The Colonel's Dream Page 38

  _Thirty-seven_

  Miss Laura came forward with outstretched hands and tear-stained eyesto greet him.

  "Henry," she exclaimed, "I am shocked and sorry, I cannot tell you howmuch! Nor do I know what else to say, except that the best people donot--cannot--could not--approve of it!"

  "The best people, Laura," he said with a weary smile, "are anabstraction. When any deviltry is on foot they are never there toprevent it--they vanish into thin air at its approach. When it isdone, they excuse it; and they make no effort to punish it. So it isnot too much to say that what they permit they justify, and theycannot shirk the responsibility. To mar the living--it is the historyof life--but to make war upon the dead!--I am going away, Laura, neverto return. My dream of usefulness is over. To-night I take away mydead and shake the dust of Clarendon from my feet forever. Will youcome with me?"

  "Henry," she said, and each word tore her heart, "I have beenexpecting this--since I heard. But I cannot go; my duty calls me here.My mother could not be happy anywhere else, nor would I fit into anyother life. And here, too, I am useful--and may still be useful--andshould be missed. I know your feelings, and would not try to keep you.But, oh, Henry, if all of those who love justice and practise humanityshould go away, what would become of us?"

  "I leave to-night," he returned, "and it is your right to go with me,or to come to me."

  "No, Henry, nor am I sure that you would wish me to. It was for theold town's sake that you loved me. I was a part of your dream--a partof the old and happy past, upon which you hoped to build, as upon thefoundations of the old mill, a broader and a fairer structure. Do youremember what you told me, that night--that happy night--that youloved me because in me you found the embodiment of an ideal? Well,Henry, that is why I did not wish to make our engagement known, for Iknew, I felt, the difficulty of your task, and I foresaw that youmight be disappointed, and I feared that if your ideal should bewrecked, you might find me a burden. I loved you, Henry--I seem tohave always loved you, but I would not burden you."

  "No, no, Laura--not so! not so!"

  "And you wanted me for Phil's sake, whom we both loved; and now thatyour dream is over, and Phil is gone, I should only remind you ofwhere you lost him, and of your disappointment, and of--this otherthing, and I could not be sure that you loved me or wanted me."

  "Surely you cannot doubt it, Laura?" His voice was firm, but to hersensitive spirit it did not carry conviction.

  "You remembered me from my youth," she continued tremulously butbravely, "and it was the image in your memory that you loved. And now,when you go away, the old town will shrink and fade from your memoryand your heart and you will have none but harsh thoughts of it; norcan I blame you greatly, for you have grown far away from us, and weshall need many years to overtake you. Nor do you need me, Henry--I amtoo old to learn new ways, and elsewhere than here I should be ahindrance to you rather than a help. But in the larger life to whichyou go, think of me now and then as one who loves you still, and whowill try, in her poor way, with such patience as she has, to carry onthe work which you have begun, and which you--Oh, Henry!"

  He divined her thought, though her tear-filled eyes spoke sorrowrather than reproach.

  "Yes," he said sadly, "which I have abandoned. Yes, Laura, abandoned,fully and forever."

  The colonel was greatly moved, but his resolution remained unshaken.

  "Laura," he said, taking both her hands in his, "I swear that I shouldbe glad to have you with me. Come away! The place is not fit for youto live in!"

  "No, Henry! it cannot be! I could not go! My duty holds me here! Godwould not forgive me if I abandoned it. Go your way; live your life.Marry some other woman, if you must, who will make you happy. But Ishall keep, Henry--nothing can ever take away from me--the memory ofone happy summer."

  "No, no, Laura, it need not be so! I shall write you. You'll thinkbetter of it. But I go to-night--not one hour longer than I must, willI remain in this town. I must bid your mother and Graciella good-bye."

  He went into the house. Mrs. Treadwell was excited and sorry, andwould have spoken at length, but the colonel's farewells were brief.

  "I cannot stop to say more than good-bye, dear Mrs. Treadwell. I havespent a few happy months in my old home, and now I am going away.Laura will tell you the rest."

  Graciella was tearfully indignant.

  "It was a shame!" she declared. "Peter was a good old nigger, and itwouldn't have done anybody any harm to leave him there. I'd rather beburied beside old Peter than near any of the poor white trash that dughim up--so there! I'm so sorry you're going away; but I hope,sometime," she added stoutly, "to see you in New York! Don't forget!"

  "I'll send you my address," said the colonel.