The Pacific Monthly/Volume 1/Was He Justified?
"WAS HE JUSTIFIED?"
A more delightful traveling companion than Harriet could not be desired. Virginia thought her young sister charming, and even the sweet-faced nuns at the convent accepted her as a happy interruption to their serenely monotonous quiet.
"She is the spirit of the West, an embodiment of its free winds, its rushing crystal rivers, its untamed grandeurs," sighed the mother superior, recalling a journey she had once made to the slope beyond the Rockies.
"She is certainly untamed," replied Sister Agatha, who was to accompany the two girls to New York, and who was receiving her instructions for the journey in the privacy of the mother's sitting-room, "I tremble to think of her inflence over Virginia."
"Virginia is secure," said the mother superior. "It is she who will wield the stronger influence. You understand clearly what it is you have to do?'"
"It is very simple, is it not? I am to deliver the young ladies into the hands of the father who will be waiting to receive them. All provisions for their comfort will have been arranged. And I am then to bid them good-bye and return at once to Montreal. Is it not so?"
It was so, and after a few words of admonition and warning, Sister Agatha was dismissed, and the mother superior sat musing in the dusk alone. It was five years since Virginia had entered the convent doors, brought thither by her young husband. A mere child she had seemed to the gentle sisters; timid and silent, yet eager to explore the realms of learning. They had watched and guided her mental growth. The gradual unfolding of her woman's nature had been a beautiful spectacle to them. It was as if some lovely flower nourished and protected by their tender care had blossomed to reward them with its sweetness. They had shared her simple joys, and her sorrow had been theirs. In all things they felt she was their own, and they would miss her when she went away, out into the great world to play her part in the drama of life. The mother superior sighed when she thought of the trials and temptations that might beset the path of her young favorite. And then, for she was a woman, and had a woman's love of romance still in spite of convent walls, black veil and ivory crucifix, she fell to dreaming of a future for Robert Raymond's widow, in which one who was near and dear to her should play the part of the prince.
"May I come in, mother?" a soft voice broke through her dreaming.
"My child, yes, come in."
Virginia moved forward in the warm darkness of the narrow room, and knelt at the mother's knee. "It is the last night," she said. "I wanted to come to you to tell you how deeply, truly grateful I am for all your loving care and kindness. This roof has been my home for five happy years, and now when I am going away, perhaps forever"—her voice broke—"O mother, mother, I want to stay with you. I am afraid, afraid of the world." Mother Elizabeth laid her hand upon the young head bowed upon her knee.
"My child, why do you fear?" she asked.
"I do not know," murmured Virgina. "Only I am terrified. When I think of what may come I feel so alone."
"You have your sister. She has courage enough for two."
Virginia smiled through her tears. "Harriet is afraid of nothing," she said. "She is eager to see the world; but I do not care for this journey across the seas. If it were not for Harriet I should give it up even now."
"It is best that you should go, my child. Besides," she hesitated, then went on, "there is one who will be disappointed if you do not."
Virginia was silent. She was wondering, as she had often wondered of late, how it was that her future seemed ordered for her. That while no direct opposition was made to her expressed wishes she yet found all her own planning futile, over-ruled or set aside as by a strong, invisible hand. And her fortune, too. Harriet had called her a "rich widow," and she was puzzled, for she did not understand how it could be, or where her fortune came from, if she really had one. Robert had told her that he had nothing that he did not earn, and his salary was not large, barely sufficient to pay their combined expenses, and yet she could not deny that she lacked for nothing. It was in her mind to question the mother superior concerning this seeming mystery, but something held her dumb. Perhaps it was a vague intuition that her questions would be ignored.
They talked of other things presently; of the places she was to visit, of Italy and of the holy father, the pope, whom Mother Elizabeth had seen once in her youth, and of the wonders of Rome — the churches, the palaces and the pictures. When at last Virginia said good night and went away to her own little cell-like room she was as eager to see the world as Harriet herself.
The journey to New York was accomplished without accident or adventure of any sort, much to Harriet's expressed disappointment.
"Never mind," she confided to Virginia, "just wait till we get out from under the shadowing wing of Sister Agatha, and we will create a sensation."
"We will do nothing of the kind," replied Virginia, with unexpected firmness. "If we cannot be trusted to conduct ourselves with becoming modesty we will return to Montreal with Sister Agatha."
"Dear me!" cried Harriet, "I didn't mean that we were to do anything shocking or bold. Only you know yourself that people fight shy of nuns."
They were in the parlor of the hotel, waiting for Sister Agatha. They stopped their discussion as she entered, and were surprised to note that she was not alone. At her side walked a Catholic priest.
Something in his face and manner struck Virginia as oddly familiar; but it was not until she heard him speak that she recalled where and when she had met him before. At sound of his voice the memory rushed back upon her of the fair October morning, when she had stood under the oak trees with Robert's arm around her, and this man's words had made them one. She felt again the warm air on her cheek and brow, and heard the crickets in the grass and the laughter of the debonnaire youth gaily bidding Robert lead his bride out into the sunshine. And swift on this another face flashed before her, and then was gone; the dark, handsome face of Robert's friend, whom she had seen just that once, and to whom, Robert always insisted, he owed everything.
If the priest recognized her he gave no sign. He expressed his pleasure at being able to act as their escort on the coming voyage; made a few commonplace remarks concerning the probable state of the weather, and left them.
They were to sail next morning. There was some necessary shopping to be done, that occupied the afternoon, and it was not until the sisters were in their own room and preparing to retire that Harriet ventured to express herself.
"Are we never to get rid of the Catholics?" she cried. "Sister Agatha is bad enough, but a priest! It is simply beyond human patience to endure. I shall shock him fifty times a minute; I know I shall. I am not used to priests. Why don't you assert yourself and tell them we are quite capable of taking care of ourselves?"
"Because," replied Virginia, seriously, "I am not sure that we are, and, besides, I am too grateful to Mother Elizabeth for providing us with an escort on this long journey."
"Oh, well, if you take that view of the case, I shall have to make the best of it, I suppose. However, I'm thankful for one thing. He's handsome as a Greek god, and I mean to flirt with him all the way over."
"Harriet!" exclaimed her sister, shocked beyond the power of words to express. "Is nothing sacred to you?"
"Not even the priesthood? Don't look so horrified. A priest is only a man, in spite of his dress, and your Father Roquet is a very handsome man, an unusually handsome man. It's a shame the Catholic priesthood is sworn to celibacy. I think I'd prefer Father Roquet to a duel coronet or even to Billy Spencer."
But Virginia was too deeply hurt to respond to the jest. To her the church and all that pertained to it was holy, and Harriet's remarks were nothing short of sacrilege.
"There," cried the latter, "I've said something perfectly awful, I suppose; hut I didn't mean to offend you, Virgie. You see I'm not used to the 'church,' as you call it. If you'll forgive me this time I'll solemnly promise not to look at Father Roquet from the time we leave New York till we arrive in Liverpool or London, or wherever we drop him; and, I was only joking, anyway."
"I cannot bear to hear you speak light- ly of such things," said Virginia, submit- ting to a shower of penitent kisses.
"Father Roquet," Harriet remarked, in one of her letters home, "seems to have no other mission in life than the safe con- voy of two charming and helpless young women to their destination over the seas. Virginia's dependence puzzles and amuses me. I don't believe she has the least idea where we are going to stop in London, or what we are going to do while there. When I question her about it, she invar- iably replies that Mother Elizabeth has arranged everything, or that Father Ro- quet will attend to it. And I must confess Father Roquet seems equal to anything. He is not one bit like my idea of a priest. In the first place, he is too good looking in spite of his gray hair, and he is per- fectly devoted to Virginia. He's been everywhere and seen everything, and is the life of the captain's table, where we are fortunate enough to be placed at meals. The stories he tells of frontier life and experiences are better than novel tales, and he's lived in Oregon, too; seems to know everybody in that part of the world worth knowing. For real, live com- pany, give me a Catholic father every time. I am thinking very seriously of becoming a fraction of the mother church myself, but don't tell Billy Spencer. He inclines to Methodism, if I haven't for- gotten, and I may have to fall back upon Billy after all, though I haven't given up the hope of capturing a title yet."
"Oh! dear," sighed Mrs. Dalgren, when she read this effusion of her second daugh- ter. "Will Harriet never be serious or sensible? I wish she would write letters
that I could read to the children without having to skip whole pages." But she, nevertheless, found Harriet's vivacious ac- counts very interesting, and, if she had confessed the truth to herself, preferred them to Virginia's sweetly formal ones. She dreamed many dreams, this loving mother, in the quiet seclusion of the Ore- gon homestead, where her girls were growing up around her, all of them with increasing promise of beautiful woman- hood. There were four younger than Har- riet, not to mention the boys, and she is to be pardoned if she hoped that Har- riet's predictions about the duke might be realized. If they were not, there al- ways remained, of course, Billy Spencer. And any girl might do worse than to take Billy, with his cattle ranch on Camp Creek, and his bands of horses in the range "east of the mountains." As for Virginia, it was vaguely understood by her family that Robert had left her well provided for, and a young widow with money and no incumbrances had nothing left to wish for in Mrs. Dalgren's esti- mation of the case. It had been just the reverse with her. She had had the in- cumbrances and very little else, and the struggle had been a desperate one till that unexpected and mysterious check had come as if to console her for the loss of her firstborn. Since then things had gone fairly well; though, with so many to clothe and to educate, careful economy was always needed in the administration of the affairs of the homestead.
The story of Virginia's romantic mar- riage was almost forgotten in the neigh- borhood. It had turned out so disappoint- ingly well that it had early ceased to be interesting.
The Lamonts had drifted out of the state, having, through some questionable speculations, lost both wealth and much- vaunted respectability, and everybody said: "I told you so; I always knew there was something not just right about that family. They were altogether too respectable to last."
And so time had gone and continued to go. Virginia's year abroad lengthened to two. They were having the loveliest time in the world, Harriet wrote. They went everywhere, and saw everything and everybody worth seeing. They lived well and dressed well. Virginia was universally admired, and she had her own share of attention. Their wants were always supplied. They seemed to have the purse of Fortunatus; it was never empty, no matter how much they took out of it. "Though, to tell the truth," she added, "my elder sister has the simplest tastes in the world; she never seems to think about herself, what she shall eat or wear, and yet is always lovely, while I spend hours fussing over my clothes, and often look a perfect fright in spite of it all."
At last the welcome news arrived that they were coming home; would sail on a certain date. Then letters from New York; they would stop in San Francisco for a few days, and finally a telegram from the last-named city:
"Virginia married this morning. Expect me the 20th. Explanations on arrival.HARRIET."
There was suppressed excitement at the homestead when this announcement was received. Virginia married, and no word or hint of an engagement! It was beyond belief, and yet, but stay, this was the 19th! That telegram had lain at Eugene for nearly a week. Harriet would be home tomorrow, and, best of good luck, there was Billy Spencer at the gate with him pet team — a pair of high-bred bays that had a record of speed not to be despised. Billy Spencer was welcomed with open arms, and the case laid before him. He jumped at the chance to drive down and bring Harriet home. He suggested putting the bays to the family carriage and taking Mrs. Dalgren and Kitty along to welcome the returning wanderer. As for Virginia's marriage, it did not much concern him. He had room in his thought?, but for one thing — Harriet was coming home, and so nearly as he could make out, as free as to her affections as when she went away.
(To be continued.)