But what was Hortense Rieppe coming to see for herself?
Many dark things had been made plain to me by my talk with the two ladies;yet while disclosing so much,they had still left this important matter in shadow.I was very glad,however,for what they had revealed.
They had showed me more of John Mayrant's character,and more also of the destiny which had shaped his ends,so that my esteem for him had increased;for some of the words that they had exchanged shone like bright lanterns down into his nature upon strength and beauty lying quietly there--young strength and beauty,yet already tempered by manly sacrifice.I saw how it came to pass through this,through renunciation of his own desires,through performance of duties which had fallen upon him not quite fairly,that the eye of his spirit had been turned away from self;thus had it grown strong-sighted and able to look far and deep,as his speech sometimes revealed,while still his flesh was of his youthful age,and no saint's flesh either.This had the ladies taught me during the fluttered interchange of their reminders and opinions,and by their eager agreements and disagreements,I was also grateful to them in that I could once more correct Juno.The pleasure should be mine to tell them in the public hearing of our table that Miss Rieppe was still engaged to John Mayrant.
But what was this interesting girl coming to see for herself?
This little hole in my knowledge gave me discomfort as I walked along toward the antiquity shop where I was to buy the other kettle-supporter.
The ladies,with all their freedom of comment and censure,had kept something from me.I reviewed,I pieced together,their various remarks,those oracles,especially,which they had let fall,but it all came back to the same thing.I did not know,and they did,what Hortense Rieppe was coming to see for herself.At all events,the engagement was not broken,the chance to be instrumental in having it broken was still mine;I might still save John Mayrant from his deplorable quixotism;and as this reflection grew with me I took increasing comfort in it,and I stepped onward toward my kettle-supporter,filled with that sense of moral well-being which will steal over even the humblest of us when we feel that we are beneficently minding somebody else's business.
Whenever the arrangement did not take me too widely from my course,I so mapped out my walks and errands in Kings Port that I might pass by the churchyard and church at the corner of Court and Worship streets.Even if I did not indulge myself by turning in to stroll and loiter among the flowers,it was enough pleasure to walk by that brick-wall.If you are willing to wander curiously in our old towns,you may still find in many of them good brick walls standing undisturbed,and equal in their color and simple excellence to those of Kings Port;but fashion has pushed these others out of its sight,among back streets and all sorts of forgotten purlieus and abandoned dignity,and takes its walks to-day amid cold,expensive ugliness;while the old brick walls of Kings Port continually frame your steps with charm.No one workman famous for his skill built them so well proportioned,so true to comeliness;it was the general hand of their age that could shape nothing wrong,as the hand of to-day can shape nothing right,save by a rigid following of the old.
I gave myself the pleasure this afternoon of walking by the churchyard wall;and when I reached the iron gate,there was Daddy Ben.So full was I of my thoughts concerning John Mayrant,and the vicissitudes of his heart,and the Custom House,that I was moved to have words with the old man upon the general topic.
"Well,"I said,"and so Mr.John is going to be married."No attempt to start a chat ever failed more signally.He assented with a manner of mingled civility and reserve that was perfection,and after the two syllables of which his answer consisted,he remained as impenetrably respectful as before.I felt rather high and dry,but I tried it again:--"And I'm sure,Daddy Ben,that you feel as sorry as any of the family that the phosphates failed."Again he replied with his two syllables of assent,and again he stood mute,respectful,a little bent with his great age;but now his good manners--and better manners were never seen--impelled him to break silence upon some subject,since he would not permit himself to speak concerning the one which I had introduced.It was the phosphates which inspired him.
"Dey is mighty fine prostrate wukks heah,sah.""Yes,I've been told so,Daddy Ben."
"On dis side up de ribber an'tudder side down de ribber 'cross de new bridge.Wuth visitin'fo'strangers,sah."I now felt entirely high and dry.I had attempted to enter into conversation with him about the intimate affairs of a family to which he felt that he belonged;and with perfect tact he had not only declined to discuss them with me,but had delicately informed me that I was a stranger and as such had better visit the phosphate works among the other sights of Kings Port.No diplomat could have done it better;and as Iwalled away from him I knew that he regarded me as an outsider,a Northerner,belonging to a race hostile to his people;he had seen Mas'
John friendly with me,but that was Mas'John's affair.And so it was that if the ladies had kept something from me,this cunning,old,polite,coal-black African had kept everything from me.
If all the negroes in Kings Port were like Daddy Ben,Mrs.Gregory St.
