The Man Between by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (e ink ebook reader .TXT) 📕

unused for a century was flung wide open; the shutters were unbarred, and the sunshine flooded it; and there amid his fishing tackle, guns, and whips, and faded ballads upon the wall, and books of wood lore and botany, and dress suits of velvet and satin, and hunting suits of scarlet--all faded and falling to pieces--stood the picture of Tyrrel Rawdon, with its face turned to the wall. The Squire made a motion to his descendant, and the young American tenderly turned it to the light. There was no decay on those painted lineaments. The almost boyish face, with its loving eyes and laughing mouth, was still twenty-four years old; and with a look of pride and affection the Squire lifted the picture and placed it in the hands of the Tyrrel Rawdon of the day.

The hanging of the picture in its old place was a silent and tender little ceremony, and after it the party separated. Mrs. Rawdon went with Ruth to rest a little. She said "she had a headache," and she also wanted a good womanly talk over the affair. The Squire, Judge Rawdon, Mr. Nicholas Rawdon, and John Thomas returned to the dining-room to drink a bottle of such mild Madeira as can only now be found in the cellars of old county magnates, and Ethel and Tyrrel Rawdon strolled into the garden. There had not been in either mind any intention of leaving the party, but as they passed through the hall Tyrrel saw Ethel's garden hat and white parasol lying on a table, and, impelled by some sudden and unreasoned instinct, he offered them to her. Not a word of request was spoken; it was the eager, passionate command of his eyes she obeyed. And for a few minutes they were speechless, then so intensely conscious that words stumbled and were lame, and they managed only syllables at a time. But he took her hand, and they came by sunny alleys of boxwood to a great plane tree, bearing at wondrous height a mighty wealth of branches. A bank of soft, green turf encircled its roots, and they sat down in the trembling shadows. It was in the midst of the herb garden; beds of mint and thyme, rosemary and marjoram, basil, lavender, and other fragrant plants were around, and close at hand a little city of straw skeps peopled by golden brown bees; From these skeps came a delicious aroma of riced flowers and virgin wax. It was a new Garden of Eden, in which life was sweet as perfume and pure as prayer. Nothing stirred the green, sunny afternoon but the murmur of the bees, and the sleepy twittering of the birds in the plane branches. An inexpressible peace swept like the breath of heaven through the odorous places. They sat down sighing for very happiness. The silence became too eloquent. At length it was almost unendurable, and Ethel said softly:

"How still it is!"

Tyrrel looked at her steadily with beaming eyes. Then he took from his pocket a little purse of woven gold and opal-tinted beads, and held it in his open hand for her to see, watching the bright blush that spread over her face, and the faint, glad smile that parted her lips.

"You understand?"

"Yes. It is mine."

"It was yours. It is now mine."

"How did you get it?"

"I bought it from the old man you gave it to."

"Oh! Then you know him? How is that?"

"The hotel people sent a porter home with him lest he should be robbed. Next day I made inquiries, and this porter told me where he lived. I went there and bought this purse from him. I knew some day it would bring me to you. I have carried it over my heart ever since."

"So you noticed me?"

"I saw you all the time I was singing. I have never forgotten you since that hour."

"What made you sing?"

"Compassion, fate, an urgent impulse; perhaps, indeed, your piteous face--I saw it first."

"Really?"

"I saw it first. I saw it all the time I was singing. When you dropped this purse my soul met yours in a moment's greeting. It was a promise. I knew I should meet you again. I have loved you ever since. I wanted to tell you so the hour we met. It has been hard to keep my secret so long."

"It was my secret also."

"I love you beyond all words. My life is in your hands. You can make me the gladdest of mortals. You can send me away forever."

"Oh, no, I could not! I could not do that!" The rest escapes words; but thus it was that on this day of days these two came by God's grace to each other.


For all things come by fate to flower,
At their unconquerable hour.


And the very atmosphere of such bliss is diffusive; it seemed as if all the living creatures around understood. In the thick, green branches the birds began to twitter the secret, and certainly the wise, wise bees knew also, in some occult way, of the love and joy that had just been revealed. A wonderful humming and buzzing filled the hives, and the air vibrated with the movement of wings. Some influence more swift and secret than the birds of the air carried the matter further, for it finally reached Royal, the Squire's favorite collie, who came sauntering down the alley, pushed his nose twice under Ethel's elbow, and then with a significant look backward, advised the lovers to follow him to the house.

When they finally accepted his invitation, they found Mrs. Rawdon drinking a cup of tea with Ruth in the hall. Ethel joined them with affected high spirits and random explanations and excuses, but both women no-ticed her radiant face and exulting air. "The garden is such a heavenly place," she said ecstatically, and Mrs Rawdon remarked, as she rose and put her cup on the table, "Girls need chaperons in gardens if they need them anywhere. I made Nicholas Rawdon a promise in Mossgill Garden I've had to spend all my life since trying to keep."

"Tyrrel and I have been sitting under the plane tree watching the bees. They are such busy, sensible creatures."

"They are that," answered Mrs. Rawdon. "If you knew all about them you would wonder a bit. My father had a great many; he studied their ways and used to laugh at the ladies of the hive being so like the ladies of the world. You see the young lady bees are just as inexperienced as a schoolgirl. They get lost in the flowers, and are often so overtaken and reckless, that the night finds them far from the hive, heavy with pollen and chilled with cold. Sometimes father would lift one of these imprudent young things, carry it home, and try to get it admitted. He never could manage it. The lady bees acted just as women are apt to do when other women GO where they don't go, or DO as they don't do."

"But this is interesting," said Ruth. "Pray, how did the ladies of the hive behave to the culprit?"

"They came out and felt her all over, turned her round and round, and then pushed her out of their community. There was always a deal of buzzing about the poor, silly thing, and I shouldn't wonder if their stings were busy too. Bees are ill-natured as they can be. Well, well, I don't blame anyone for sitting in the garden such a day as this; only, as I was saying, gardens have been very dangerous places for women as far as I know."

Ruth laughed softly. "I shall take a chaperon with me, then, when I go into the garden."

"I would, dearie. There's the Judge; he's a very suitable, sedate-looking one but you never can tell. The first woman found in a garden and a tree had plenty of sorrow for herself and every woman that has lived after her. I wish Nicholas and John Thomas would come. I'll warrant they're talking what they call politics."

Politics was precisely the subject which had been occupying them, for when Tyrrel entered the dining-room, the Squire, Judge Rawdon, and Mr. Nicholas Rawdon were all standing, evidently just finishing a Conservative argument against the Radical opinions of John Thomas. The young man was still sitting, but he rose with smiling good-humor as Tyrrel entered.

"Here is Cousin Tyrrel," he cried; "he will tell you that you may call a government anything you like radical, conservative, republican, democratic, socialistic, but if it isn't a CHEAP government, it isn't a good government; and there won't be a cheap government in England till poor men have a deal to say about making laws and voting taxes."

"Is that the kind of stuff you talk to our hands, John Thomas? No wonder they are neither to hold nor to bind."

They were in the hall as John Thomas finished his political creed, and in a few minutes the adieux were said, and the wonderful day was over. It had been a wonderful day for all, but perhaps no one was sorry for a pause in life--a pause in which they might rest and try to realize what it had brought and what it had taken away. The Squire went at once to his room, and Ethel looked at Ruth inquiringly. She seemed exhausted, and was out of sympathy with all her surroundings.

"What enormous vitality these Yorkshire women must have!" she said almost crossly. "Mrs. Rawdon has been talking incessantly for six hours. She has felt all she said. She has frequently risen and walked about. She has used all sorts of actions to emphasize her words, and she is as fresh as if she had just taken her morning bath. How do the men stand them?"

"Because they are just as vital. John Thomas will overlook and scold and order his thousand hands all day, talk even his mother down while he eats his dinner, and then lecture or lead his Musical Union, or conduct a poor man's concert, or go to 'the Weaver's Union,' and what he calls 'threep them' for two or three hours that labor is ruining capital, and killing the goose that lays golden eggs for them. Oh, they are a wonderful race, Ruth!"

"I really can't discuss them now, Ethel."

"Don't you want to know what Tyrrel said to me this afternoon?"

"My dear, I know. Lovers have said such things before, and lovers will say them evermore. You shall tell me in the morning. I thought he looked distrait and bored with our company."

Indeed, Tyrrel was so remarkably quiet that John Thomas also noticed his mood, and as they sat smoking in Tyrrel's room, he resolved to find out the reason, and with his usual directness asked:

"What do you think of Ethel Rawdon, Tyrrel."

"I think she is the most beautiful woman I ever saw. She has also the most sincere nature, and her high spirit is sweetly tempered by her affectionate heart."

"I am glad you know so much about her. Look here, Cousin Tyrrel, I fancied to-night you were a bit jealous of me. It is easy to see you are in love, and I've no doubt you were thinking of the days when you would be thousands of miles away, and I should have the ground clear and so on, eh?"

"Suppose I was, cousin, what then?"

"You would be worrying for nothing. I don't want to marry Ethel Rawdon. If I did, you would have