Chapter 14

Their acquaintance had evidently advanced since that anxious evening when she had urged upon Bram the intelligence of the duel between Hyde and Neil Semple; for Bram gave her the flowers without embarrassment, and she buried her sweet face in their sweet petals, and then lifted it with a smile at once grateful and confidential. Then they began to talk of Katherine.

"She was so beautiful and so kind," said Miriam; "just a week since she passed here, with some violets in her hand; and, when she saw me, she ran up the steps, and said, 'I have brought them for you;' and she clasped my fingers, and looked so pleasantly in my face. If I had a sister, Bram, I think she would smile at me in the same way."

"Very grateful to you was Katharine. All you did about the duel, I told her. She knows her husband had not been alive to-day, but for you. O Miriam, if you had not spoken!"

"I should have had the stain of blood on my conscience. I did right to speak. My grandfather said to me, 'You did quite right, my dear.'"

Then Bram told her all the little things that had grieved him, and they talked as dear companions might talk; only, beneath all the common words of daily life, there was some subtile sweetness that made their voices low and their glances shy and tremulous.

It was not more than an hour ere Cohen came home. He looked quickly at the young people, and then stood by Bram, and began to talk courteously of passing events. Miriam leaned, listening, against a magnificent "apostle's cabinet" in black oak--one of those famous ones made in Nuremburg in the fifteenth century, with locks and hinges of hammered-steel work, and finely chased handles of the same material. Against its carved and pillared background her dark drapery fell in almost unnoticed grace; but her fair face and small hands, with the mass of white narcissus in them, had a singular and alluring beauty. She affected Bram as something sweetly supernatural might have done. It was an effort for him to answer Cohen; he felt as if it would be impossible for him to go away.

But the clock struck the hour, and the shop boy began to put up the shutters; and the old man walked to the door, taking Bram with him. Then Miriam, smiling her farewell, passed like a shadow into the darker shadows beyond; and Bram went home, wondering to find that she had cast out of his heart hatred, malice, fretful worry, and all uncharitableness. How could he blend them with thoughts of her? and how could he forget the slim, dark-robed figure, or the lovely face against the old black _kas_, crowned with its twelve sombre figures, or the white slender hands holding the white fragrant flowers?

XI.

"_Each man's homestead is his golden milestone, Is the central point from which he measures Every distance Through the gateways of the world around him._"

There are certain months in every life which seem to be full of fate, good or evil, for that life; and May was Katherine Hyde's luck month. It was on a May afternoon that Hyde had asked her love; it was on a May night she fled with him through the gray shadows of the misty river. Since then a year had gone by, and it was May once more,--an English May, full of the magic of the month; clear skies, and young foliage, and birds' songs, the cool, woody smell of wall-flowers, and the ethereal perfume of lilies.

In Hyde Manor House, there was that stir of preparation which indicates a departure. The house was before time; it had the air of early rising; the atmosphere of yesterday had not been dismissed, but lingered around, and gave the idea of haste and change, and departure from regular custom. It was, indeed, an hour before the usual breakfast-time; but Hyde and Katharine were taking a hasty meal together. Hyde was in full uniform, his sword at his side, his cavalry cap and cloak on a chair near him; and up and down the gravelled walk before the main entrance a groom was leading his horse.

"I must see what is the matter with Mephisto," said Hyde. "How he is snorting and pawing! And if Park loses control of him, I shall be greatly inconvenienced for both horse and time."

The remark was partially the excuse of a man who feels that he must go, and who tries to say the hard words in less ominous form. They both rose together,--Katherine bravely smiling away tears, and looking exceedingly lovely in her blue morning-gown trimmed with frillings of thread lace; and Hyde, gallant and tender, but still with the air of a man not averse to go back to life's real duty. He took Katherine in his arms, kissed away her tears, made her many a loving promise, and then, lifting his cap and cloak, left the room. The servants were lingering around to get his last word, and to wish him "God-speed;" and for a few minutes he stood talking to his groom and soothing Mephisto. Evidently he had quite recovered his health and strength; for he sprang very easily into the saddle, and, gathering the reins in his hand, kept the restive animal in perfect control.

A moment he stood thus, the very ideal of a fearless, chivalrous, handsome soldier; the next, his face softened to almost womanly tenderness, for he saw Katherine coming hastily through the dim hall and into the clear sunshine, and in her arms was his little son. She came fearlessly to his side, and lifted the sleeping child to him. He stooped and kissed it, and then kissed again the beautiful mother; and calling happily backward, "Good-by, my love; God keep you, love; good-by!" he gave Mephisto his own wild will, and was soon lost to sight among the trees of the park.

Katherine stood with her child in her arms, listening to the ever faint and fainter beat of Mephisto's hoofs. Her husband had gone back to duty, his furlough had expired, and their long, and leisurely honeymoon was over. But she was neither fearful nor unhappy. Hyde's friends had procured his exchange into a court regiment. He was only going to London, and he was still her lover. She looked forward with clear eyes as she said gratefully over to herself, "So happy am I! So good is my husband! So dear is my child! So fair and sweet is my home!"

And though to many minds Hyde Manor might seem neither fair nor sweet, Katherine really liked it. Perhaps she had some inherited taste for low lands, with their shimmer of water and patches of green; or perhaps the gentle beauty of the landscape specially fitted her temperament. But, at any rate, the wide brown stretches, dotted with lonely windmills and low farmhouses, pleased her. So also did the marshes, fringed with yellow and purple flags; and the great ditches, white with water-lilies; and the high belts of natural turf; and the summer sunshine, which over this level land had a white brilliancy to which other sunshine seemed shadow. Hyde had never before found the country endurable, except during the season when the marshes were full of birds; or when, at the Christmas holidays, the ice was firm as marble and smooth as glass, and the wind blowing fair from behind. Then he had liked well a race with the famous fen-skaters.

The Manor House was neither handsome nor picturesque, though its dark-red bricks made telling contrasts among the ivy and the few large trees surrounding it. It contained a great number of rooms, but none were of large proportions. The ceilings were low, and often crossed with heavy oak beams; while the floors, though of polished oak, were very uneven. Hyde had refurnished a few of the rooms; and the showy paperings and chintzes, the fine satin and gilding, looked oddly at variance with the black oak wainscots, the Elizabethan fireplaces, and the other internal decorations.

Katherine, however, had no sense of any incongruity. She was charmed with her home, from its big garrets to the great wine-bins in its underground cellars; and while Hyde wandered about the fens with his fishing-rod or gun, or went into the little town of Hyde to meet over a market dinner the neighbouring squires, she was busy arranging every room with that scrupulous nicety and cleanliness which had been not only an important part of her education, but was also a fundamental trait of her character. Indeed, no Dutch wife ever had the _netheid_, or passion for order and cleanliness, in greater perfection than Katherine. She might almost have come from Wormeldingen, "where the homes are washed and waxed, and the streets brushed and dusted till not a straw lies about, and the trees have a combed and brushed appearance, and do not dare to grow a leaf out of its place." So, then, the putting in order of this large house, with all its miscellaneous, uncared-for furniture, gave her a genuine pleasure.

Always pretty and sweet as a flower, always beautifully dressed, she yet directed, personally, her little force of servants, until room after room became a thing of beauty. It was her employment during those days on which Hyde was fishing or shooting; and it was not until the whole house was in exquisite condition that Katherine took him through his renovated dwelling. He was delighted, and not too selfish and indifferent to express his wonder and pleasure.

"Faith, Kate," he said, "you have made me a home out of an old lumber-house! I thought of taking you to London with me; but, upon my word, we had better stay at Hyde and beautify the place. I can run down whenever it is possible to get a few days off."

This idea gained gradually on both, and articles of luxury and adornment were occasionally added to the better rooms. The garden next fell under Katharine's care. "In sweet neglect," it no longer flaunted its beauties. Roses and stocks and tiger-lilies learned what boundaries of box meant; and if flowers have any sense of territorial rights, Katherine's must have found they were respected. Encroaching vines were securely confined within their proper limits, and grass that wandered into the gravel paths sought for itself a merciless destruction.

All such reforms, if they are not offensive, are stimulating and progressive. The stables, kennels, and park, as well as the land belonging to the manor, became of sudden interest to Hyde. He surprised his lawyer by asking after it, and by giving orders that in future the hay cut in the meadows should be cut for the Hyde stables. Every small wrong which he investigated and redressed increased his sense of responsibility; and the birth of his son made him begin to plan for the future in a way which brought not only great pleasure to Katherine, but also a comfortable self-satisfaction to his own heart.

Yet, even with all these favourable conditions, Katherine would not have been happy had the estrangement between herself and her parents continued a bitter or a silent one. She did not suppose they would answer the letter she had sent by the fisherman Hudde; she was prepared to ask, and to wait, for pardon and for a re-gift of that precious love which she had apparently slighted for a newer and as yet untested one. So, immediately after her arrival at Jamaica, Katherine wrote to her mother; and, without waiting for replies, she continued her letters regularly from Hyde. They were in a spirit of the sweetest and frankest confidence. She made her familiar with all her household plans and wifely cares; as room by room in the old manor was finished, she described it. She asked her advice with all the faith of a child and the love of a daughter; and she sent through her those sweet messages of affection to her father which she feared a little to offer without her mother's mediation.

But when she had a son, and when Hyde agreed that the boy should be named _George_, she wrote a letter to him. Joris found it one April morning on his desk, and it happened to come in a happy hour. He had been working in his garden, and every plant and flower had brought his Katherine pleasantly back to his memory. All the walks were haunted by her image. The fresh breeze of the river was full of her voice and her clear laughter. The returning birds, chattering in the trees above him, seemed to ask, "Where, then, is the little one gone?"

Her letter, full of love, starred all through with pet words, and wisely reminding him more of their own past happiness than enlarging on her present joy, made his heart melt. He could do no business that day. He felt that he must go home and tell Lysbet: only the mother could fully understand and share his joy. He found her cleaning the "Guilderland cup"--the very cup Mrs. Gordon had found Katherine cleaning when she brought the first love message, and took back that fateful token, her bow of orange ribbon. At that moment Lysbet's thoughts were entirely with Katherine. She was wondering whether Joris and herself might not some day cross the ocean to see their child. When she heard her husband's step at that early hour, she put down the cup in fear, and stood watching the door for his approach. The first glimpse of his face told her that he was no messenger of sorrow. He gave her the letter with a smile, and then walked up and down while she read it.

"Well, Joris, a beautiful letter this is. And thou has a grandson of thy own name--a little Joris. Oh, how I long to see him! I hope that he will grow like thee--so big and handsome as thou art, and also with thy good heart. Oh, the little Joris! Would God he was here!"

The face of Joris was happy, and his eyes shining; but he had not yet much to say. He walked about for an hour, and listened to Lysbet, who, as she polished her silver, retold him all that Katherine had said of her husband's love, and of his goodness to her. With great attention he listened to her description of the renovated house and garden, and of Hyde's purposes with regard to the estate. Then he sat down and smoked his pipe, and after dinner he returned to his pipe and his meditation. Lysbet wondered what he was considering, and hoped that it might be a letter of full forgiveness for her beloved Katherine.

At last he rose and went into the garden; and she watched him wander from bed to bed, and stand looking down at the green shoots of the early flowers, and the lovely inverted urns of the brave snowdrops. To the river and back again several times he walked; but about three o'clock he came into the house with a firm, quick step, and, not finding Lysbet in the sitting-room, called her cheerily. She was in their room upstairs, and he went to her.

"Lysbet, thinking I have been--thinking of Katherine's marriage. Better than I expected, it has turned out."

"I think that Katherine has made a good marriage--the best marriage of all the children."

"Dost thou believe that her husband is so kind and so prudent as she says?"

"No doubt of it I have."

"See, then: I will send to Katherine her portion. Cohen will give me the order on Secor's Bank in Threadneedle Street. It is for her and her children. Can I trust them with it?"

"Katherine is no waster, and full of nobleness is her husband. Write thou to him, and put it in his charge for Katherine and her children. And tell him in his honour thou trust entirely; and I think that he will do in all things right. Nothing has he asked of thee."

"To the devil he sent my dirty guilders, made in dirty trade. I have not forgot."

"Joris, the Devil speaks for a man in a passion. Keep no such words in thy memory."

"Lysbet?"

"What then, Joris?"

"The drinking-cup of silver, which my father gave us at our marriage,--the great silver one that has on it the view of Middleburg and the arms of the city. It was given to my great-grandfather when he was mayor of Middleburg. His name, also, was Joris. To my grandson shall I send it?"

"Oh, my Joris, much pleasure would thou give Katherine and me also! Let the little fellow have it. Earl of Dorset and Hyde he may be yet."

Joris blushed vividly, but he answered, "Mayor of New York he may be yet. That will please me best."

"Five grandsons hast thou, but this is the first Joris. Anna has two sons, but for his dead brothers Rysbaack named them. Cornelia has two sons; but for thee they called neither, because Van Dorn's father is called Joris, and with him they are great unfriends. And when Joanna's son was born, they called him Peter, because Batavius hath a rich uncle called Peter, who may pay for the name. So, then, Katherine's son is the first of thy grandchildren that has thy name. The dear little Joris! He has blue eyes too; eyes like thine, she says. Yes, I would to him give the Middleburg cup. William Newman, the jeweller, will pack it safely, and by the next ship thou can send it to the bankers thou spoke of. I will tell Katherine so. But thou, too, write her a letter; for little she will think of her fortune or of the cup, if thy love thou send not with them."

And Joris had done all that he purposed, and done it without one grudging thought or doubting word. The cup went, full of good-will. The money was given as Katherine's right, and was hampered with no restrictions but the wishes of Joris, left to the honour of Hyde. And Hyde was not indifferent to such noble trust. He fully determined to deserve it. As for Katherine, she desired no greater pleasure than to emphasize her reliance in her husband by leaving the money absolutely at his discretion. In fact, she felt a far greater interest in the Middleburg cup. It had always been an object of her admiration and desire. She believed her son would be proud to point it out and say, "It came from my mother's ancestor, who was mayor of Middleburg when that famous city ruled in the East India trade, and compelled all vessels with spice and wines and oils to come to the crane of Middleburg, there to be verified and gauged." She longed to receive this gift. She had resolved to put it between the baby fingers of little Joris as soon as it arrived. "A grand christening-cup it will be," she exclaimed, with childlike enthusiasm and Hyde kissed her, and promised to send it at once by a trusty messenger.

He was a little amused by her enthusiasm. The Hydes had much plate, old and new, and they were proud of its beauty and excellence, and well aware of its worth; but they were not able to judge of the value of flagons and cups and servers gathered slowly through many generations, every one representing some human drama of love or suffering, or some deed of national significance. Nearly all of Joris Van Heemskirk's silver was "storied:" it was the materialization of honour and patriotism, of self-denial or charity; and the silversmith's and engraver's work was the least part of the Van Heemskirk pride in it.

As Joris sat smoking that night, he thought over his proposal; and then for the first time it struck him that the Middleburg cup might have a peculiar significance and value to Bram. It cost him an effort to put his vague suspicions into words, because by doing so he seemed to give shape and substance to shadows; but when Lysbet sat down with a little sigh of content beside him, and said, "A happy night is this to us, Joris," he answered, "God is good; always better to us than we trust Him for. I want to say now what I have been considering the last hour,--some other cup we will send to the little Joris, for I think Bram will like to have the Middleburg cup best of all."

"Always Bram has been promised the Guilderland cup and the server that goes with it."

"That is the truth; but I will tell you something, Lysbet. The Middelburg cup was given by the Jews of Middleburg to my ancestor because great favours and protection he gave them when he was mayor of the city. Bram is very often with Miriam Cohen, and"--

Then Joris stopped, and Lysbet waited anxiously for him to finish the sentence; but he only puffed, puffed, and looked thoughtfully at the bowl of his pipe.

"What mean you, Joris?"

"I think that he loves her."

"Well?"

"That he would like to marry her."

"Many things that are impossible, man would like to do: that is most impossible of all."

"You think so?"

"I am sure of it."

"Not impossible was it for Katherine to marry one not of her own race."

"In my mind it is not race so much as faith. Far more than race, faith claims."

"Hyde is a Lutheran."

"A Lutheran may also be a Christian, I hope, Joris."

"I judge no man, Lysbet. I have known Jews that were better Christians than some baptized in the name of Christ and John Calvin,--Jews who, like the great Jew, loved God, and did to their fellow-creatures as they wished to be done by. And if you had ever seen Miriam Cohen, you would not make a wonder that Bram loves her."

"Is she so fair?"

"A beautiful face and gracious ways she has. Like her the beloved Rachel must have been, I think. Why do you not stand with Bram as you stood with Katherine?"

"Little use it would be, Joris. To give consent in this matter would be a sacrifice refused. Be sure that Cohen will not listen to Bram; no, nor to you, nor to me, nor to Miriam. If it come to a question of race, more proud is the Jew of his race then even the Englishman or the Dutchman. If it come to a question of faith, if all the other faiths in the world die out, the Jew will hold to his own. Say to Bram, 'I am willing;' and Cohen will say to him, 'Never, never will I consent.' If you keep the 'Jew's cup' for Bram and Miriam, always you will keep it; yes, and they that live after you, too."

Why it is that certain trains of thought and feeling move to their end at the same hour, though that end affect a variety of persons, no one has yet explained. But there are undoubtedly currents of sympathy of whose nature and movements we are profoundly ignorant. Thus how often we think of an event just before some decisive action relating to it is made known to us! How often do we recall some friend just as we are about to see or hear from him! How often do we remember something that ought to be done, just at the last moment its successful accomplishment was possible to us!

And at the very hour Joris and Lysbet were discussing the position of their son with regard to Miriam Cohen, the question was being definitely settled at another point. For Joris was not the only person who had observed Bram's devotion to the beautiful Jewess. Cohen had watched him with close and cautious jealousy for many months; but he was far too wise to stimulate love by opposition, and he did not believe in half measures. When he defined Miriam's duty to her, he meant it to be in such shape as precluded argument or uncertainty; and for this purpose delay was necessary. Much correspondence with England had to take place, and the mails were then irregular. But it happened that, after some months of negotiation, a final and satisfactory letter had come to him by the same post as brought Katherine's letter to Joris Van Heemskirk.

He read its contents with a sad satisfaction, and then locked it away until the evening hours secured him from business interruption. Then he went to his grandchild. He found her sitting quietly among the cushions of a low couch. It seemed as if Miriam's thoughts were generally sufficient for her pleasure, for she was rarely busy. She had always time to sit and talk, or to sit and be silent. And Cohen liked best to see her thus,--beautiful and calm, with small hands dropped or folded, and eyes half shut, and mouth closed, but ready to smile and dimple if he decided to speak to her.