Behind A Mask by Louisa May Alcott (the little red hen read aloud TXT) 📖

the voice that answered softly, “You are too kind, but I had better go; it is not wise to stay.”

“Why not?”

She colored beautifully, hesitated, then spoke out in the clear, steady voice which was her greatest charm, “If I had known there were sons in this family, I never should have come. Lady Sydney spoke only of your sister, and when I found two gentlemen, I was troubled, because—I am so unfortunate—or rather, people are so kind as to like me more than I deserve. I thought I could stay a month, at least, as your brother spoke of going away, and you were already affianced, but—”

“I am not affianced.”

Why he said that, Coventry could not tell, but the words passed his lips hastily and could not be recalled. Jean Muir took the announcement oddly enough. She shrugged her shoulders with an air of extreme annoyance, and said almost rudely, “Then you should be; you will be soon. But that is nothing to me. Miss Beaufort wishes me gone, and I am too proud to remain and become the cause of disunion in a happy family. No, I will go, and go at once.”

She turned away impetuously, but Edward’s arm detained her, and Edward’s voice demanded, tenderly, “Where will you go, my Jean?”

The tender touch and name seemed to rob her of her courage and calmness, for, leaning on her lover, she hid her face and sobbed audibly.

“Now don’t make a scene, for heaven’s sake,” began Coventry impatiently, as his brother eyed him fiercely, divining at once what had passed, for his letter was still in Gerald’s hand and Jean’s last words had reached her lover’s ear.

“Who gave you the right to read that, and to interfere in my affairs?” demanded Edward hotly.

“Miss Muir” was the reply, as Coventry threw away the paper.

“And you add to the insult by ordering her out of the house,” cried Ned with increasing wrath.

“On the contrary, I beg her to remain.”

“The deuce you do! And why?”

“Because she is useful and happy here, and I am unwilling that your folly should rob her of a home which she likes.”

“You are very thoughtful and devoted all at once, but I beg you will not trouble yourself. Jean’s happiness and home will be my care now.”

“My dear boy, do be reasonable. The thing is impossible. Miss Muir sees it herself; she came to tell me, to ask how best to arrange matters without troubling my mother. I’ve been to town to attend to your affairs, and you may be off now very soon.”

“I have no desire to go. Last month it was the wish of my heart. Now I’ll accept nothing from you.” And Edward turned moodily away from his brother.

“What folly! Ned, you must leave home. It is all arranged and cannot be given up now. A change is what you need, and it will make a man of you. We shall miss you, of course, but you will be where you’ll see something of life, and that is better for you than getting into mischief here.”

“Are you going away, Jean?” asked Edward, ignoring his brother entirely and bending over the girl, who still hid her face and wept. She did not speak, and Gerald answered for her.

“No, why should she if you are gone?”

“Do you mean to stay?” asked the lover eagerly of Jean.

“I wish to remain, but—” She paused and looked up. Her eyes went from one face to the other, and she added, decidedly, “Yes, I must go, it is not wise to stay even when you are gone.”

Neither of the young men could have explained why that hurried glance affected them as it did, but each felt conscious of a willful desire to oppose the other. Edward suddenly felt that his brother loved Miss Muir, and was bent on removing her from his way. Gerald had a vague idea that Miss Muir feared to remain on his account, and he longed to show her that he was quite safe. Each felt angry, and each showed it in a different way, one being violent, the other satirical.

“You are right, Jean, this is not the place for you; and you must let me see you in a safer home before I go,” said Ned, significantly.

“It strikes me that this will be a particularly safe home when your dangerous self is removed,” began Coventry, with an aggravating smile of calm superiority.

“And I think that I leave a more dangerous person than myself behind me, as poor Lucia can testify.”

“Be careful what you say, Ned, or I shall be forced to remind you that I am master here. Leave Lucia’s name out of this disagreeable affair, if you please.”

“You are master here, but not of me, or my actions, and you have no right to expect obedience or respect, for you inspire neither. Jean, I asked you to go with me secretly; now I ask you openly to share my fortune. In my brother’s presence I ask, and will have an answer.”

He caught her hand impetuously, with a defiant look at Coventry, who still smiled, as if at boy’s play, though his eyes were kindling and his face changing with the still, white wrath which is more terrible than any sudden outburst. Miss Muir looked frightened; she shrank away from her passionate young lover, cast an appealing glance at Gerald, and seemed as if she longed to claim his protection yet dared not.

“Speak!” cried Edward, desperately. “Don’t look to him, tell me truly, with your own lips, do you, can you love me, Jean?”

“I have told you once. Why pain me by forcing another hard reply,” she said pitifully, still shrinking from his grasp and seeming to appeal to his brother.

“You wrote a few lines, but I’ll not be satisfied with that. You shall answer; I’ve seen love in your eyes, heard it in your voice, and I know it is hidden in your heart. You fear to own it; do not hesitate, no one can part us—speak, Jean, and satisfy me.”

Drawing her hand decidedly away, she went a step nearer Coventry, and answered, slowly, distinctly, though her lips trembled, and she evidently dreaded the effect of her words, “I will speak, and speak truly. You have seen love in my face; it is in my heart, and I do not hesitate to own it, cruel as it is to force the truth from me, but this love is not for you. Are you satisfied?”

He looked at her with a despairing glance and stretched his hand toward her beseechingly. She seemed to fear a blow, for suddenly she clung to Gerald with a faint cry. The act, the look of fear, the protecting gesture Coventry involuntarily made were too much for Edward, already excited by conflicting passions. In a paroxysm of blind wrath, he caught up a large pruning knife left there by the gardener, and would have dealt his brother a fatal blow had he not warded it off with his arm. The stroke fell, and another might have followed had not Miss Muir with unexpected courage and strength wrested the knife from Edward and flung it into the little pond near by. Coventry dropped down upon the seat, for the blood poured from a deep wound in his arm, showing by its rapid flow that an artery had been severed. Edward stood aghast, for with the blow his fury passed, leaving him overwhelmed with remorse and shame.

Gerald looked up at him, smiled faintly, and said, with no sign of reproach or anger, “Never mind, Ned. Forgive and forget. Lend me a hand to the house, and don’t disturb anyone. It’s not much, I dare say.” But his lips whitened as he spoke, and his strength failed him. Edward sprang to support him, and Miss Muir, forgetting her terrors, proved herself a girl of uncommon skill and courage.

“Quick! Lay him down. Give me your handkerchief, and bring some water,” she said, in a tone of quiet command. Poor Ned obeyed and watched her with breathless suspense while she tied the handkerchief tightly around the arm, thrust the handle of his riding whip underneath, and pressed it firmly above the severed artery to stop the dangerous flow of blood.

“Dr. Scott is with your mother, I think. Go and bring him here” was the next order; and Edward darted away, thankful to do anything to ease the terror which possessed him. He was gone some minutes, and while they waited Coventry watched the girl as she knelt beside him, bathing his face with one hand while with the other she held the bandage firmly in its place. She was pale, but quite steady and self-possessed, and her eyes shone with a strange brilliancy as she looked down at him. Once, meeting his look of grateful wonder, she smiled a reassuring smile that made her lovely, and said, in a soft, sweet tone never used to him before, “Be quiet. There is no danger. I will stay by you till help comes.”

Help did come speedily, and the doctor’s first words were “Who improvised that tourniquet?”

“She did,” murmured Coventry.

“Then you may thank her for saving your life. By Jove! It was capitally done”; and the old doctor looked at the girl with as much admiration as curiosity in his face.

“Never mind that. See to the wound, please, while I ran for bandages, and salts, and wine.”

Miss Muir was gone as she spoke, so fleetly that it was in vain to call her back or catch her. During her brief absence, the story was told by repentant Ned and the wound examined.

“Fortunately I have my case of instruments with me,” said the doctor, spreading on the bench a long array of tiny, glittering implements of torture. “Now, Mr. Ned, come here, and hold the arm in that way, while I tie the artery. Hey! That will never do. Don’t tremble so, man, look away and hold it steadily.”

“I can’t!” And poor Ned turned faint and white, not at the sight but with the bitter thought that he had longed to kill his brother.

“I will hold it,” and a slender white hand lifted the bare and bloody arm so firmly, steadily, that Coventry sighed a sigh of relief, and Dr. Scott fell to work with an emphatic nod of approval.

It was soon over, and while Edward ran in to bid the servants beware of alarming their mistress, Dr. Scott put up his instruments and Miss Muir used salts, water, and wine so skillfully that Gerald was able to walk to his room, leaning on the old man, while the girl supported the wounded arm, as no sling could be made on the spot. As he entered the chamber, Coventry turned, put out his left hand, and with much feeling in his fine eyes said simply, “Miss Muir, I thank you.”

The color came up beautifully in her pale cheeks as she pressed the hand and without a word vanished from the room. Lucia and the housekeeper came bustling in, and there was no lack of attendance on the invalid. He soon wearied of it, and sent them all away but Ned, who remorsefully haunted the chamber, looking like a comely young Cain and feeling like an outcast.

“Come here, lad, and tell me all about it. I was wrong to be domineering. Forgive me, and believe that I care for your happiness more sincerely than for my own.”

These frank and friendly words healed the breach between the two brothers and completely conquered Ned. Gladly did he relate his love passages, for no young lover ever tires of that amusement if he has a sympathizing auditor, and Gerald was sympathetic now.