gentle with him.”

“You have no right,” broke forth the young man once more, as he strode up and down the floor—“you have no right—no one has any right to separate two young people who love each other as I and Emolyn do! No right to ruin both our lives for the sake of gratifying your own particular whims of pride or prudence! I told my uncle and my mother so yesterday, and I tell you so to-day.”

“Whe-ew!” exclaimed John. “So you mean to marry my daughter whether I will or not?”

“I will marry my Emolyn in defiance of all insane opposition!”

“Very well. We’ll see. Please sit down here. I am going to send for Emolyn,” said John Palmer.

Ronald Bruce threw himself into the chair and waited.

John Palmer went to the window, tapped upon it and called one of the boys who was chopping wood in the yard and who immediately approached.

“Ned, tell your sister Em. to come in here. I want to speak to her,” said the father.

The boy ran off to do his errand.

John Palmer unlocked the door and set it open.

In a few moments Em. entered the room.

She looked very much flushed and embarrassed, and her color came and went as she glanced from her lover to her father. She seemed to feel that her fate was being weighed in the balance of the moment, and that a second might decide it for weal or woe.

“Good-morning, father. Good-morning, Mr. Bruce,” she faltered in low tones, compelling herself to this act of politeness, although her very heart seemed fainting within her for fear.

Ronald Bruce bowed low to her salutation, while John Palmer held out his hand and said:

“Come here, my girl, I have something to say to you.”

Em. went to him.

He encircled her with one arm and drew her close to his side while he said:

“Em., my child, this good young gentleman here has done us the honor to ask me for you as his wife—as most likely you know.”

Em. gave a quick, short nod and caught her breath.

“You did know, of course. Well, my daughter, there is no young man in the world that I like better than him—just as there is no young woman in the world that I love better than you. So, having the lasting happiness of both in view, I must decline this marriage for you, my Em.”

“_Oh, father!_” she breathed almost under her breath.

“His friends would never consent to receive my child as a relative, Em. I would never consent for you to enter any family who would not be as _proud_ to receive you as I should be to give you. Besides this, unequal marriages never end well. Where a gentleman marries a poor girl, however much he may seem to have loved her at first, he grows tired of her, perhaps ashamed of her, and ceases to love her, maybe begins to hate her——”

“Oh, father! father!” moaned the girl in a low tone of anguish.

“Mr. Palmer, you must not say these things to your daughter! They are cruel, unmanly, and what is more, untrue, as far as I am concerned,” hotly interposed Ronald Bruce.

“They are hard and bitter words, I know, young people,” said John Palmer, keeping his temper. “But bitters are tonics to cure weakness. Now, my Em., to _you_ I speak. You are my child. This young gentleman here declares that he will marry you in defiance of his relations and yours, and all the world and the rest of mankind, as the late General Taylor used to say. The question, then, is this, my child: whether you will marry him without my consent and against my wishes? Answer, Em.!”

“Emolyn, pause! Do not commit yourself hastily by a promise that will drive me mad and make yourself miserable!” impetuously exclaimed the lover. “Take time to consider, Emolyn! Tell your father that you must have time!” he earnestly pleaded.

Em. raised her head. Her face was pale, and her eyes were full of tears; but she answered firmly:

“Ronald, you know my heart; I must not take time to consider whether I shall obey my dear father or not. I must not marry without his consent—I will not, dear father! Ronald, listen and be sure of this—if it should ever be right that we should marry, my dear father will consent; for he has nothing except our welfare in view. But do not mistake me, be sure of this also, that I will never marry without his consent,” Em. added, and covered her face with her hands to conceal the tears that were ready to stream from her eyes.

“There, young gentleman, you have your answer from her as well as from me. She will not marry without my consent. If it should ever happen to be proper for you to marry I will give my consent. As that is not at all likely to occur, why, you had better not hope for it. And let me repeat, in this I have nothing but your happiness and hers at heart,” said John in earnest kindliness.

Ronald Bruce stamped viciously, exclaiming:

“If there is anything in the world I detest, it is to suffer a grievous wrong and to be told that it is intended as a benefit.”

“Yes, I know,” said John. “Children always rebel ag’in the physic that is to cure ’em, or the whipping that is to reform ’em, although we always tell ’em it’s for their good. But ‘sich is life.’”