Hagar 15

Hagar 15

When the curtain fell and the lights brightened, Miss Bedford, after

frantically applauding, claimed Laydon for her own. She had raptures

to impart, criticisms to exchange, knowledge to imbibe. Minutes passed

ere, during a momentary lapse into her programme, Laydon could bend

toward the lady on his left. Did she like it? What did she think of

Juliet?--What did she think of Romeo?--Was it not well-staged?

 

Hagar did not know whether it were well staged or not. She was eighteen

years old; she had been very seldom to the theatre; she was moving

through a dreamy paradise. She wanted just to sit still and bring it

all back before the inner eye. Despite the fact that he was her lover,

she was not sorry when Laydon must turn to the lady on his right. When

Lily spoke to her, she said, "Don't let's talk. Let's sit still and see

it all again." Lily agreed. She was no chatterbox herself. The music

played; the lights in the house were lowered; up, slowly, gently, went

the curtain; here was the orchard of the Capulets.

 

The great concave of the theatre was dim. Laydon's hand sought

Hagar's, found it in the semi-darkness, held it throughout the act.

She acquiesced; and yet--and yet--She did not wish him to fondle her

hand, nor yet, as once or twice he did, to whisper to her. She wished

to listen, listen. She was in Verona, not here.

 

The act closed. The lights went up, Laydon softly withdrew his hand. He

applauded loudly, all the house applauded. Hagar hated the clapping,

not experienced enough to know how breath-of-life it was to the people

behind the curtain. Already the curtain was rising for Juliet to come

forth and bow, and then for Juliet to bring forth Romeo, and both to

bow. Had she known, she would have applauded, too; she was a kindly

child. The curtain was down now, the house rustling. All around was

talking; people seemed never to wish to be quiet. Laydon was talking,

too, answering Miss Bedford's artful-artless queries, embarking on a

commentary upon act and actors. He talked with a conscious brilliance

as became a professor of Belles-Lettres, more especially for Hagar's

delight, but aware also that the people directly in front and behind

were listening. Was Hagar delighted? Very slowly and insidiously, like

a slender serpent stealing into some Happy Valley, there came into her

heart a distaste for commentaries. As the valley might be ignorant of

the serpent, so neither did she know what was the matter; she was only

not so mystically happy as she had been before.

 

The orchestra came back, there was a murmur of expectation, Laydon

ceased to discourse of Bandello, and of Dante's reference to Montague

and Capulet. Lily, on the other side of Hagar, complained of the heat

and the music. "I like stringed instruments, but those great brass

horns make the back of my head hurt so."

 

Hagar touched her cold, little hand. "Poor Lily! I wish you didn't feel

badly all the time! I wish you liked the horns."

 

The curtain rose, the play rolled on. Mercutio was slain,--Mercutio and

Tybalt,--Romeo was banished. The scene changed, and here was the great

window of Juliet's room--the rope ladder--the envious East.

 

"_Night's candles are burned out and jocund day

Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops;

I must be gone and live, or stay and die_--"

 

Hagar sat, bent forward, her eyes dark and wide, the wine-red in her

cheeks. When the curtain went down she did not move; Laydon, under

cover of the loud applause, spoke to her twice before she attended. Her

eyes came back from a long way off, her mind turned with difficulty.

"Yes? What is it?" Laydon was easily aggrieved. "You are thinking more

of this wretched play," he whispered, "than you are of me!"

 

On rolled the swift events, gorgeous and swift as shadows. The

curtain fell, the curtain rose. The potion was drunk--the wailing

was made--Balthasar rode to warn Romeo. There came the last act: the

poison--County Paris--the Tomb--

 

"_Here will I set up my everlasting rest_--"

 

It was over.... She helped Lily with her red evening cloak, she found

Miss Bedford's striped silk bag that Laydon could not find; they all

passed out of the house of enchantments. Here was the night, and the

night wind, and broken lights and carriages, and a clamour of voices,

and at last the clanging street-car with a great freight of talking

people. She wanted to sit still and dream it over--and fortunately

Laydon was again occupied with Miss Bedford.

 

"You liked it, didn't you?" asked Lily. "I think that you like things

that you imagine better than you like things that you do."

 

Hagar looked at her with eyes that were yet wide and fixed. "I don't

know. If you could be and do all that you can imagine--but you

can't--you can't--" she smiled and rubbed her hand across her eyes--

"and it's a tragedy."

 

When they left the street-car and walked toward the Eglantine gates,

it was drawing toward midnight. Laydon and Hagar now moved side by

side through the darkness. Lily--who said that her head had ached very

little, thank you!--exchanged comments on the play with Miss Bedford.

 

Laydon held the gate open; then, closing it, fell a few feet behind

with Hagar. "You enjoyed it?"

 

"Oh--"

 

He was again in love. "The plays we'll see together, darling, darling!

'Two souls with but a single thought--'"

 

"There is no need to walk so fast," said Miss Bedford. "Oh, Mr. Laydon,

a briar has caught my skirt--Will you--? Oh, thank you!"

 

The house showed before them. "The parlour windows are lighted," said

Lily. "Mrs. Lane must have company."

 

Mrs. Lane did have company. She herself opened the front door to them.

Mrs. Lane's eyes were red, and she looked frightened. "Wait," she said,

and got between the little group and the parlour door. "Lily, you had

best go straight upstairs, my dear! Miss Bedford, will you please wait

here with me just a minute? Mr. Laydon, Mrs. LeGrand says will you come

into the parlour? Hagar, you are to go, too. Your grandfather is here."

 

Colonel Ashendyne stood between the table and the fire. Mrs. LeGrand

was seated upon the sofa, which meant that she sat in state. Mrs. Lane,

who came presently stealing in again, sat back from the centre in a

meek, small chair, and at intervals wiped her eyes. The culprits stood.

 

Colonel Argall Ashendyne never lacked words with which to express his

meaning--words that bit. Now his well-cut lips opened, and out there

came like a scimitar his part of the ensuing conversation.

 

"Hagar, your letter was read yesterday evening. I immediately

telegraphed to Mrs. LeGrand at Idlewood, and she obligingly took this

morning's boat. I myself came down on the afternoon train, and got here

two hours ago. Now, sir--" he turned on Laydon--"what have you got to

say for yourself?"

 

"I--I--" began Laydon. He drew a breath and his spine stiffened. "I

have to say, sir, that I love your granddaughter, and that I have asked

her to marry me."

 

Mrs. LeGrand, while the colonel's hawk eye dwelt witheringly, spoke

from the sofa. "I have no words, Mr. Laydon, in which to express

my disapproval of your action, or my disappointment in one whom I

had supposed a gentleman. In my absence you have chosen to abuse my

confidence and to do a most dishonourable and ungentlemanly thing--a

thing which, were it known, might easily bring disrepute upon

Eglantine. You will understand, of course, that it terminates your

connection with this school--"

 

"Mrs. LeGrand," said Laydon, "I have done nothing dishonourable."

 

"You have taken advantage of my absence, sir, to make love to one of my

pupils--"

 

"To an inexperienced child, sir," said the Colonel;--"too young to know

better or to tell pinchbeck when she sees it! You should be caned."

 

"Colonel Ashendyne, if you were a younger man--"

 

"Bah!" said the Colonel. "I am younger now and more real than

you!--Hagar!"

 

"Yes, grandfather."

 

"Come here!"

 

Hagar came. The Colonel laid his hands upon her shoulders, a little

roughly, but not too roughly. The two looked each other in the eyes.

He was tall and she but of medium height, she was young and he was her

elder, he was ancestor and she descendant, he was her supporter and she

his dependant, he was grandfather and she was grandchild. Gilead Balm

had always inculcated reverence for dominant kin and family authority.

It had been Gilead Balm's grievance, long ago, against her mother

that she recognized that so poorly.... But Hagar had always seemed to

recognize it. "Gipsy," said the Colonel now, "I am not going to be

hard upon you. It's the nature of the young to be foolish, and a young

girl may be pardoned anything short of the irrecoverable. All that I

want you to do is to see that you have been very foolish and to say as

much to this--this gentleman. Simply turn round and say to him 'Mr.--'

What's his name?--Layton?"

 

"I wrote to you day before yesterday, Colonel Ashendyne," said Laydon.

"You saw my name there--"

 

"I never got your letter, sir! I got hers.--Hagar! say after me to this

gentleman, 'Sir, I was mistaken in my sentiment toward you, and I here

and now release you from any fancied engagement between us.'--Say it!"

 

As he spoke, he wheeled her so that she faced Laydon. She stood, a

scarlet in her cheeks, her eyes dark, deep, and angry. "Hagar!" cried

Laydon, maddened, too, "are you going to say that?"

 

"No," answered Hagar. "No, I am not going to say it! I have done

nothing wrong nor underhand, and neither have you! Mrs. LeGrand knew

that you were coming here, in the evening, to read to us. Why shouldn't

you come? Well, one evening you were reading and I was listening, and

I was not thinking of you and you were not thinking of me. And then,

suddenly, something--Love--came into this room and took us prisoner. We

did not ask him here, we did not know anything.... But when it happened

we knew it, and next morning, out in the open air, we told each other

about it. Nothing could have kept us from doing that, and nothing had