CHAPTER II.

_ADELE AND MARGARET._

In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Very young men are not, as a rule, passionate admirers of the fair sex. They like to be flattered and caressed by women, they delight in imaginary conquests, treating the sex generally with a sort of compassionate condescension. Their chief cultus is the _ego_ that is to do and to dare such great things in the untried future.

There are some who cherish this pet delusion through life, who are always superior. Should such have women dependent upon them the fate of those women is scarcely enviable. They are expected to walk through life inferior. But in the lives of most men there is an awakening. Sometimes the favorite pursuit--science, art, literature--rising gradually into vaster proportions as it is more ardently followed, dwarfs the man in his own estimation by contrast with what he seeks. The ideal being ever so far in advance, he begins to take a truer estimate of his powers and to try to enlarge them. Sometimes it is the world of life, contact with other minds and the feeling of their superiority; sometimes it is the world of nature, its beauty and its mystery. These are the majority.

To a few perhaps--a very few--the awakening comes from another power. It _is_ a power, whatever may be said to the contrary, a great power for good or for evil--the power of beauty, as it rests brooding on God's last and fairest gift to man--woman.

The mind, the imagination, the heart, all that had lain hidden under the crust of self-seeking, rises into play in a moment, and the man is changed. Such a man can never despise woman, for the one particular star--distant, unattainable in all probability--sheds its lustre upon all that partake of its nature.

If the woman who has gained this power can only use it, not selfishly, but grandly, truly, the change for the man is a resurrection into new life. If not--Who shall say how many young souls have been ruined, perhaps for ever, by this same "if not"?

To return to the May afternoon and the scene in the picture-gallery. If any painter had been near he could scarcely have chosen a more powerful subject. The young man who had first discovered the fainting woman did not consider himself a very emotional person, but for a moment he was absolutely staggered. He had risen hastily to his feet and stooped over her unconsciously. There he remained, helpless as a child in the presence of a mystery it is unable to solve. It was only for a moment that the stupor held him; then, with a feeling that was very strange and new, he summoned courage to raise her head upon his arm, and with trembling fingers to loosen her scarf and bonnet-strings.

What was to be done next? Water, smelling-salts, a fan--he had not one of these appliances to restore her, and he shrank painfully from gathering a crowd by asking assistance; for as yet the back of the seat had hidden her from the very few who were still walking through the galleries, those few being mostly lovers of art, and too much absorbed in the pictures to have ears or eyes for anything beyond them.

If he could only manage the matter alone! and rapidly the various modes of treating fainting-fits passed through his mind. He lifted the beautiful head and laid it down upon the seat, raising her feet to the same level; then, kneeling beside her, he opened her white fingers and rubbed the palms of her hands, watching eagerly for a sign of life. But it would not do: the dark eyelashes rested still on the pale, calm face, no quivering of the eyelids showed dawning consciousness. If he could have imparted to her some of his own exuberant life--for the warm blood was throbbing and tingling through his veins till his very finger-tips seemed instinct with consciousness--he would have stooped and breathed into her lips; but he dared not: there was a majesty in her helpless beauty that only a very coarse mind could have resisted.

It takes long to relate, but in reality only a few moments had passed from the time of the woman's first faintness to the instant when the young man, finding his efforts fruitless, turned with a sigh to seek assistance from any lady who might be passing through the gallery. The first face that greeted him was one he knew. It was that of a young girl, very bright and pleasant in appearance, decked out in the brilliancy of light muslin and fluttering ribbons. She saw him instantly, and went smilingly across the room with extended hand. "Oh, Arthur, you naughty boy!" she began, but catching sight of the fainting woman, she broke off hastily: "Some one in a faint? Heavens! what a lovely face! Poor thing! it is the heat. Go off quickly and get some water, Arthur; I should think you could get it at the door: you boys are such helpless beings."

She was down on her knees as she spoke, fluttering her fan gently and applying her smelling-salts; but her volubility had already collected in a little crowd the few people who remained in the galleries. She put them off with pretty gestures and ready wit: "My friend wants air; I assure you it is only a fainting-fit--nothing to alarm."

But she was relieved when Arthur's appearance with the water put the lookers-on to a sudden flight, and they were once more left to themselves.

"Oh, Arthur," said the young girl earnestly, "how beautiful she is! I _must_ give her a little kiss before she awakes, as she will, I am sure, with the water. There, there, my beauty!" for the kiss seemed to be the most effectual remedy. Her eyelids quivered, causing thereby such excitement to Arthur that part of the contents of the glass of water he held fell over her feet, and Adele--for that was the name of the young lady who had given such timely assistance--told him with mock indignation to go off, and not come again till he was called. Without a word Arthur turned away. He would scarcely have been so obedient the day before, but the incident of that afternoon seemed to have robbed him of his power. He stood in the entrance of the hall, watching until he should be sent for by the ladies.

For the first time in his life Arthur wished he had been a girl. His thoughts, to tell the truth, were rapidly becoming very sentimental. Adele, happy Adele! he thought of her with a new respect. She could carry on these gentle ministries impossible to the rougher hands of men. With what tenderness and skill she had used her remedies! And then the kiss! Yes, women, after all, possessed certain advantages. And her first look would be for Adele. If he had been more expert, it might have been for him. Had any one told Arthur, even an hour before, that he could ever have been jealous of his cousin, he would certainly have scorned the idea: he had always considered himself so vastly superior to women in general, and his pretty little playmate in particular. He had not much time, however, to indulge in these brilliantly novel ideas, for before many moments had passed Adele appeared. "You may offer her your arm," she said. "I want to get her out of this place as quickly as possible."

"Have you found out anything about her?"

"Only that her name is Margaret Grey. A letter dropped out of her pocket, and I saw the signature, or rather she pointed it out to me as I handed it back to her. I fancy she is a widow, though she has not actually told me so. She is staying in lodgings at some distance. Poor thing! I am afraid she is very poor."

Adele's pretty face was clouded as she spoke, but she said no more, for they were very near the spot where Margaret had been left.

"Margaret!" thought Arthur, "Margaret!" and the one word seemed to cling about his brain like a sweet, indefinable music as awkwardly enough, it must be confessed, he approached her to offer his arm.

She rose when she saw him, a slight blush on her cheek, but as she looked up at his frank young face the blush faded and her composure returned.

"I have to thank you for great kindness, sir," she said with a gentle dignity. "I cannot think what came over me just now. It must have been the heat of the place; but I feel much stronger now, and if you will add to your goodness the further favor of giving me your arm for the length of the galleries, I can find my way home without any more assistance."

Her voice was almost as overpowering to Arthur as her face had been. He tried to stammer out a reply, when Adele came happily to his assistance. Taking one of the lady's hands in her own, she said with gentle earnestness, "Pray allow me to manage for you. My cousin will tell you how much I like to arrange everything for my neighbors; it is my pet weakness. Then, you know, you are my patient, and I expect you to be obedient. Mamma has sent the carriage for me, for she was not quite certain that I should meet Arthur. We can drive you to any point you like to mention. Please do not deny me this pleasure."

The lady blushed again, but Adele's gentle delicacy triumphed. She bowed her head in acquiescence, and took Arthur's arm, leaning on it somewhat heavily, for she was still weak. Adele walked on her other side, slightly supporting her from time to time; and so they passed through the gallery, with not many thoughts for the pictures, just as the daylight was beginning to wane.

"---- street, Islington," said Arthur to the stately coachman when, having at last emerged from the galleries, the trio stood beside a small, well-appointed carriage.

The coachman looked dignifiedly astonished. He took note of an exceedingly shabby person who was evidently connected with this strange fancy. Had his young lady been alone, he might have respectfully demurred; but as Mr. Arthur was a trusted person in the establishment--one, moreover, whom it was not safe to offend--he hazarded no remark, and after one protest in the shape of repetition, in an inquiring key, of the obnoxious address, turned his horses' heads in this very unwonted direction.

He had to ask his way several times before he could find the out-of-the-way street indicated by Arthur's brief order; but for at least one of those inside the carriage the drive could not have been too long. Arthur Forrest would have found it extremely difficult to explain his feelings, even to himself. Happily, for the moment it was not necessary. To analyze our enjoyment or its sources would be very often to rob it of its charm.

Why is the transparent greenness of spring or its first balmy breeze so delicious to the senses? Why does a certain melody echo and re-echo in the brain with a sweetness we cannot fathom? Why does beauty--pure outline, graceful form, rich coloring--awaken a thrill of gladness in our being? We cannot tell. We can only rejoice that such things are.

And Arthur was very young, full of the freshness of youth and inexperience. He would have been highly indignant could he have heard such a remark applied to him, for he looked upon himself as a man of the world whom it would be difficult to astonish in any way; but nevertheless it was true. The very novelty of his sensations as he sat on the back seat of the brougham, looking anywhere rather than in the fair face before him, proved this.

It was well for him that the vision came when it did, when his heart was young and his life vigorous, when the chivalry of youth had not passed away, with other beautiful things, in the numbing surroundings of a fashionable life.

At last the carriage stopped at the entrance of a dingy street in a region where "apartments" looked out from almost every window. The lady would not suffer her new friends to take her to her own door, and they possessed sufficient refinement of feeling to refrain from pressing the point. She seemed even to shrink from the prospect of any further acquaintance.

"We live in different worlds," she said with a sad smile when Adele, in her girlish enthusiasm, pressed her to allow them at least to inquire after her. For Adele was almost as much in love as her cousin, certainly more gushingly so; but there was no possibility of resisting the quiet firmness with which all efforts after further intimacy were set aside by the lady they had helped.

With warm thanks she bade them farewell, but they both noticed, with youth's sympathetic insight, that her eyelids drooped as though she had been weary, and her lips slightly quivered before she turned away.

Adele's eyes filled with tears, and Arthur had to swallow a most uncomfortable lump that seemed to impede his utterance. Then the cousins became more sympathetic than they had ever been before in discussing their adventure and forming theory after theory about the mysterious stranger.

But Adele was the talker, Arthur the listener, and perhaps his cousin's conversation had never before been so much to his mind.