Miss Dawson

“ In the studio with its hint of the exotic, its canvases where pale figures raced through woodlands, its infinite yearning after beauty, its red fire burning, swinging lamps and gaping chairs, and against the window the muffled silence, Vashti looked like the materialization of a man’s desire. One arm was flung about the boy, her face leant against his shoulder, brooding out across the narrow distance at the man’s.
“How did we meet!” she echoed. “How does any one meet? In a fog, by accident, after loneliness. Sometimes it’s for better; sometimes it’s for worse. One never knows until the end.” ”

“ Vashti had been the enchantress who, by lifting her voice, had created his hopes and his despairs. Her voice had lured Desire from him in the darkened silence of the farmhouse. And now, with starry eyes, he was going to her that she might give him back Desire.
The coolness and rustling of trees! To his left a river black and silent To his right a rampart of houses, honey-combed with fire. Flitting on speedy errands, cars darted through the shadows with staring eyes. He caught glimpses of women, and of men who sat beside them. Men and women always and everywhere together! ”

“ They were both Mr George Dawson’s gift to the bride, Marion told Jean. Jean nodded and smiled.
“Yes, I know,” said she.
“Miss Dawson,” said Annie taking one step over the threshold where she had been standing all the time. “It is all your brother’s work, and you must let me say to you what I canna say to him. Though he had done no more good in the world, it was worth his while to live, to help in the saving such a lad as Tam Saugster.”
“They helped one another,” said Jean softly.
“Ay. That I can easily believe. There are few men like Tam when ance ye ken him.” ”

“ It was Mr Dawson himself he had come to see; and when they all came back, and the young folk had had their tea and were gone home together in the moonlight, her father had something to say to Jean.
“It’s a comfort that you can just leave it to Jean herself,” said his sister, when he told his news to her. Of what her own opinion might be she said nothing, nor was she curious to hear what Mr Dawson might think now about the chance that his daughter had of becoming the wife of Captain Harefield. “It is a thing that she must decide for herself; and indeed she will let no one else decide it.” ”

“ A strange woman—strangely maternal and beautiful! She never seemed to think of herself. The women whom he had known had always demanded that men should do all the giving. Even Terry had been like that. His conception, of love had been of a continual bestowing with no hope of reciprocity. To be allowed to give throughout one's life to the woman beloved had seemed to him to be the maximum of married blessedness. He knew better now. Lady Dawn had given so generously that she had established a new standard; he would never again ask so little from any woman. ”

“ Phemie saw it all from her young lady’s window upstairs, and she would have liked well to hear also.
“It is about Mrs Cairnie, Jean, my dear. Ye ken her daughter Annie went south last year, and her mistress promised to see her mother, when she came north, and would like to hear o’ her. I might maybe get to the gate with your help?”
“Certainly not. You are not able to walk so far. If a message will not do, it must wait.”
Miss Jean shook her head with a slight smile. She had seen “Miss Dawson’s grand air” before, and so had May, but her father looked at her amazed. ”

“ It was scarcely apathy; no eyes could be as bright as hers if the heart were apathetic. It seemed rather to be a resolved incuriousness about things around her, a turning away of the face from life, as from something dreadful, that had only pain to offer her. Could one imagine a human creature, with "a bright, sunshiny day after shipwreck," sitting beside an empty sea, willing to think of nothing that came before or after, but just to breathe, and watch, and wait—that was the kind of impression Mrs. Masterman made upon the mind. Arthur was always delicately tender with her. ”

“ Against the cold melancholy of the London sky, like silhouettes crayoned on a wall of ice, roofs and chimneys stood smudged. In flickering pin-points of incandescence street-lamps wakened; night came drifting like a ship into harbour under shrouded sails.
She had been sitting listening for a long time, haunted by childish fears that he would not come. At seven promptly a taxi panted into the square and drew up wheezing and coughing before the little house. Seizing her evening-wrap, she ran down the stairs and had her hand on the door before his knock had sounded. ”

“ Look at young Miss Jean. She has her ain thoughts, and they are no’ o’ the pleasantest, or her lace doesna tell the truth. And why didna she go to the marriage wi’ the lave?”
“Oh! it wasna as if it had been a fine wedding. It was to be very quiet. And Miss Dawson has Mrs Manners’ boys at Saughleas. She couldna weel leave them, nor her aunt.”
“Weel, maybe no’. But it canna please her to think o’ leaving Saughleas, and letting Marion Calderwood reign in her stead. It’ll come to that, though it seems the young folk are goin’ to the High-street in the mean time.” ”

“ Miss Jean found her soft flowing talk pleasant to listen to, and all the more that she did not need very often to reply. Mr Dawson was charmed with her, and it was not, as a general thing, his way to be charmed with strangers. But she was not altogether a stranger. Her husband’s name—Eastwood, the London banker—had long been familiar to Mr Dawson. He knew him to be a “responsible” man, and that was more than could be said of all the fine English folk, who found it convenient to pass a part of the summer or autumn at Blackford House. ”

“ And maybe I may—some day. We thought Miss Dawson was coming with you,” said Marion with a little change of face and voice!
“Jean? yes, I thought that too; but she had some good reasons of her own for staying at home. Her aunt is not just so strong as she might be, and she didna like to leave her. She’ll come soon, however. She is a friend of yours, it seems.”
“She was ay good to me,” said Marion softly, and there was nothing more said for a while. ”

“ That night Mr Dawson and Miss Jean sat long together, when the others had gone away, and for the most part they sat in silence. Mr Dawson had some thoughts which he would not have liked to tell his sister,—thoughts which he knew she would call wrong and thankless—which he would gladly have put away.
The good things of this life, the glad surprises, the unhoped for reprieves from sorrow, rarely come without some drawback of regret or pain. That he should have got tidings of his son; that he should be coming home, and glad to come ”

“ Miss Dawson’s book is not to be judged as other books. It will help the reader to a just appreciation of this wonderful woman’s work in letters if he understand beforehand that the world she sees is not the world we see; that her men and women are as unearthly as their environment, making no demands whatever on our sympathies, our affections, our admiration. ”

“ See yonder is Miss Dawson coming down the street.”
“Ay, she’ll be on her way to the house in the High-street, though why I should be bidden whisht at the sight o’ her, I dinna ken. And there’s one thing sure. Naebody has seen auld George on his way to the house yet. ”

“ She carried her hat in her hand. A soft wind played in her hair and loosened it in places. Her filmy white dress was all a-flutter. Mists began to rise from the marshlands, making us vague to one another. Traveling out of the east swam the harvest moon, nearing its fullness.
“Vi,” I whispered, taking both her hands in mine, “you don’t know yourself—you’re splendid.”
She laughed up into my eyes with elfin daring and abandon.
“You’re the kind of woman for whom a man would willingly die.” ”

“ Just then, below me I saw crowds of people running. "What is it?" I asked. "It means that in another instant they will commence to shell the town. Save yourself." "But Will—I must save some clothes, too! How can I go among strangers with a single dress? I will get some!" I cried. He smiled and said, "You will run with only what articles you happen to have on." Bang! went the first shell, the people rushed by with screams, and I awakened to tell Miriam what an absurd dream I had had. ”

“ Mrs Calderwood was not alone. Mrs Cairnie was with her, asking advice and sympathy for “a beeled thoom,” and Mrs Calderwood was in the act of applying a warm poultice to relieve the pain. In the poor old woman’s eagerness to tell her troubles to a new listener, the awkwardness of the first moment was got over. Nor was Mrs Cairnie in any hurry to leave when the interesting subject was exhausted.
“So ye didna gang up to Lunnon with your father, Miss Dawson? Ye’re wise to bide and let the great folk come to seek you. It’s a thankless job whiles gaen after them.” ”

“ But the moment they were seated in the car, she turned to him. She looked her full age. Her face was pale with more than weariness. He noticed the threads of gray in her hair. Ever since he had seen Ann in her flushed shy exaltation, he had felt more keenly the pathos of Lady Dawn. It was a pathos that found an echo in his heart—the pathos of approaching separation. What purpose did it serve her to be beautiful, if she had no man of her own to admire her? ”

“ But what are your plans? if it be fair to ask,” said Mr Dawson. Marion did not laugh, but answered gravely, “First I must make ‘a learned woman’ of myself, and that will take a good while. I used to think I would have a young ladies’ school, but I have changed my mind. Young ladies are troublesome, and I think I would prefer to teach boys.”
Mr James whistled. Mr Dawson said, “Well, and what would you teach them?”
“Whatever they needed to learn. I can hardly tell yet about it. But Mrs Manners has promised me her boys.”
“She is to lose no time it seems,” said Miss Jean smiling. ”

“ But the old habits of industry had lost their attraction; every day was a gray emptiness. His quietness seemed irrecoverable. She haunted him. Sometimes the wind was in her hair and her face was turned from him. Sometimes her gray eyes watched him cloudily, and her warm red lips pouted with tender melancholy. He saw her advancing through the starlit streets of Glastonbury, walking proudly in her queen’s attire. He saw her in a thousand ways; every one was sweet, and every one was torturing. ”

“ I am worth a fortune to poor Mr. Dawson. He is always sending me camphor, and sal volatile, and red lavender, and all kinds of abominable mixtures, but he can't cure me."
"Do you remember what Macbeth tells his physician, my lady?" asked Robert, gravely. "Mr. Dawson may be very much more clever than the Scottish leech, but I doubt if even he can minister to the mind that is diseased." ”

“ Fiesole leant more heavily against me, her arm encircling me, her head upon my shoulder. Now that the town slept, I could feel the wild clamor of her body and hear the fluttering intake of her breath. The wind, whispering through flowering trees, blew cool and fragrant in our nostrils. For intervals there was no sound save the rustle of falling blossoms and our own stealthy footsteps; from somewhere out in the pale dusk, a lamb would call and its mother would answer. ”

“ The table that had been reserved for her was next to mine, partly hidden from the public gaze by bushes; as I watched, I caught glimpses of her profile, and could always hear the lazy murmur of her voice and occasionally fragments of what was said. I followed her foreign gestures, her tricks of personality—all of them adorably familiar: the way she shifted her eyebrows in listening, sunk her chin between her breasts when she was serious, and clapped her hands in excitement. She was as simple as a child—in her heart she had not altered. ”

“ Mrs. Dawson spoke firmly to convince herself as well as her husband. "My dear, I have had enough of this. You were pleased—I repeat, pleased—with the idea of my running for senator, or I should not have accepted the nomination. Now, already, you annoy me with petty complaints and jealousies. I prefer being at home with you and the children, certainly; but I cannot neglect my business, or we should soon be in the poor-house. Nor can I make anything of a canvass without spending some time with the girls." ”

“ She ceased to rub the table, shook the cloth, folded it with nicety, the other girl speechlessly regarding her.
"He gives me these every day," Miss Dawson went on, and dashed a hand towards the violets in her breast. "He gave me this," she lightly fingered the turquoise and pearl pendant. "I don't wear his ring yet, our rules not allowing it."
She whisked off with her cloth to the screen, deposited it, reappeared. "His leave's up in six weeks," she said. "Him and me are to be married in a month; have a fortnight's fling, and off to India. ”

“ Beneath a tree in the clear sunshine a young mother sat sewing. Other men's women! Other men's babies! He would have to set out in search of his kingdom afresh; all his old quests had been mistaken. But he was older now and lame; he lacked the energy for a new journey. It seemed to him that he would be alone and unwanted always.
A telegraph-girl was mounting the steps. He heard the bell ring without interest. Gazing out, with his back towards Terry, he put to her what he intended should be his final question. "You promised him last night—then why did you hurry round to me this morning?" ”

“ The hair of both was the color of ancient bronze, dark in the hollows and burnished at the edges. The mouth of each gave the key to her character, becoming any shape that an emotion made it: petulant and unreasonable; kind and gracious and adoring. But there was this great difference: Desire’s beauty had youth’s conscious certainty of conquest; in Vashti’s there was the pathetic appeal to be allowed to conquer. Her throat was still her glory, throbbing like a bird’s and slender as a flower. ”