Chapter XVIII: "as Like as a Hand to Another Hand."

IT was a few weeks after Theo's marriage that Val came to Miss Nelson's door, saying, "Oh, auntie, my boxes are here; don't you want to see me unpack them? I know you will be wild over some of my pretty things. Come, there is a dear."

"Where are they?" asked Miss Nelson.

"I had them taken to my room. They will clutter up the place dreadfully, I suppose,—all that straw and stuff,—but Ary and I will clear it all away. I declare," she said, after auntie was comfortably established, "it is almost as good as buying them all over again. Isn't that a dear of a plate? That came from a funny little shop in Paris. And oh, my precious Belleek! Isn't it exquisite? I was so afraid some of it would be broken, but it is all quite safe. There! I perfectly love these funny little Holland dishes; they are so cheap there, too; but aren't they cunning? I want you to have some of them, auntie, so take your choice. I have some other things for all of you in that other box." And chattering away, Val turned over bit after bit for auntie's examination,—queer, quaint pieces of pottery, choice porcelains, or delicately-hewn marbles.

Finally, she drew forth an exquisite marble hand. Taking it in her lap, she looked at it very thoughtfully, softly stroking the delicate lines with her finger-tips. She sat still so long that Miss Janet recalled her to herself by leaning over and touching her shoulder gently.

"How far away is that hand leading you?" she asked.

"It is leading me," said Val, dreamily, "to a little, musty, dusty shop in Florence. We were coming from the Uffizzi Gallery one day. I remember it so well: just how the streets looked, and especially the ones through which we went; such old, old houses, with all sorts of things hanging in the windows; such pretty things that made one wish to be a savage to deck one's self with rings and chains, and all sorts of gold and silver filigree. It was a perfect day, the air palpitating with Italian sunshine and softness. Ah, I do love Florence! We thought we would buy some mosaics, and we went into one and another of the funny little shops. While Mrs. Westerly was looking over some other things, I caught sight of a pair of marble hands."

Val continued to stroke softly the still marble in her lap, and, for a moment, stopped speaking.

"They were such beautiful, beautiful hands," she went on. "I poked them out from behind a pile of stuff, and was admiring them, when Mrs. Westerly said we must go. We had to be at some special place at some special time to meet the Colonel. But I went back the next day, and the little dried-up man of the shop—such a strange, leathery, dark eyed creature—told me that some one else had been admiring the beautiful hands; so I was seized with fear lest they should be grabbed up, and I bought this one. I meant to buy both, but I was so tempted to spend money, and had been so reckless in mosaics that day, that I only had enough with me to buy one. I thought I would go back and get the other some day, for I could not bear to part them. But something happened to keep me from going, and we left Florence a day or two after. It was getting too warm, and Mr. Smith was afraid we should all be ill. I remember that is what hurried us off." Val paused, the dreamy look still on her face. "It was so lovely," she presently sighed.

"You have a stock of incidents to tell me which will keep you busy all winter. What pleasant evenings we shall have."

Val looked with a little appealing expression. "That isn't all," she said.

"About the hands? Well, do tell the rest. It is very interesting, dear. I should like to hear all about it."

Val looked down again. "After we left Florence,—after that we went back to Geneva. We—we—auntie, do you remember Mr. Egerton?"

"Oh, yes; you spoke of him several times in your letters."

"Yes, I know; and we met him first, you know, that night when Nan's first picture was hung."

"Yes; I remember you said so. I cannot quite recall him, but you were going to tell me some more about the marble hands."

"Yes, I know it. Well, we met Mr. Egerton in Geneva; he had been to all the places which we had been visiting; he said he heard of us many times. We had always just left, or we should have met before. So after that, we were continually meeting, and finally we travelled in the same party. Mr. Smith liked him very much, and it made it very convenient to have four instead of three; and Mr. Egerton knew so much about all the beautiful things we wanted to see; he was a perfect treasure trove. Oh, it was such a happy time! Auntie, you cannot think.

"In Paris, we all went to see Nan, and Nan was so glad to see us; and she told us all about Mr. Egerton, whom she has known a long time. He seems a very serious person, and so he is; but he has an amount of appreciation you would never suspect, and we always saw the same funny things, and would get into such fits of laughter over things that Mr. Smith and Mrs. Westerly never saw at all. So we grew to know each other very well, and in Paris, Nan used to go about with us, and—and—but, never mind, I won't tell that yet. I will after a while. Nan and Mr. Egerton knew so much about art and all that, they made everything very interesting. And Nan says Mr. Egerton is a very fine man, and Mr. Smith says so, too. But, oh, I shall never get to the end. Aren't you tired, auntie?"

"No, indeed. I am acutely anxious to hear the rest."

"Well, after a while we went back to Florence, and I remembered about the hand which I had hardly thought of during this time. So I rushed off to the shop the very first thing, and the man said,—

"'Signorina, it has been gone a long time. An American Signor came in and bought it the day after you were here. I told you, did I not, of his admiration? He, too, was disappointed, but what could I do? You will not like to dispose of the one you have, perhaps? For the Signor was very anxious for it.'

"'The idea!' I said, and I was furious. 'No,' I said; 'let him give up his to me. But are there no more?'

"'Not any,' he said. 'A young sculptor modelled them from the hands of the woman he loved; he was a neighbor of mine. I knew him well; the lady was high-born and wealthy, and he was poor, and he loved her; and these beautiful hands were all in all to him. So he would never sell them, and it was after his death that they had to be taken. He died in this house,—the poor young man,—and for a long time, I, who knew his troubles—his love—could not offer for sale those hands which were so dear to him. But I am a poor man, Signorina, and must make a living, and the hands were left me by the sculptor, who wished his debts paid.'"

"I suspect," said Miss Janet, "the old man had taken care of the sculptor, and had no other pay than the latter's effects."

"I am sure of it," replied Val; "for the man said, 'There was very little left. All had gone, bit by bit, to keep the young sculptor alive, and the hands were all that were left when he died.'

"And then," Val continued, "I felt very sorry that they were parted. I felt as if those hands, which had been so much to the artist, should have been kept lovingly together by some one who knew, and I was more than ever angry that I did not have them both. So I gave the man my address, and told him if ever the purchaser of the other hand appeared, I should like to see him. I thought, perhaps, he would be willing to sell me the hand he had, after he knew the story." Val paused again.

"Go on," begged Miss Janet. "I am very anxious to hear the outcome."

"It was so beautiful there," Val went on, somewhat irrelevantly. "Oh, auntie, you can never know till you go there, the dream-like beauty of an Italian night. I shall never forget how it looked as I stood with the Val d'Arno stretched out before me; for while I was standing there, looking, and full of a half sadness for the poor young sculptor, Mr. Egerton came in, and—Oh, auntie! It was he who had bought the other hand," and Val turned suddenly and clasped Miss Janet's arm with a little convulsive pressure.

"And then—and then," she said. "Oh, auntie!"

"And then," repeated auntie.

"There was only one way," confessed Val, "to reunite those hands, and—and I just had to promise to marry him."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Val looked up wistfully, saying, "Oh, auntie, I should have told you long ago—and Theo. But I thought it would make Theo unhappy to think of our both leaving you, and I couldn't bear to make it harder for you. It is dreadfully selfish, isn't it?"

"My dear little child," responded auntie, "I am so taken by surprise. No, it isn't selfish at all; but I cannot grasp it all at once. I shall become accustomed to the thought in a little while. I might have foreseen, and, indeed, I have always known you would leave me some day. If you have chosen as wisely as Theo, I have no fears for you. Where is Mr. Egerton now?"

"He is still abroad, but he is coming back very soon; he had promised to join some friends and go up the Nile, and so he left us. The Colonel knows: we told him right away, and he is perfectly satisfied; and you will be, too, auntie. I am sure you will, for, oh, auntie dear! All your counsel and Theo's and Archie's' have been such a help to me. I know, when I was very young, I was dazzled by certain qualities that are so worthless. But later on—since I have been old enough to concentrate my friendships and affections—I hope I have been wiser in my selection of friends. In those very first days,—when I first came to you,—what froth I thought wit, what imitation sparkle I thought real brilliancy, but since then I have learned so much."

"Such a wise little old woman," returned auntie, smiling. "But yours is a common experience, dear; and if, as one matures, one is drawn towards worthier and purer friends, it indicates that they are the most congenial,—the one which answers most truly to something within one's self. So, my darling, you have been stepping up all the time, and for that reason, I am very glad that you have waited till now before choosing your nearest companion through life. I hope—I so truly hope—he may be worthy of my precious little girl."

"He is," returned Val, earnestly, and with all humility; "he is far better and wiser than I. Very soon you will see for yourself. The Colonel says he has very high principles, and so does Nan. Oh, auntie, I was so jealous of Nan."

"Of Nannie?"

"Yes; I tried to be good about it, but as I look back, I suspect I behaved in a very silly manner sometimes, and I wonder Nan stood it so sweetly. You see Nan and Fred had known each other so long, and were interested so often in the same things, and they used to hobnob till it made me wild."

Auntie had to smile; and Val proceeded to finish her unpacking. Then she said,—

"Now, auntie, I cannot rest till I have told Theo. I think I will take the train to Parktown, and drive up to Preston this evening with Jack."

But an opportunity occurred earlier, when Mr. Johnson, the man who occupied the tenant house at Preston, stopped with a message from Theo, and Val returned with him.

She found Theo in the kitchen coddling half a dozen newly-hatched little chickens which she was trying to keep warmly covered in a basket near the stove.

"Why, Val!" she exclaimed. "What a nice surprise. I was hoping some of you would come over. I have such a lot to talk about and to ask about. These ridiculous little chickens won't stay where I put them; they get so lively in this warm corner that they hop right out, and the first thing I know they are all over the kitchen."

"The idea of chickens at this time of year," said Val, stooping down to look at the little fluffy yellow balls. "Aren't they dear little things, though?"

"They are; but their old absurd mother has no idea of the fitness of things. She stole a nest in the lean-to of Aunt Prissy's house, in a barrel near the chimney, and Jack discovered her; so we have to do the best we can with them. There, now; they can't get out," And Theo tied a thin cloth over the top of the basket. "Posie-Cossie thinks they are playthings,—Christmas gifts, coming a little ahead of time, very likely,—and he races them all over the place; so they have to be protected.

"What is the news, Val? Come in, and let me get you a cup of tea, after your cold drive. Jack will not be home till late; it is a busy time with him, so you will starve before supper-time. We'll have tea in my room, and it will be much cosier than down here in the dining-room," and Theo led the way up-stairs.

"I declare," she said, as they settled themselves in two big chairs before the fire, "we haven't had a good talk for ages. I have hardly seen you since we came to Preston."

"I have been over lots of times."

"Yes, I know; but there have been so many people around always,—the relations and all,—and we couldn't be confidential. Now, we'll have a nice long chat. Aunt Pris is inclined to treat me as if I were yet in leading-strings, so I have scarcely anything to look after. And the house was in such beautiful order,—you saw to that, my dear,—so it is very easy to keep it so, and I have a lot of time on my hands."

"But you're always busy at something."

"Oh, yes; one need not be idle. What have you been doing?"

"I have been unpacking my boxes this morning; they came up quite early."

"Oh, I wish I had been there. I do so enjoy seeing any one unpack."

"Auntie watched me, and we had a long talk. I'll tell you all about it," and Val proceeded with her story.

Theo listened with eager interest till Val made her final announcement.

"And you have never said a word about it all this time," she said, reproachfully, at the conclusion.

"No," and Val gave her reasons.

"It was very thoughtful, I admit. But all the same, I think it was as mean as could be. I wouldn't have thought you could keep it from me. I wouldn't have done you so," declared Theo.

"It was as much as I could do to keep it to myself," declared Val. "Oh, Theo, so many times I wanted to, but I was kept so busy over your affairs that my own were able to hide themselves away."

"And is he very nice? Of course he must be. Nobody could be as lovely as Jack, but I have no doubt he is quite nice."

"He is nicer than any one," protested Val.

Theo laughed. "Well, we won't fight over it. Aren't we like two babies? How did you come to like him, Val?"

"Oh, I don't know; he was different from any of the other men who are always tagging after one. I'll own several times I quite fancied one or another, but such little things turned the current of my affections, little trivial things would entirely disenchant me. There was one man, however, who for a time seemed quite to answer to my ideal; he was very companionable, and some friends of his were always telling me how honorable he was. 'A man to be trusted,' they said. And, yes, I quite fancied him for perhaps six weeks, and then I discovered that men who are honorable enough with men are not always so where women are concerned. I found out quite accidentally about an affair in which I think he acted abominably. He knew a girl was in love with him, and he kept on encouraging her interest in all sorts of ways when he did not care for her at all, and, as soon as I knew of it, I decided that he could not be sincere and noble all through and through, and after I made up my mind to that, his insincerity displayed itself in a dozen different ways. I could see by the way he regarded other transactions that he was not as honorable as his friends would have me suppose, and that was the end of my fancy."

"And the other girl?" said Theo.

"Oh, she will get over it in time, but I felt very sorry for her. I despise that kind of a man, and there are so many such. Oh, Theo, I think we are very fortunate,—you with your Jack, and I with my Fred, but don't tell Fred so. I don't want to spoil him."

Theo laughed. "I'll not tell him. I see you are the same old Val, and are bound to have your little imperious ways. Oh, Val, all you tell me of your travels makes me remember how I used to long to go over the face of the earth, and now it does not look as if I ever should go, and I am quite content. Isn't it strange? I wonder if you will feel so? When will Mr. Egerton be here?"

"He is coming in time for Christmas."

"Oh, that is something I want to talk to you about. I should so like to have you all over here, and yet I'm afraid auntie would rather we should all be with her at Roseville."

"We spent Thanksgiving with you."

"Yes, I know; but this is such a great big old place, and we could have such a nice old-fashioned time. Just sound auntie on the subject, won't you, Val? Now, tell me about Archie. I haven't seen him for a week."

"Archie is well, and seems to be a real settled down individual; he is so interested in his profession. We have good times together. We always did act like two idiots, you know. I am afraid it will be lonely for him when I leave. I wish Nan could take my place."

Theo shook her head. "Nan never will, and I think Archie sees now that it is better as it is. There are other happy lives for women beside a married one. Auntie proved that to me long ago. She has shown by example how sweet and full a life may be for a single woman, and even if I had not married, I hope I should not have been either useless or unhappy. If a woman cannot marry the man who will help her to the best use of her best powers, she would much better remain single, in my opinion."

"But we have found just such men," interposed Val. "We wear true heart's-ease, Theo."

"I hope so. I think so. I should never have been a shining light in the artistic, literary, or musical world, and I do not care for social success; so I think I have found my true place just here with Jack. Of course, I am fond of my friends, and think we all need outside influences to broaden us, but I shall see my friends quite often. I do not care for a great many, and so I am altogether satisfied. I wish my dear old Archie could be as happy; it is very mean of us all to desert him."

"Oh, but you haven't," returned Val. "You are so near, and he does take such comfort in having Jack that it takes away the sting; but with me—"

"When shall you leave us?" asked Theo, a little sadly.

"Not before next summer, and perhaps not then. I think we shall live in Washington, it will suit us both; and it is not so far away but what we can reach you often. You can spend winters with me, Theo."

"And leave Jack?"

"Oh, no; after a while, Jack will be able to take a little time, I am sure, and then you can all come,—auntie and all. I should like auntie to spend every winter with me, but I can hardly hope for that, though I really believe I can persuade the Colonel to do so."

"How you will like that? Dear old Colonel! I am always so glad to see him. It will just suit you in Washington, Val; it seems like you, somehow, and your living there suggests a decided appropriateness. But, oh, Val, though I know you love excitement and flutter and all that, I do not believe you will give yourself up to it entirely. One can do so much good in a large city."

"I hope I shall not forget," returned Val. "Fred would not be likely to let me; he has a 'heart for human woes,' and I think we can help some one to be happier and better. Oh, yes, Theo, I am sure you will like my Fred. We have talked over so many schemes together, and I do not think we shall make life nothing but a holiday."

"And you are happy?" said Theo, leaning forward and looking into the other's face, in which, of late, a new sweetness had come.

"I am very happy. Ah, Theo! It is only the separation that is hard." And then the two girls clasped each other's hands, and silently sat watching the glowing embers while the daylight slowly faded.

And not till Jack's voice broke in upon their reveries did they realize that he had come in, and that it was time for supper.

Of course, Jack had to be apprised of Val's news, and after teasing the girls by pretending that he had heard it long before from Mr. Smith, he acknowledged that it really was a surprise to him, and offered his good wishes in the heartiest way.