CHAPTER XV.

"What is this passing scene? A peevish April day! A little sun, a little rain, And then night sweeps along the plain, And all things fade away."

KIRKE WHITE.

The grey dawn was just breaking when I woke Kitty. She started up bewildered, and her bewilderment did not decrease when I told her the object of this reveille. I never had any cause to doubt the sincerity of the grief she showed on this occasion. I had added as much to the pleasure of her life since I had been at Rutledge, as she had increased the comfort of mine; and it was with no very light hearts that we went about the business of packing. There was too much to be done, however, to admit of much sentiment, and we both bestirred ourselves so diligently, that before the breakfast bell rung my trunk was strapped and labelled, my bag filled with everything necessary for the journey, and my bonnet, cloak and shawl lying ready on the bed. There was not another article now about the room that belonged to me. What a dreary and forsaken look it had already; the toilet-table dismantled of its recent ornaments; the books and work that had given so bright and familiar a look to the pretty room, now all removed, and a bit of card, a ball of cord, and some withered flowers, were all that graced the étagère and the table.

I did not dare trust myself to enter into particulars, even in thought, and with a very resolute voice, telling Kitty I would come up immediately after breakfast, and see if there was anything more for her to do, I went downstairs. The first floor presented signs of an exciting stir; there was a very unusual bustle and movement in the quiet hall--a trunk and a valise stood at the front door, a pile of cloaks and wrappers lay beside them; Thomas' long limbs were animated with unwonted energy, Mrs. Roberts bustled in and out of pantries, and to and fro through side-doors and entries, in a very startling manner; Sylvie was more raving distracted than ever--flew unmeaningly up and down stairs--took the wrong thing to the wrong place--irritated everybody, and was in the way generally. Mr. Rutledge, in the library, gave audience to farmer, gardener, groom, and carpenter--delivered orders--paid bills--settled accounts--the one undisturbed member of the commonwealth. It was evident that the sudden marching orders had taken them all by surprise, and unsettled most of their brains. Stephen, alone, I was happy to notice, seemed to preserve in some degree the possession of his reasoning faculties, and did not "haze" to the same extent as the others. Kitty, I thought, comes honestly by her _sang froid._

I stood some minutes by the hall window gazing out upon the dreary winter landscape, the dull sky, the brown bare trees, the hard grey earth, ashes of roses in hue, the nether millstone in hardness. It had been the coldest night of the season, the water that stood in the narrow carriage-tracks and in the little crescents that the horses' hoofs had made, was frozen hard; the trees, the hedges, looked as if they were, too--so still and stiff they stood. Not a bit of wind was stirring, but the temperature was evidently moderating.

"Softening down for snow," Stephen remarked, as he passed out; "you'll not have it so cold for your journey, Miss. It's too bad that you're going, such fine sleighing as we have at Rutledge a little later in the season. You should stay and enjoy it, Miss."

"I wish, indeed I could, Stephen," I said, with great sincerity. "It's a long while since I've had a good sleigh-ride. The roads must be splendid for it here, so broad and clear."

"Beautiful, Miss; packed smooth, and hard as the house floor, and as dry as sand. You might walk over 'em in your thin slippers, and never wet your feet. And the snow lays sometimes better than a month without a rain or a thaw, the weather as clear as a bell and as cold as Christmas-thermometer down to nobody knows where, and nobody minds, after they're used to it. But maybe you're afraid of the cold?"

"Not I! It's the very thing I like. I'd give anything for a ride behind those bays, wrapped up to the eyes in furs, on the coldest day Rutledge ever saw. I know they must go like the very wind when there's snow on the ground; don't they?"

"Aye, Miss, that they do!" exclaimed Stephen, warming up at the mention of his favorites; for though the garden was his particular province, as the oldest man in the service, he took a fatherly interest in everything animate and inanimate on the place. "That they do! There's nothing in this part of the country has ever begun to come up to 'em. I'd like you to see 'em go, when their spirit's up! 'Taint many young ladies," he continued, with a "gentleman of the old school" bow, "'taint many young ladies as can tell a horse when they see him; but everybody says that you sit like a born horsewoman, and Michael, stupid rascal as he is, swears you ride like a cavalry officer. Nobody but the master ever managed that Madge so before."

I acknowledged the compliment with a laugh and a blush, and encouraged Stephen to continue his bulletin of the stable, in which he well knew my interest. Indeed, the worthy gardener was not to blame for his loquacity, as this was by no means the beginning of our acquaintance; many a chat I had had with him over the garden-gate, while he leaned on his spade, and discoursed willingly of the ancient glories of the house of Rutledge, and the manifold virtues of the present master of it. I knew he was a faithful, honest old fellow, shrewd and intelligent beyond his class, and altogether, inestimably superior to many old fogies in the higher walks of life, and being certain that he was very much delighted to be talked to, I very much enjoyed talking to him.

He was just saying, with great appearance of sincerity, that he did not know what they should all do, now I was going. I had waked up the old place "amazing;" it was a long while since there had been anybody so cheerful-like and bright in it; and as for his Kitty, he really did not know how she could content herself after me--when we were both startled by finding that Mr. Rutledge had been an undemonstrative auditor of the whole conversation, and ostensibly engaged in putting some books into the valise behind us, was quietly listening, and no doubt criticising, all that had been said.

Stephen looked a little confused, only a very little though, and with dogged dignity gave me many good wishes for the journey, bowed and withdrew. I turned around and faced the intruder with a determination not to be ashamed of myself, and not to acknowledge that I had been unduly familiar with an inferior, and to submit to no lecture; but his face was so different from anything that I had expected, that I blushed, and looked very foolish, instead of very defiant. He laughed outright.

"Upon my word," he exclaimed, "I never saw old Stephen so nearly embarrassed in my life; during an acquaintance of some forty years, I never saw him approach so near a blush! And you, young lady, certainly have an extraordinary taste for low life! You have no greater passion, that I can see, than the one you have just been acknowledging to Stephen, for horseflesh generally; and as for dogs, your mind runs on them continually; Kitty shares your confidence--Stephen is hail-fellow-well-met--Michael swears by you, and"----

"That's enough for the present, if you please," I said, hurrying into the dining-room.

"You will have coffee, sir?" I continued, very blandly, sitting down at the table.

"Are you sure you know enough of such things to make me a palatable cup? I know you could saddle my horse for me in extremity, and groom the bays to perfection, but whether you're to be trusted with anything so feminine as making coffee, really you must excuse me for being a little skeptical."

"Ah! please, Mr. Rutledge!"

But it did not please Mr. Rutledge to do anything but tease me just at that time. After breakfast was over, he told me, looking at his watch in his precise manner, that there was just an hour and a quarter before it would be time to start, and if I had nothing better to do, I might come down to the stables with him, and give my parting orders about the care of the horses and dogs. I did not know whether this invitation was given sarcastically or sincerely, but I preferred accepting it in the latter sense; so I ran upstairs and put on my bonnet and cloak and joined him in the hall in a very short time. He evidently did not mean to give me opportunity for any sentimental regrets, for he never before had been half so teasing. I could not do anything right, though I was a baa-lamb, as far as submissiveness went. I walked either too slow or too fast, was too chatty with the groom, or too taciturn with him; there was not a fault or indiscretion in all our previous acquaintance that I did not then and there have to bear the penalty of. It was only when I came to say good-bye to Madge that my courage gave way completely, and I leaned my forehead on her glossy neck to conceal the silly tears that filled my eyes.

"I verily believe," said Mr. Rutledge, "that she knows you. She does not submit to such familiarity from strangers."

Finding that I did not answer, he continued, in a kinder tone:

"I think, as you broke her in, to feminine usage at least, you are entitled to her; so I make her over to you, body and soul, if soul she has, to have and to hold, from this day forward; and a tender mistress may she find you."

"Thank you," I said, without raising my head; "a very useful gift; of about as much service to me as if you should make over to me your right and title in the fastest pair of reindeer in the employ of the Hudson's Bay Company."

"Why, don't you mean ever to come here again? If you don't, you had better take her with you. Any way, she is mine no longer. What shall be done with her? Shall Michael blanket and prepare her to accompany us to New York? or will you leave her here till you come back?"

"Ah! Do you fancy I am child enough to believe in such a conveyance as that? It wouldn't stand in any court of law."

"What would you have? There isn't a magistrate within four miles, and we haven't the time to draw up a document properly. I will tell you what can be done as next best. I will record the transaction here, above her manger, and there it shall remain to remotest ages, 'to witness if I lie.'"

Mr. Rutledge took out his penknife, and with considerable ingenuity carved in the sturdy old oak beam, the transfer of Madge Wildfire from himself to me, using, for brevity, only initials, and then the date. I climbed up to the fourth round of the ladder when it was completed, and did my best to achieve a signature, but the result was so unsatisfactory that Mr. Rutledge put beneath it, "her mark," and so it stands to this day, I suppose. This transaction having consumed a good deal of the hour and a quarter that we had before starting, Mr. Rutledge rather hurried up my adieux with my new favorite, and it was very ungraciously that he submitted to wait till I had cut a lock from her black mane, and embraced her tenderly for the twentieth time.

"Nobody is to ride her, remember," I said, as we went out; "only, of course, the man who takes care of her, when it is necessary for exercise."

"Your orders shall be obeyed. Any further instructions that may occur to you in the course of the winter you had better commit to paper and send to me, and I will observe them faithfully."

"Oh, I depend entirely on your integrity; I am confident you will be careful of her. Anyway," I continued, "it's a comfort to know I own anything at Rutledge, and have a sort of claim upon its hospitality still. Ah! how long it will be before I walk up this road with you again, Mr. Rutledge!"

"Maybe not," he answered. "You shall, if you will, come back and make me a visit before many months are over; you shall come back and see how Rutledge looks in her June dress,

"'When all this leafless and uncolored scene, Shall flush into variety again;'

when this dull November sky shall have given place to the warmest summer sunshine, and this hard, frozen earth shall be soft and brown, and roses shall be blooming about this dreary porch, and the garden shall be one wilderness of sweets, and the trees and the lawn shall be all of the richest green. Will you come then, if I send for you?"

I checked my look of delight with a sigh: "you'll forget before that time, I'm afraid. And I don't believe my aunt would let me come."

"You may trust that to me. Haven't you seen that I make people do as I wish them to? Do you not believe that I can induce your aunt to let you come, if I continue to want you, and you continue to want to come?"

"Perhaps so," I said, half incredulously; "but if I remember right, my Aunt Edith is fond of her own way too, is she not?"

"She has that reputation," he answered, with a short laugh. "But _cela ne fait rien_. You shall come if you wish to. Leave it to me, and say nothing about it."

"June is a long way off yet, but it is better than two or three years, the term of my 'honorable banishment,' that you first decreed."

Before we reached the house, the snow-flakes began to descend, large, and soft, and white, floating down in fast-increasing thickness,

"As though life's only call or care Were graceful motion."

"How pretty it makes the landscape!" I said, pausing on the steps. "In among the bare trees there, it makes such a charming variety and lightness, and in a few minutes every twig will be feathered with it, and fences, and roofs, and all. Why can't we wait till we have had one sleigh-ride?"

"This snow will not amount to anything; we should have to wait a long while for a sleigh-ride. It is too early yet for that entertainment; a fortnight hence will be time enough to expect it."

"I think you are mistaken," I said, looking wisely at the clouds, "there's plenty of snow up there, and we shall have enough of it before night, depend upon it. Hadn't we better wait till to-morrow? It would be dreadful to be caught in a heavy snow-storm on the way."

"Have you forgotten your good resolutions of last night?" he said, in a low tone. "There's the carriage."

And without answering a word I ran upstairs. Kitty wrapped me tenderly in my soft shawl, and fastened my fur tippet carefully round my neck.

"Oh, Kitty! you'll smother me!" I cried. But it was something less tangible than tippet or shawl that was smothering me just then, and choking my breath. I gave one glance around the room, thrust a _douceur_ into Kitty's hand, and telling her to bring down my travelling-bag, hurried out without a second look, and downstairs without a second thought, sustained by the determination not to make a baby of myself and cry.

The library was empty; I passed on through the hall. Mr. Rutledge was already at the carriage, superintending the packing in it of numerous valises, books, shawls, and packages. Mrs. Roberts, bluer than ever with the cold, stood by him, busy with all the arrangements for his comfort, and looking a shade more cheerless than usual, at the prospect of separation from the master who stood to her lonely old age in the place of son and friend. "I believe she does love him," I thought, and warming toward her at the idea of one redeeming weakness, I walked up to her and said, extending my hand:

"Good bye, Mrs. Roberts. I am afraid you will be glad to get rid of such a troublesome guest; but I assure you I am very sorry to have given you trouble, and very much obliged to you for the attention you have shown me."

Mrs. Roberts gave me her hand, and answered, without any undignified haste:

"All attentions you have received from me you are very welcome to. I hope never to be wanting in my duty to any guest of Mr. Rutledge's."

"Then you can't regard me with favor for any other cause? Ah, Mrs. Roberts, I don't know why it is you would never like me, even before I gave you any reason to dislike me."

"Mrs. Roberts will learn to think differently some day, I hope," said Mr. Rutledge, without looking up from his occupation. "Is there anything more to go here?"

There was nothing, the last package was bestowed in its place, the last strap secured. Thomas, who was to accompany his master to New York, stood waiting for us to enter the carriage. Michael was on the box.

"We are all ready, then," and he motioned me to enter.

"Good bye, Mrs. Roberts," he continued. "I believe there is nothing further that I wanted to say to you. Make yourself as comfortable as you can this winter, and let me hear from you occasionally. I shall be back by the latter part of January, however, and I hope everything will go on well till then."

Mrs. Roberts looked very much as if she thought nothing more improbable than his being back in January, but only said:

"Good bye, sir. I shall write."

Mr. Rutledge followed me into the carriage, and shut the door. I bowed again to Mrs. Roberts, and looked out anxiously for Kitty, who had not appeared since she brought down my bag; but at that moment Kitty, in person, was discovered at the other window of the carriage, bringing me a glove she said she had found, which, however, I guessed was only a ruse to get another good bye.

"Ah, Kitty, that's the glove Tigre gnawed, and I never have found the mate to it since that day; of course it's useless, so you'd better keep it to 'remember me by,' as they say. Good bye, again."

Kitty said, "Good bye, Miss," but with so tearful and woebegone a look, withal, that even Mr. Rutledge was touched, and leaning forward, he said:

"Don't take it so very much to heart, my good girl. Your young mistress will be back again, sometime, I hope. And be as obliging and submissive as you can to Mrs. Roberts, Kitty; remember it was my last charge."

And dropping some coins into her hand, he told Michael to drive on. At this moment Tigre rushed whining to the carriage, and I begged he might be allowed to drive to the station, and come back in the carriage. Mr. Rutledge consenting, Kitty placed the tawny favorite in my arms, and,

"Smack went the whip, Round went the wheels,"

but I have known gladder folks. From the back of the carriage I watched the lessening figures on the piazza, as we drove rapidly down the avenue, and an involuntary sigh escaped me as a winding of the road hid the dark house, with its snow-capped roofs and porticoes, from my sight.

"Good bye till June," I said, regretfully.

"Till June," repeated Mr. Rutledge, pulling Tigre's ears, and making him yelp. "Do you understand, Tigre? This young lady means to come back in June, if she doesn't change her mind. Understand the condition, Tigre. What do you think of our chance?"

The cur, by way of answer, began gnawing at my tippet.

"Don't destroy that too, sir," I exclaimed. "You've ruined one pair of gloves for me already. Isn't it singular, what could have become of that other one," I continued. "I've searched high and low for it--everywhere, in fact."

"Where did you see it last?" he inquired.

"I cannot remember anything about it, after--after--Tigre and I started on our race. Don't scold," I said, coaxingly, "you know I am going to reform."

"Careless girl," he said, gloomily, "what will you lose next?"

"It wasn't my fault; I've looked everywhere for it. Isn't it strange what has become of it?"

"Very strange," said Mr. Rutledge, gravely. "Indeed, I may say, in a high degree mysterious."