CHAPTER XXXIII.
A GREAT OFFERING.
Two days before the assizes, Andrew was with Alexa in her parlor. It was
a cool autumn evening, and she proposed they should go on the heath,
which came close up to the back of the house.
When they reached the top of the hill, a cold wind was blowing, and
Andrew, full of care for old and young, man and woman, made Alexa draw
her shawl closer about her throat, where, with his rough, plow-man
hands, he pinned it for her. She saw, felt, and noted his hands; a
pitying admiration, of which only the pity was foolish, woke in her; and
ere she knew, she was looking up in his face with such a light in her
eyes that Andrew found himself embarrassed, and let his fall. Moved by
that sense of class-superiority which has no place in the kingdom of
heaven, she attributed his modesty to self-depreciation, and the
conviction rose in her, which has often risen in such as she, that there
is a magnanimity demanding the sacrifice, not merely of conventional
dignity, but of conventional propriety. She felt that a great lady, to
be more than great, must stoop; that it was her part to make the
approach which, between equals, was the part of the man; the patroness
_must_ do what the woman might not. This man was worthy of any woman;
and he should not, because of the humility that dared not presume, fail
of what he deserved!
"Andrew," she said, "I am going to do an unusual thing, but you are not
like other men, and will not misunderstand! I know you now--know you as
far above other men as the clouds are above this heath!"
"Oh, no, no, ma'am!" protested Andrew.
"Hear me out, Andrew," she interrupted--then paused a little.
"Tell me," she resumed, "ought we not to love best the best we know?"
"Surely, ma'am!" he answered, uncomfortable, but not anticipating what
was on the way.
"Andrew, you are the best I know! I have said it! I do not care what the
world thinks; you are more to me than all the worlds! If you will take
me, I am yours."
She looked him in the face with the feeling that she had done a brave
and a right thing.
Andrew stood stock-still.
"_Me_, ma'am!" he gasped, and grew pale--then red as a foggy sun. But he
made scarcely a moment's pause.
"It's a God-like thing you have done, ma'am!" he said. "But I can not
make the return it deserves. From the heart of my heart I thank you. I
can say no more."
His voice trembled. She heard a stifled sob. He had turned away to
conceal his emotion.
And now came greatness indeed to the front. Instead of drawing herself
up with the bitter pride of a woman whose best is scorned, Alexa behaved
divinely. She went close to Andrew, laid her hand on his arm, and said:
"Forgive me, Andrew. I made a mistake. I had no right to make it. Do not
be grieved, I beg; you are nowise to blame. Let us continue friends!"
"Thank you, ma'am!" said Andrew, in a tone of deepest gratitude; and
neither said a word more. They walked side by side back to the house.
Said Alexa to herself:
"I have at least been refused by a man worthy of the honor I did him! I
made no mistake in _him_!"
When they reached the door, she stopped. Andrew took off his hat, and
said, holding it in his hand as he spoke:
"Good-night, ma'am! You _will_ send for me if you want me?"
"I will. Good-night!" said Alexa, and went in with a strange weight on
her heart.
Shut in her room, she wept sorely, but not bitterly; and the next day
old Meg, at least, saw no change in her.
Said Andrew to himself:
"I will be her servant always."
He was humbled, not uplifted.
