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CHAPTER XXXVI. Cold Tinder
Olive and Dick Lancaster sat together in the captain's parlor. She was
very quiet--she had been very quiet of late--but he was nervous.
"It is very kind, Mr. Lancaster," said Olive, breaking the silence, "for
you to come to see us instead of writing. It is so much pleasanter for
friends--"
"Oh, it was not kind," he said, interrupting her. "In fact, it was
selfishness. And now I want to tell you quickly, Miss Asher, while I
have the chance, the reason of my coming here to-day. It was not to
offer you my congratulations or my sympathy, although you must know that
I feel for you and your uncle as much in every way as any living being
can feel. I came to offer my love. I have loved you almost ever since I
knew you as much as any man can love a woman, and whenever I have been
with you I could hardly hold myself back from telling you. But I was
strong, and I did not speak, for I knew you did not love me."
Olive was listening, looking steadily at him.
"No," she said, "I did not love you."
He paid no attention to this remark, as if it related to something which
he knew all about, but went on, "I resolved to speak to you some time,
but not until I had some little bit of a reason for supposing you would
listen to me; but when I read the account of what you did in Washington,
I knew you to be so far above even the girl I had supposed you to be;
then my love came down upon me and carried me away. And all that has
since appeared in the papers has made me so long to stand by your side
that I could not resist this longing, and I felt that no matter what
happened, I must come and tell you all."
"And now?" asked Olive.
"There is nothing more," said Dick. "I have told you all there is. I
love you so truly that it seems to me as if I had been born, as if I had
lived, as if I had grown and had worked, simply that I might be able to
come to you and say, I love you. And now that I have told you this, I
hope that I have not pained you."
"You have not pained me," said Olive, "but it is right that I should say
to you that I do not love you." She said this very quietly and gently,
but there was sadness in her tones.
Dick Lancaster sprang up, and stood before her. "Then let me love you"
he cried. "Do not deny me that! Do not take the life out of me! the soul
out of me! Do not turn me away into utter blackness! Do not say I shall
not love you!"
Olive's clear, thoughtful eyes were looking into his. "I believe you
love me," she answered slowly. "I believe every word you say. But what I
say is also true. I will admit that I have asked myself if I could love
you. There was a time when I was in great trouble, when I believed that
it might be possible for me to marry some one without loving him, but I
never thought that about _you_. You were different. I could not have
married you without loving you. I believe you knew that, and so you did
not ask me."
His voice was husky when he spoke again.
"But you do not answer me," he said. "You have seen into my very soul.
May I love you?"
She still looked into his glowing eyes, but she did not speak. It was
with herself she was communing, not with him.
But there was something in the eyes which looked into his which made his
heart leap, and he leaned forward.
"Olive," he whispered, "can you not love me?"
Her lips appeared as if they were about to move, but they did not, and
in the next moment they could not. He had her in his arms.
Poor foolish, lovely Olive! She thought she was so strong. She imagined
that she knew herself so well. She had seen so much; she had been so
far; she had known so many things and people that she had come to look
upon herself as the decider of her own destiny. She had come to believe
so much in herself and in her cold heart that she was not afraid to
listen to the words of a burning heart! _Her_ heart could keep so cool!
And now, in a flash, the fire had spread! The coolest hearts are often
made of tinder.
Poor foolish, lovely, happy Olive! She scarcely understood what had
happened to her. She only knew that she had been born and had lived, and
had grown, that he might come to her and say he loved her. What had she
been thinking of all this time?
"You are so quick," she said, as she put back some of her disheveled
hair.
"Dearest," he whispered, "it seems to me as if I had been so slow, so
slow, so very slow!"
It was a long time before Captain Asher returned, and when he entered
the parlor he found these two still there. They had been sitting by the
window, and when they came forward to meet him Dick's arm was around the
waist of Olive. The captain looked at them for a moment, and then he
gave a shout, and encircled them both in his great arms.
When they were cool enough to sit down and Olive and Dick had ceased
trying to persuade the captain that he was not the happiest of the
three, Olive said to him: "I have told Dick everything--about the
air-gun and all. Of course, he must know it."
"And I have been looking at you," said Dick, putting his hand upon the
captain's shoulder, "as the only hero I have ever met. Not only for what
you have done, but for what you have refrained from doing."
"Nonsense!" said the captain. "Olive now--"
"Oh! Olive is Olive!" said Dick. And he did not mind in the least that
the captain was present.
* * * * *
It was on the next afternoon that the Broadstone carriage stopped at the
toll-gate. Mrs. Easterfield sprang out of it, asking for nobody, for she
had spied Olive in the arbor.
"It seems to me," she said, as she burst into tears and took the girl
into her arms, "it does seem to me as if I were your own mother!"
"The only one I have," said Olive, "and very dear!"
It was some time after this that Mrs. Easterfield was calm enough to
stop the flow of exciting conversation and to say to Olive, taking both
her hands tenderly within her own: "My dear, we have been talking a
great deal of sentiment, and now I want seriously to speak to you on a
matter of business."
"Business!" asked Olive in surprise.
"Yes, it is really business from your point of view; and I have come
round to that point of view myself. Olive, I want you to marry!"
"Oh," said Olive, "that is it, is it? That is what you call business?"
"Yes, dear; I am now looking at your future, and at marriage in the very
sensible way you regarded those matters when you were staying with me."
"But," said Olive, who could scarcely help laughing, "there was a good
reason then for my being so sensible, and that reason no longer exists.
I can now afford single-blessedness."
"No, Olive, dear, you can not. Circumstances are all against that
consummation. You are not made for that sort of thing. And your uncle is
an old man, and even with him you need a young protector. I want you to
marry Richard Lancaster. You know my heart has been set on it for some
time, and now I urge it. You could never bring forth a single objection
to him."
"Except that I did not love him."
"Neither did you love the young men you were considering as eligible.
Now, do try to be a sensible girl."
"Mrs. Easterfield, are you laughing at me?" asked Olive.
"Far from it, my dear. I am desperately in earnest. You see, recent
events--"
"Dick Lancaster and I are engaged to be married," said Olive demurely,
not waiting for the end of that sentence. "And," she added, laughing at
Mrs. Easterfield's astonished countenance, "I have not yet considered
whether or not it is sensible."
After Mrs. Easterfield had given a half dozen kisses to partly express
her pleasure, she said: "And where is he now? I must see him!"
"He went back to his college late last night; it was impossible for him
to stay here any longer at present."
As Mrs. Easterfield was going away--she had waited and waited for the
captain who had not come--Olive detained her.
"You are so dear," she said, "that I must tell you a great thing." And
then she told the story of the two men in the barouche.
Mrs. Easterfield turned pale, and sat down again. She had actually lost
her self-possession. She made Olive tell her the story over and over
again. "It is too much," she said, "for one day. I am glad the captain
is not here, I would not know what to say to him. I may tell Tom?" she
said. "I must tell him; he will be silent as a rock."
Olive smiled. "Yes, you may tell Tom," she said.
"I have told Dick, but on no account must Harry ever know anything
about it."
Mrs. Easterfield looked at her in amazement. That the girl could joke at
such a moment!
When the captain came home Olive told him how she had entrusted the
great secret to Mrs. Easterfield and her husband.
"Well," said he, "I intended to tell you, but haven't had a chance yet,
that I spoke of the matter to Mrs. Faulkner. So I have told two persons
and you have told three, and I suppose that is about the proportion in
which men and women keep secrets."
Read next: Chapter 37. In Which Some Great Changes Are Recorded
Read previous: Chapter 35. The Dorcas On Guard
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