Edward Burton

On the morning following the excursion, Rosamond made known her engagement to her mother and sister. Upon her return the night before, she was delighted to have exclusive possession of the fact for a few hours, before confiding it even to them. She wanted first to enjoy and fondle the delightful vision while it was all her own.

“Perhaps by another summer I may have the pleasure of entertaining you at Percival Hall, in the west of Old England,” was the opening which she made of the subject while they were gathered in their apartments soon after the breakfast hour.

“Which means that you are engaged to his lordship,” replied Helen. “It was plain to me yesterday, but I would not be so inconsiderate as to forestall your announcement. I congratulate you, and wish you all happiness,” and, throwing her arms around Rosamond’s neck, she kissed her with much warmth.

Mrs. Bonbright also felicitated and embraced her daughter, and warmly expressed her great satisfaction and joy in the proposed alliance.

Helen had not been insensible to the drift of affairs, and Mrs. Bonbright also had divined the situation, so that neither was surprised. The two sisters loved each other devotedly, but lived upon different planes of thought, and therefore that oneness was lacking which would have resulted if they had perfectly understood each other. Rosamond often found it difficult to comprehend her sister’s motives. She felt that Helen had many strange and impracticable ideas, which rendered her somewhat unique, and out of sympathy with the conventionalities of society, which to her seemed of the highest importance.

Any allusion to his lordship, except in a general way, had been quietly tabooed between the sisters. Helen believed that any suggestions or advice which she might have offered would be liable to misconstruction, and had kept silent, and permitted matters to take their course. Lord Percival was entitled to her respect, but, while she knew nothing against him, she felt that Rosamond, as well as her friends, were in reality quite uninformed concerning him.

“Father has given his consent,” said Rosamond, “and I felt certain of your approval. We are to be married in the spring, and at once go to Lord Percival’s estates in the west of England. I shall expect to have you both with me next summer, and won’t we have delightful times!”

“I hope your pleasant anticipations may all be realized,” affectionately observed her mother.

“Lady Percival of Percival Hall!” exclaimed Rosamond, with a merry laugh and a lofty toss of the head as she swept with stately dignity across the room, and then, wheeling about, she executed a kind of minuet with much grace.

“That’s more of a conquest than I ever expected. But he is very kind and good, and was so graceful and chivalric in his proposal.”

“Do you love him?” asked Helen.

“Why, how perfectly absurd, Helen. Of course I do.”

“If Lord Percival were plain Mr. Percival, without rank, title, or aristocratic associations, would you still love him, Rosamond?”

“What a foolish question,” replied Rosamond. “Of course these things have a bearing, but I really think him a very attractive gentleman. You are aware that I do not live in the clouds as you do, Helen; in the world one cannot afford to be insensible to worldly distinctions. How many clever American girls would like to jump into my shoes! But I am in them myself,” she added, as she clasped Helen and waltzed around the room until the windows rattled.

“You called it a conquest, Rosamond. Does not that term seem inappropriate in describing a love-match?”

“Well, I think he loves me,” replied Rosamond, “and I am sure that love on my part will be all right enough. They say that love is something which grows, and what a mellow and nourishing soil it will have in romantic Old England!”

“I hope you will remain loyal to your church and country,” observed Mrs. Bonbright.

“Oh, there will be time enough for all that, mother. I beg you both not to borrow any more trouble. But it is nearly eleven o’clock, at which hour Lord Percival is to call, and our engagement is to receive your formal recognition. We have an understanding that no public announcement is to be made until our return to Boston.”

Preparations were made quickly to receive Lord Percival, and at the appointed hour he made his appearance. Half an hour later the symbolic ring had been slipped upon Rosamond’s taper finger, congratulations exchanged, and the proposed alliance approved.

On the same morning when this scene was taking place, Burton and Tapley had gone for a long walk up the road which follows the narrow winding valley of the Wildcat. Neither of them was in the least effeminate, and they heartily enjoyed long strolls together, often climbing, with alpenstock in hand, to the lofty summits around them.

That day they returned through “Rocky Pasture,” and also stopped for a while to enjoy “the Falls.” Jackson Falls is located just above the village, and is formed by a series of plunges made by the Wildcat a short distance above where it unites with the Glen Ellis. This picturesque and delightful resort is much frequented by the sojourners at the village.

On some of the great rocks, the bases of which are washed by the torrent, shut in by evergreen foliage on either side, one may sit, entranced by the vista which is open toward the south, looking down the valley and away to the glorious mountain background in the distance. The stream which gurgles at your feet twists and turns, plunges and eddies in its efforts to pass its rocky obstructions; now almost losing itself under great boulders, and then, gayly shooting out triumphant, it passes on down the valley.

The two friends seated themselves upon a great rock, which sloped towards the valley, so that they might enjoy the prospect which was spread out before them. At their feet was the foaming ribbon of water, folded, twisted, and tied into knots by the crowded boulders; farther down, the broken lines of gray ledges, draped by overhanging foliage; still beyond was the white spire of the village church, in the midst of a cluster of houses; and, in the far distance, the unique outlines of Moat Mountain, softened by the purple haze with which Nature hides her angular sharpness.

“My dear Ned,” said Tapley, after they had for a while enjoyed the glorious vista, “I have an important matter to lay before you, which has been upon my mind for several days. It is a delicate and almost sacred subject, but one which makes it a pleasure, as well as a duty, to bring to your notice. It cannot fail to interest you, and with us, my dear Ned, the interest of each is the concern of both.”

The unusual formality, almost solemnity, with which Tapley uttered these sentences, startled Burton. He looked up and waited for Tapley to complete his announcement, but his friend seemed at loss for words to continue his message.

“Pardon me,” said Burton, “for anticipating your message. I congratulate you with all my heart. She is worthy of you, and you of her. You will be very happy.” And, with a smile, he heartily grasped Tapley’s hand, and gave it a cordial shake before the latter had time to regain his senses.

Tapley soon recovered himself, and, throwing his arm around Burton’s neck, said, “My dear Ned, you are beside yourself. You have entirely mistaken the nature of the suggestion that I was about to make. I am not engaged, and, so far as I know, am not a subject for special congratulation.”

“Not engaged! not engaged! Will, you astound me. I ask your pardon, but from any one but you I should question the correctness of the assertion. What, not engaged! With all respect, Will, may I ask does a man like you—the soul of honor, whom I love as I do myself, so forget himself as to trifle with the feelings of one so good and pure as Helen Bonbright?”

“My dear Ned, again I say, you must be beside yourself. You speak in riddles. Helen Bonbright is good, and pure, and beautiful, but I have not trifled with her feelings, and am not engaged to her. I cannot conceive what has given you such an impression.”

“I have taken it all for granted, Will. I had no doubt of it, and my congratulations were most sincere.”

“This is most surprising,” exclaimed Tapley, “and now let us understand each other. Upon what grounds were your conclusions based?”

“I will frankly tell you,” replied Burton. “While on the Shore-Walk at Bar Harbor one day, I saw you and Helen for a long time sitting side by side, and—am I mistaken?—with her yielded hand pressed in yours.”

“You were utterly mistaken as to the hand,” responded Tapley, “and the subject under discussion was theology.”

“Again at the Crystal Cascade, Will. Did you not grasp her hand, and press it to your lips?”

“My dear boy,” exclaimed Tapley, “what has rendered your imagination so vivid? I remember that I did take her hand to help her over a log, but the rest”—

“Was in my foolish fancy,” said Burton, finishing the sentence. “Forgive me; the view was distant and indistinct in both cases. I jumped at conclusions. It was so fitting, so suitable, and you are so worthy of each other, that I could not doubt it. I was premature in my inferences and have anticipated. If it is not yet settled, it soon will be, and in my heart of hearts I give you my benediction.”

“My dear Ned,” exclaimed Tapley, “you have not yet stopped long enough to listen to the communication I was about to make.”

“You shall not again be interrupted, Will.”

Tapley, whose pale face gave evidence of deep conflicting emotions, continued,—

“Ned, you shall be my brother confessor. I will lay bare my heart to you.

“From the first day that I saw Helen Bonbright I loved her. I could not help loving such a beautiful soul. She seemed to me a charming incarnation of all that was pure, bright, and lovable. And now let me explain that I have made no avowal of my affection, and not a word nor a sign has passed between us. I have however, by a subtle, intuitive consciousness, become possessed of a fact, which should be of great interest to you. This knowledge, though gained by intangible and indefinable impressions, I am positive is correct. Will it startle you if I assert that, while she respects me, she loves you? I will turn the tables. I congratulate you.”

As these words dropped from his lips, he grasped Burton’s hand, and shook it with as much earnestness, interest added, as he had received half an hour previous.

Burton sat like one in a trance. Presently he aroused himself and said,—

“My dear Will, I think you may be mistaken, and in any event you must not make so great a sacrifice for such uncertain impressions. With no avowal of love on your part, you may misjudge her feelings, and be ‘jumping at conclusions’ as greatly as I did. Take a little time; think more deeply over the whole matter, and show her your feelings definitely, before forming a resolution which you may regret all your life.”

“My conclusion is fixed; irrevocably fixed,” responded Tapley. “The sacrifice is now complete. For a while, as the true condition of affairs dawned upon me, I went down into the deeps; I struggled and was scarred and rent by the hot conflict within. For a week past I have been free. The strife is at an end! No shadow remains! I am happy and at peace! I admire her character as much as ever. I love her with a pure Platonic love, the character of which will never change. I include her only in an all-embracing affection which flows out to every pure aspiring soul.”

“Let us drop the subject, Will, and before you settle upon such a positive conclusion, wait a week, a month, or even a year, and perhaps you will receive new light.”

“Neither a month nor a year will make the slightest difference with me,” replied Tapley, “but furthermore, I was about to make a suggestion to you. It is this: if you can learn to love Helen Bonbright, I feel sure that she will be yours. Perhaps as yet she does not love you in the ordinary sense, for she is too unconscious and transparent. She is doubtless unaware of her love for you, but it is there, although yet latent. I have seen a sparkle in her eye, and a flush upon her cheek, called out by you, of which she was utterly unconscious. Her love is a hidden, dormant force. It is asleep, and only waits for you to awaken it. She is like an Æolian harp; if your soft influences blow upon the strings they will respond. Can you not learn to love her, Ned?”

Learn to love her!—what should he say? His friend had bared his heart to him. Should not he follow his example? The blood mounted to his cheek, and his gaze was fixed upon the distant mountains.

“Will,” he exclaimed, “I will also be a penitent, and enter the confessional. You ask if I cannot learn to ‘love Helen Bonbright.’ Love Helen Bonbright! It is not a difficult task, for I loved her from the time of our first meeting. For a full week I was unconscious that the sentiment that possessed me was love, but thought it to be an involuntary tribute or homage. From the first time that I saw, as I fancied, her hand in yours at the Shore-Walk, I regarded you as engaged. Two contending factions fought within me, with alternate victories and defeats. Should I yield her to you without a single effort on my own behalf? or should I, in an honorable manner, try my own chances? The forces of non-interference won the day decisively. She was yours, and never by word or sign would I throw a straw in your way. There was a parting and final struggle at the Crystal Cascade. Since that time peace has reigned. In the seclusion of my room that night, I sent to both of you a benediction of loving thought. All you have said to me to-day has been a surprise and a revelation, except the fact of your love.

“I find the sacrifice which I laid upon the altar for your sake, for the consuming of which I toiled to bring the sticks, one by one, thrust back upon me, not only unconsumed, but glorified. The sweet cup of self-sacrifice which I held to my lips, you have snatched away, and you yourself insist upon drinking it to the dregs. Do not understand that I feel that you can give me the faintest shadow of a title to Helen Bonbright. She is the freest of the free! This transaction begins and ends with ourselves. So far as I have any knowledge, she cannot be won by either of us; but that fact does not in the least lessen your magnanimity, your self-sacrifice. You have found that ideal principle which would bring heaven into the earth-life, and which can lift one out of the lower self, and out of bondage to a material environment.”

Each had sacrificed himself to the other, but in the apparent result, Tapley’s self-sacrifice, from force of circumstances, left Burton in possession of the field. Their peculiar though early experience had led them to practically understand a law which is not only immutable but scientific. They realized that inherent wholesomeness which is involved in the subjugation of the sensuous nature, and an enthronement of a supreme or divine manhood.

This is the same secret which Count Tolstoï discovered, and which, notwithstanding all its crude and grotesque expressions in him, emphasized by his peculiar race and rank, has so transformed him that his personality is looked upon as one of the most unique in the world. From its ordinary standpoint the world regards him as an enigma. In his early manhood, self and its gratification were everything to him. In his effort to get the most that was possible out of life, his abnormity, morbidness, and distress became so great that he meditated self-destruction. He discovered, finally, that, in order to find the happiness and harmony that he needed, the lower self must be cast out. He learned that the law of self-abnegation constituted the broad highway to wholeness, and became the most happy of men. His remarkable eccentricities consist in unduly literalizing a principle which is capable of indefinite expression.

To “realists,” the quality of character shown by the young men would be regarded as impractical, abnormal, and untrue to nature. If by nature the sensuous nature only is meant, they are correct. The term “natural” has been perverted to define only that which is selfish and material. The “philosopher’s stone” for man, who is a being “formed in the image of his Creator,” is found in giving out, rather than in gathering in. In concrete benevolence money is but the lower fulfilment, while service, sympathy, and love form more important factors.

“He that loveth his life loseth it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.” The profound but largely unrecognized truth conveyed in this text from John’s Gospel attests its divine origin.

The world is full of abnormity which is a non-recognition of divine method, hence its wretchedness.