The Laurel Bush | Page 2

was no one to suggest that it might happen; no one to watch them
or warn them, or waken them with worldly-minded hints; or else to rise
up, after the fashion of so many wise parents and guardians and
well-intentioned friends, and indignantly shut the stable door after the
steed is stolen.
No. That something which was so sure to happen had happened; you

might have seen it in their eyes, have heard it in the very tone of their
voices, though they still talked in a very commonplace way, and still
called each other "Miss Williams" and "Mr. Roy." In fact, their whole
demeanor to one another was characterized by the grave and even
formal decorum which was natural to very reserved people, just
trembling on the verge of that discovery which will unlock the heart of
each to the other, and annihilate reserve forever between the two whom
Heaven has designed and meant to become one; a completed existence.
If by any mischance this does not come about, each may lead a very
creditable and not unhappy life; but it will be a locked-up life, one to
which no third person is ever likely to find the key.
Whether such natures are to envied or pitied is more than I can say; but
at least they are more to be respected than the people who wear their
hearts upon their sleeves for daws to peck at, and very often are all the
prouder the more they are pecked at, and the more elegantly they bleed;
which was not likely to be the case with either of these young folks,
young as they were.
They were young, and youth is always interesting and even comely; but
beyond that there was nothing remarkable about either. He was Scotch;
she English, or rather Welsh. She had the clear blue Welsh eye, the
funny retrousee Welsh nose; but with the prettiest little mouth
underneath it--firm, close, and sweet; full of sensitiveness, but a
sensitiveness that was controlled and guided by that best possession to
either man or woman, a good strong will. No one could doubt that the
young governess had, what was a very useful thing to a governess, "a
will of her own;" but not a domineering or obnoxious will, which
indeed is seldom will at all, but merely obstinacy.
For the rest, Miss Williams was a little woman, or gave the impression
of being so, from her slight figure and delicate hands and feet. I doubt
if any one would have called her pretty, until he or she had learned to
love her. For there are two distinct kinds of love, one in which the eye
instructs the heart, and the other in which the heart informs and guides
the eye. There have been men who, seeing an unknown beautiful face,
have felt sure it implied the most beautiful soul in the world, pursued it,

worshiped it, wooed and won it, found the fancy true, and loved the
woman forever. Other men there are who would simply say, "I don't
know if such a one is handsome or not; I only know she is herself--and
mine." Both loves are good; nay, it is difficult to say which is best. But
the latter would be the most likely to any one who became attached to
Fortune Williams.
Also, perhaps to Robert Roy, though no one expects good looks in his
sex; indeed, they are mostly rather objectionable. Women do not
usually care for a very handsome man; and men are prone to set him
down as conceited. No one could lay either charge to Mr. Roy. He was
only an honest-looking Scotchman, tall and strong and manly. Not
"red," in spite of his name, but dark-skinned and dark-haired; in no way
resembling his great namesake, Rob Roy Macgregor, as the boys
sometimes called him behind his back--never to his face. Gentle as the
young man was, there was something about him which effectually
prevented any one's taking the smallest liberty with him. Though he
had been a teacher of boys ever since he was seventeen--and I have
heard one of the fraternity confess that it is almost impossible to be a
school-master for ten years without becoming a tyrant--still it was a
pleasant and sweet-tempered face. Very far from a weak face, though;
when Mr. Roy said a thing must be done, every one of his boys knew it
must be done, and there was no use saying any more about it.
He had unquestionably that rare gift, the power of authority; though
this did not necessarily imply self-control; for some people can rule
every body except themselves. But Robert Roy's clear, calm, rather sad
eye, and a certain patient expression about the mouth, implied that he
too had enough of the