XXVI.—ANOTHER MAY.

May came with blossoms, lilacs, and a birthday, she smiled all to herself over last year’s reverie; the anniversary of the day in which she had walked homewards with Mr. Hammerton and accepted Felix in the evening followed the birthday; a sad anniversary for Felix, she remembered, for he had her habit of retrospection.

The days slipped through his mind, Laura had told her; he would often ask the day of the week or month. He had become quiet and melancholy, seemingly absorbed in the interest of the moment. He had greeted Tessa as he would have greeted any friend, at their last interview, and she had left him believing that his future would not be without happiness. A year ago to-day, Mr. Hammerton had said that a year made a difference, sometimes. And this year! How the events had hurried into each other, jostling against each other like good-humored people in a crowd! A year ago to-day she had thought of Nan Gerard as the wife of Ralph Towne; to-day she was sailing on the sea, Professor Towne’s wife; just as naughty as ever, but rather more dignified. A year ago to-night she had held herself the promised wife of her old tormentor, Felix Harrison; since that night all his future had become a blank, the strong man had become as a little child; since that day Dine had found her wonderful John; since that day Dr. Lake had had his heart’s desire, and had been called away from Sue, leaving her a widow; the hurrying year had taken from Gus a long hope and had given him a future of hard work with meagre wages. And Dr. Towne! But she could not trust herself to think of him. They met as usual, not less often; he had grown graver since last year, and had thrown himself heart and soul into his work: never demonstrative, his manner towards her, had, if possible, become less and less intrusive; but ever responsive, having nothing to respond to, now, but a gentle deference, a shyness that increased; a stranger would have said, meeting him with Tessa Wadsworth, that he was intensely interested in her, but exceedingly in doubt of finding favor.

But Tessa could not see this; she felt only the restraint and chilliness.

Once they were left suddenly alone together; he excused himself and abruptly left her; clearly, he had no reply to make to her letter; his love was worn out with her freaks and whims.

“I deserve it,” she said, taking stern pleasure in meting out justice to herself.

One afternoon in late May, she found herself on the gnarled seat that the roots had braided for her; she had been gazing down into the brook and watching a robin-redbreast taking his bath in it, canary-fashion; she watched him until he had flown away and perched upon a post of the Old Place meadow fence, then her eyes came back to the water, the stones, and the weeds.

“I always know where to find you!” The exclamation could be in no other loud voice; she recognized Sue before she lifted her eyes to the tall, black-draped figure. If Sue had had a sorrow, there was no trace of it in voice or countenance.

“Isn’t it dusty? How I shall look trailing around in all this black stuff! What do you always come here for? Do you come to meet somebody?”

“It seems that I have come to meet you.”

“Don’t you remember how you talked to me here that day? I did keep my promise; I was good to Gerald. Poor, dear Gerald! I have nothing to reproach myself with.”

“Did mother send you here?”

“She said that I would find you between the end of the planks and Mayfield. Come through the grounds of Old Place with me. I want you to see Mrs. Towne’s flowers and a new arbor that Dr. Towne has been putting up.”

“No, thank you,” said Tessa rising and tossing away a handful of withering wild flowers.

“You don’t know how lovely the place is. Dr. Towne is always thinking of some new thing to do; I asked him if it were for that grand wife that he has been waiting so long for, and, do you believe, he said ‘Yes,’ as sincerely as could be. He looked up at his mother and smiled when he said it, too. I believe they know something. Nan Gerard didn’t get him any way! Won’t she have a lovely time travelling! I always did want to go to Europe; Gerald never would have taken me. I can’t believe that he’s dead, can you?”

As Tessa was busy with her veil and did not speak, Sue rattled on.

“Did you know that I’ve been making another visit at Miss Gesner’s? They call their place Blossom Hill, and it has been so sweet with blossoms.”

“Is she as lovely as ever?”

“I don’t know,” said Sue, doubtfully; “sometimes I think that she is stiff and proud; the truth is she doesn’t like to have her old brother pay attention to me. She thinks that he is too old a boy for such nonsense; but he doesn’t think so! Good for me that he doesn’t. What are you walking so fast for? I went to drive with him every day after business hours; we did look stylish!”

“With Miss Gesner, too?” queried Tessa, in a voice that she could not steady.

“No, indeed,” laughed Sue, “and that’s the beauty of it. What did we want her along for? Of course we talked about Gerald; we talked a great deal about him. I told him how kind he had been to me and how I adored him and how I mourned for him. I am sure that I cried myself sick; Dr. Towne gave me something one night to keep me from having hysterics! I should have died of grief if Mrs. Towne hadn’t taken me to Old Place; she was like a mother, and he was as kind as kind could be! It was like the other time before I was engaged to Gerald; I couldn’t believe that it wasn’t that time. The Gesners were kind, too; I thought at first that Miss Gesner really loved me; but she began to be stiff after she saw her brother kiss me. I couldn’t help it; I told him that it was too soon for such goings on.”

“O, Sue!” cried Tessa, wearily. “And he loved you so.”

“Gerald! Of course he did! But that’s all past and gone! He can’t expect me never to have any good times, can he? He didn’t leave me any money to have a good time with! I’m too young to shut myself up and think of his grave all the time. You and father are the most unreasonable people I ever saw! Why, he thinks because he thinks of mother every day, and wouldn’t be married for any thing, that I must be that kind of a mourner, too! It’s very hard; nobody ever had so much trouble as I do. I never used to like John Gesner, but you don’t know how interesting he can be. He took off my wedding ring one day and said it didn’t fit. It always was a little too large. Gerald said that I would grow into it,” she said, slipping it up and down on her finger and letting it drop on the grass.

“There!” with a little laugh as she stooped to look for it, “suppose I could never find it. Is that what you call an omen, Tessa? Help me look!”

“No, let it be. Let it be buried, too.”

“There! I have found it. You needn’t be so cross to me. I wonder why you are cross to me. Gerald Raid once that you would be a good friend to me forever.”

“I will, Susie,” said Tessa, fervently.

“You always liked Gerald. What did you like him for?” asked Sue, curiously.

As the answer was not forthcoming, Sue started off on a new branch of the old topic. “Mr. John Gesner is going to Europe this fall, or in the winter; he is going on business, but he says that if he had a wife to go around with him that he would stay a year or two. Wouldn’t that be grand? Nan Gerard will have to be home when the Seminary opens, anyway. It would be grand to travel for two years.”

“Why does not Miss Gesner go with him?”

“Oh, she wouldn’t leave Lewis. Lewis and Blossom Hill are her two idols. Mr. John says that if he were married, he would build a new house right opposite, and he asked me as we passed the grand houses which style I liked best. There was one with porticoes and columns, I chose that. He said that it could be built while he was away, and be all ready for him to bring his bride home to. But you are not listening; you never think of what I am saying,” Sue said, in a grumbling, tearful voice. “My friends are forever misunderstanding me. Gerald never misunderstood me. What do you think Dr. Towne said to me? He said that when I am old, I shall love Gerald better than any one; that what comes between will fall out and leave that time. Won’t it be queer? He said that women ought to think love the best thing in the world. I cried while he was talking. I can love any body that is kind to me. When I told John Gesner that, he said, ‘I will always be kind to you.’ But you are not listening; I verily believe that you care more for that squirrel than you do for me!”

“See it run,” cried Tessa. “Isn’t it a perfect little creature? If you will come and stay a week with me, we will take a walk every day.”

“I can’t—now,” Sue stumbled over her words. “Say, Tessa, Mr. Gesner has given me a set of pearls. I can wear pearls in mourning, can’t I?”

“With your mourning, you can wear any thing.”

“Can I? I didn’t know it. It’s awful lonesome at home; lonesomer than it ever was.”

“I would come and stay a week with you, but I do not like to leave father; he is not so strong as he was last summer.”

“You wouldn’t let Mr. Gesner come and spend the evening; I haven’t asked him, but I’m going to ask him the next time I see him.”

Dr. Greyson called for Sue late in the evening. “I have the comfort of my old age hard and fast,” he said; “she will never want to run away from me again, will you, Susie?”

“I don’t know,” said Sue, with a hard, uncomfortable laugh; “you must keep a sharp lookout. I may be in Africa by this time next year.”