Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 November 1894 — Silence [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Silence

By Miss Mulock

CHAPTEK VII. Roderick did not appear among his family until the next day. or rather the same day, for it was four in the morning bes re the last guest departed and he household sunk into quietness. Then, Bella Jardine knocking at his door, had teen greeted with a fraternal growl; and the trayful of lood which, according to the family faith that the way to the heart is through the stomach, she brought up to him, was left untasted on the door-mat. “Let me alone; I will see you all at breakfast ” were the only words that could be got out of him Angry, sorrowful, and utterly worn cut in body as well as mind, he threw him-elf on the bed in the cold tireless room — evidently he had not been expected so soon—rolled himse.f up in a bearskin rug. w.iich he had bought at Neuchatel, in planning that neier-to-be-for-gotten da; at Lausanne, and slept for many hours. Slept so heavily that when he awoke, long after miduay. he was surprised to find the fire lighted and a dainty little breakfast standing beside it, also his feet, stretching outside the rug. we e carefully wrapped up in one or his mother s shawls. She had been in his room, then mak,iim “comfortaule,” as was her habit to do, as much a- she could—perhaps giving him, unfelt, the kiss that he might not have cared for, the tear whicn would only have vexed him. Poor mother! And he was her own, her only si n. Roderick was to rched. When he came down stairs the .first thing he did was to look for her a l over the house, and when they met he kissed her affectionately. “Forgive my being so rude as to go to bed at once: but 1 was very tired. And you/ You have been up, spite of your fatigues, and looking alter me as usual/ I did so en ; oy my nice breakfast! Thank you, mother. ” tie kissed her again, and then sat down, not knowing what else to say. Would she speak nr. t. or must he, on the subject which never left his mind for a moment / “Yes, you were quite wearied out with your long w ourney, my dear boy," said Mrs. .lurdine. “ion must have traveled nignt and day, to have got back so soon.” “Could I do otherwise, thinking you were ill, mother'/ and naturally I was somewhat astonished—— “To find us in the middle of a ball?’’ broke in Bella, who sat surrounded by a heap of wedding finery. “It mu-’t have been a little per lexing. But we thought that frightening teiegram was the be it way to bring you home. ” Roderick drew back, Hushing angrily. “Hold your tongue, Bella,” said the mother. “But, my dear Rudy, I never said 1 was ill; I only said 1 war ‘not well.’ which was quite true. How could it be otherwise, after your letter/”

‘■■you did got my letter, then-my two letters?” “Yes, both.” And there ensued an awkward silence Thecriticil moment passed, seized, unhappily, by neither side, for Roderick, excessively irritated, waked instantly out of the room and out of the house. It is astonishing how long clever people—and she was a decidedly clever woman in her way, was Mrs. Jardine can shirk a difficulty, or avoid an unpleasant thing. ne hardly knew how it came about, but Roderick had actually been two whole days at home, taking his place at the foot of his mother's sumptuous table, and entertaining, with gentle courtesy and welldisguised weariness, her endless guests, falling back into old ways so completely that he sometimes asked himself if the last two months were not merely a morning dream; yet not a syllable had been breathed of his intended marriage or of Mile. Jardine. It was not till the third day after his return, which, being tne day before the wedding, was, of necessity kept free from visitors, that Roderick succeeded in finding his mother aione. Coming into her “boudoir,” as she called it, the little room oil the draw-ing-room, which she made her place of refuge when she was not in sufficiently grand toilet for visitors, he saw her sitting there, for “five cuiet minutes. ” ‘ Mother, you ought to rest; you will be ill if you don’t.eaid her son, going up to her with honest anxiety. “I’ll rest by and by,” she answered, “when to morrow is over. Oh, these weddings! It’s all very well for the young wlks; but—the patents! However, this is the last one. 1 have no more girls to marry.” “No, mother,” said Roderick, sitting down by her, both out of real tenderness and because he felt that now was the golden moment which must not be let pass by—for there was a kind look in her eye ■ and a tremor in her voice, such as had not greeted him ever since he came home; “no, mother, your daughters are all safely disposed of. And when your son marries he will faithfully promise that his wedding shall give you no trouble.” Mrs. Jardine drew back, then looked at the door, as if feeling herself caught in the.toils and anxious to esca; e; but Roderick held her hand fast; ay, he put his arm round her waist in & tender, filial way; he was determined to “have it o it,' as people say, with her; but he wished all io be done in the gentlest an i mo t kindly fashion. “Yes, mother, as I told you, there will. I trutt, be another marriage in the family, but " . “Bu, not yet. Not for a very long time. I couldn’t stand it—indeed I could not. Don't let us talk about that. I am very busy, you see.” “Nay. mother, we must talk about it. I have been waiting to speak to you ever since I came home. You are the first and only per.-on I can speak to on this sub ect. You feel that. ” “Feel what? Speak about what? Let me go. I declare I don’t know what you are driving at. and I can’t put up with any nonsense—n jt just now." Roderick turned pale with anger, but he controlled himself. “It is not nonsense; i explained all in my letter—in my two letters—which you say you received.” “What, all about the little Swiss girl who you fancy is your cousin?” “She is my cousin, there is no doubt of that; at least, remotely so: not near enough to warrant the slightest ob ectton, which I know' you have te ccus‘Marrylngl tut, tut laddie, who

spoke of marrying? Put such felly out ,of your head at once. .Never let me J hear of it again, or of her!” ! “Never hear of her again ” said Roderick, slowly, tho gh h s heart was burning with indignation, and the nervous trembling which he always felt in moments of excitement seemed to run through his whole frame. “Mother, you misunderstand the matter. ou must hear of her. She is the lady whom I have cho en for my wife—if I can get her.—my wife ana your daughter-in law.” “Never!” cried Mrs. Jardine. “Y’ou had better give the thing up, Rode - iek, fur I wil havo nothing whatever to do with it. or with her. ’’ “Very well,” answered Roderick, and his voice was a deadly quietness. “Now we know exactly where we stand. Mother, you are' busy, you ray, and I have also an engagement. Good morning” “But you will be back to dinner?” He pau ed a moment and then answered, “Certainly.” “And you are not forgetting that tomorrow is the wedding-day.-” “I trust I am not in the tabit of forgetting any of my duties.” She looked after him a< he quitted the room, passing Bella, who just then entered, without a word or 100k —indeed, he seemed to -walk blindly, like a person half stunned, and her mind misgave her a little. * * * * * The wedding-day 'came and passed. It was net a day of seutirnental emotion; the principal consciousness which it brought to Roderick was that there were certain inevitable things to do and say. which he did and said to the b st oi his ability; thinking the while that his wedding day, did it ever come, should be as unlike this day as possible. So Bella Jardine and her new “gudeman,” if such a vulgar word could be med for Mr. Alexander Thomson withou. scandalizing himself and hi< family, which floated away into felicity, wh le the hundred or more particular friends who had been , invited to see them "turned off,” as the young lady with whom Roderick had t > open the ball expressed it, danced till far into tho “sma’ hours” with spirit and en-thusia-m. In fact, no marriage could have gone off with greater “aclaw, ” as Mrs. ,jard.no declare.!, and she was right; her own indomitable energy, good temper, and good spirits contributing in no small degree to that desirable result But with all these excellent qualities, one Hags sometimes at nearly sixty; and during the folowing day, anxiously as Rouerick sought a chance of speaking to his mother, she was, either intentionally or unintentionally, wholly invisible. Not till afte dinner —nay, nearly bod-time, aid the m Aber and son come really face to face, sitting alone togetho" in the large, si’ent drawing-room, which 100 ed especially drea y. so much so that Mrs. Jardine, saving som thing about “going to bed early,” rang or the servants, and conducted, it seemed with more lengthiness than usual, the never omitted family prayers. These ever, mother and son were again alone. “Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Jardine, with a rather impressive yawn, “1 suppose we had better go to bed.” “Not just this minu ! e, mother,” entreated Roderick. “Let me have half a dozen words with you, if you are not too tired. Remember, I start to-mor-row for Neuchatel. ” “Neuchatel —t .-morrow! What in the world do you mean?’ “I tol l you‘that immediately after the wedding I meant to go back to Switzerland.” “Why? What for?” Roderick pau ed a moment “To see Mademoiselle Jardine, and ask her to become my wife. She is alone and unprotected, and if she does me the honor to accept me, I think it will be best to arrange our marriage with as little delay as possible.” He said this in as quiet and matter-of-fact way as he could; perhaps this very quietness only excited his mother the more. “What! would ycu forsake me enti ely/ I couldn’t have believed it of you! Oh, Body, my boy, my only son.” She may have been exaggerating her feelings a little, in or de upon his; still the e wa- a ringWf natu al pathos in her voice which took the peer fellow by storm. “Mother, dearest.” he tat down by her and affectionately clasped her hand, “who talks of forsaking/ Not I, certainly, You are not going to lose your son, but only to gain another daughter—and such a daughter. If you only saw her. Will you see her? Will you come ba.-k with mej to Switzerland and let us fetch her home together. ” He was not wise, not tactful, cerlainly. this poor Roderick. Alas! a large nature, judging a smaller one, often makes egregrious mistakes. Mrs. Jardine drew herself up with indignant ] ride and outraged decorum. “tv ell, I do think that is the coolest and most impudent proposal -—” “Impudent.” (She had pronounced It “impident,” noor woman! which made it a still more obnoxious word.) Roderick looked at his mother full in the face. Though she was his mother, he was a Jardine and she was not, wrath set better on him than on her; because if hereditary blood teaches nothing more, it usually teaches that i elf-restraint which we are accustomed to call good breeding. “Impudence, I think, has never been a vice of our family: and the lady I have chosen being of that family, deserves entire respect—which Ishallexact for her trom everybody, in.hiding my own mother. Also, excue me, I sffall resent any insult offered t> her, even if offered by my own re ations, exactly as if it had been an insult to myself.” He spoke so quietly and with such stately courtesy, the steel armor of per ect politeness, that Mrs. Jardine was frightened. Tne boy was his father’s own son. only with stronger health, a fii mer will, a spirit unbroken, and, above all, tre talisman o. hope in his besom—hope and love. As he stood there he looked so handsome in his fearless youth—fearless, yet offering no obnoxious front to any one—gifted with that be-A of courage, the power of self-control —that his mother% heart misgave hera litt.e. “Wait till next day; we will talk it all over to-morrow. I am so tired tonight” And she nervously took up her bedroom candle, which was waiting beside her. Roderick lighted it for her, and then kissed the hand into which he gave it. “Lear mothe •, I am grieved to vex you, believe tnut: and 1 will wait a day —two or three days—rather than go against your will. Think better of what you have said: think better of me Dp you not believp I love you ” “It doesn't look like it,” said she, sharply. To nata'es like hers, gentleness sometimes sceins like a confession of weakness, and only rouses them to greater tyranny. “Howeve ,du as you say; wait a few days, and I’ll think over it. " After his m ther quitted him Roderick pondered uidly over himsalf -and

his fortunes for a long time. Passionate V in lo e as he was, he wis selfluhly in love. He could not thro< himself out of him elf so as to see a litA tie on the other s de. It was hs d fori h:s m ther who lo ed autho - ty and was ealouso affect on. t < be dethroned in this way. '/ nd ne wi hed- was i| disloyalty to his be oved —that things had hap; ened differently —that she haq been some ne w.< m his mother knew and .ised, rather than a complete stranger. But all that was past now. Hia choice was made —this r n ne; for* with the impulsive convic ion of youth; he was quite cer ain ihat if he did nofi marry Silen e a:dine he would never ma ry anybody. Hi mother must make up her mind to accept the inevitable. Sti 1 he would wait: a few days didj not matter so very much, with a whole life time of happiness before him. Surely, suiely it was before him, and not a mere phantom of his own brain? Surel. she, so deeply beloved, must have felt tha i was so. Her sweet, firm, yet trem ilous “yes” must ha e implied her relief in him, which a little delay would never shake, but only confirm. Then whh an easier mind, and a heart almost happy—so strong is hope at his age—he walked back a street’s length in the pelting rain, humming to himself his favorite ditty Whenever she comes, she shall find me ready To do her homage—my queen, my queen. |IO BE CONTINUED. I