Hearts Afire - By J. D. Rawden Page 0,9
the office for the day; but when Joris said, “There is trouble, and your advice I want,” he returned with him to the back of the office, where, through half-opened shutters, the sunshine and the warm-breeze stole into an atmosphere laden with the aromas of tea and coffee and West Indian produce.
In a few short, strong sentences, Joris put the case before Elder Van Heemskirk. The latter stroked his right knee thoughtfully, and listened. But his first words were not very comforting: “I must say, that it is mostly your own fault, Joris. You have given Harleigh but a half welcome, and you should have made things plain and to the point to Charlotte. Such skimble-skamble, why didn’t you say to her, out and out, 'I have promised you to Sir Edward, my lass. He'll make you the best of husbands; you'll marry him at the New Year, and you'll get gold and silver and all things suitable?”
“I hadn’t the time yet, Elder.”
There are men who can talk their troubles away: Joris was not one of them. He was silent when in sorrow or perplexity; silent, and ever looking around for something to do in the matter. As they walked homewards, the elder talked, and Joris pondered, not what was said, but the thoughts and purposes that were slowly forming in his own mind. He was later than usual for lunch, and the tea and the cakes had passed their prime condition; but, when Lysbet saw the trouble in his eyes, she thought them not worth mentioning. But Charlotte fretted about her father's delay, and it was at her Joris first looked. The veil had now been taken from his eyes; and he noticed her pretty dress, her restless glances at the clock, her ill-concealed impatience at the slow movement of the afternoon meal.
When it was over, Lysbet Morgan rose to put away her silver and china. “So warm as it is!” said Charlotte. “Into the garden I am going, mother.”
“Well, then, there are weeds to pull. The dish take with you.”
Joris rose then, and laying his hand on Charlotte's shoulder said, “There is something to talk about. Sit down, Lysbet; the door shut close, and listen to me.”
It was impossible to mistake the stern purpose on her husband's face, and Lysbet silently obeyed the order.
“Charlotte, this morning there comes to my office the young man, Harleigh. To thy father he said many ill words. To him thou shalt never speak again. Thy promise give to me.”
Charlotte sat silent, with dropped eyes, and cheeks as red as the pomegranate flower at her breast.
“No man, shall speak to me that way.”
Weeping bitterly, Charlotte rose and went to her mother, and laid her head upon Lysbet's shoulder.
“Look now, Joris. One must know the “why” and the “wherefore.” What mean you?”
“This I mean, Lysbet. No more meetings with Harleigh will I have. No love secrets will I bear. Danger is with them; yes, and sin too.”
“Joris, if he has spoken to you, then where is the secret?”
“Too late he spoke. When worked was his own selfish way, to tell me of his triumph he comes. It is a shameful wrong. Forgive it? No, I will not,—never!”
No one answered him; only Charlotte's low weeping broke the silence, and for a few moments Joris paced the room sorrowful and amazed. Then he looked at Lysbet, and she rose and gave her place to him. He put his arms around his darling, and kissed her fondly.
“Charlotte, listen to me thy father. It is for thy happy life here, it is for thy eternal life, I speak to thee. This man for whom thou art now weeping is not good for thee. He is not of thy breeding, he is an uneducated man; none of thy equal, he talks of fashion, of loose talk, of principles still more loose. If with the hawk a singing-bird might mate happily, then this scoundrel thou might safely marry. My Charlotte, do I love thee?”
“My father!”
“Do I love thee?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Dost thou, then, love me?”
She put her arms round his neck, and laid her cheek against his, and kissed him many times.
“Wilt thou go away and leave me, and leave thy mother, in our old age? My heart thou would break. My gray hairs to the grave would go in sorrow. Charlotte, my dear, dear child, what for me, and for thy mother, wilt thou do?”
“Thy wish—if I can.”
Then he told her of the provision made for her future. He reminded her