It was at the close of an evening party which both the Hunts attended,
and where Mr. Hammond's devotion was as marked as anything so modest
could be, that Sarah felt him slip an envelope into her hand, as he
put her into the carriage. Surprised as she was at the singularity of
the occurrence, and disposed to take offence at the familiarity it
implied, she had yet the presence of mind to conceal the missive from
Lucy, and talk about other things, until they were set down at home. In
the privacy of her chamber, she broke the seal and read her first love
letter.
It was a characteristic composition. If the strong hand had trembled
above the lines, the clear, clerkly penmanship did not witness to the
weakness. Nor was there anything in the subject matter that did not
appear to Sarah as business-like and unimpassioned. It was a frank and
manly avowal of attachment for her; a compliment implied, rather than
broadly stated, to her virtues; the traits that had gained his esteem,
then his love--a deprecatory sentence as to his ability to deserve the
treasure he dared to ask--and then the question! in plain black and
white, unequivocal to bluntness, simple and direct to curtness.
"As he would ask the price of a bale of goods!" burst forth Sarah,
indignant, as she threw the paper on the floor, and buried her burning
face in her hands.
"That there comes sometimes a glory to the Present, besides which
the hues of Past and Future fade and are forgotten, I must and will
believe. Such, it seems to me, must be the rapture of acknowledged and
reciprocal affection!" This was an echo memory repeated to her soul.
She saw again the gently gliding river, with its waves of crimson and
gold; breathed the pure fragrance of the summer evening; floated on,
towards the sunset, with the loved voice in her ear; the dawn of a
strange and beautiful life, shedding blissful calm throughout her being.
And from this review, dangerous as it was for one fleeting instant
sweet, she returned to the proposal that had amazed and angered her.
Lewis' undemonstrative exterior had misled her, as it did most
persons, in the estimate of his inner nature. Kind, she was compelled
to confess that he was, in remembrance of his goodness to her father;
his demeanor was always gentlemanly, and she had caught here and there
rumors of his generosity to the needy that prevented a suspicion of
sordidness. No doubt he was very well in his way, but he wanted to
marry her! With the intensity of her fiery spirit, her will arose
against the presumptuous request. It was the natural recoil of the
woman who already loves, at the suggestion of a union with another
than the man of her choice; the spontaneous outspeaking of a heart
whose allegiance vows have been pledged and cannot be nullified. But
she would not see this. Upon the unfortunate letter and its writer
descended the storm of passionate repugnance aroused by its contents.
With the reaction of excited feeling came tears--a plentiful shower
that relaxed the overwrought nerves, until they were ready to receive
the benediction of sleep.
Lewis had not asked a written or verbal reply.
"I will call to take you to drive to-morrow afternoon," he wrote.
"Should your decision upon the question I have proposed be favorable,
your consent to accompany me in my ride will be understood as a
signal that you have accepted my graver suit. If your conclusion is
adverse to my hopes, you can signify the same to me in a letter,
to be handed me when I ask for you. This course will spare us both
embarrassment--perhaps pain. In any event, be assured that you will
ever have a firm friend in, Yours truly,
"Lewis Hammond."
Sarah's lip curled as she reperused this clause of the letter on the
following morning.
"It is a comfort to know that I have not to answer for the sin of
breaking my ardent suitor's heart!" she said, as she drew towards
her the sheet upon which she was to indite her refusal. It was brief
and courteous--freezing in its punctilious civility, and prepared
without a pang, or a solitary misgiving that its reception would not
be philosophically calm. Her design was to intrust it to the footman,
to be delivered when Mr. Hammond called; and as the hour approached at
which the expectant was to present himself, she took the note from the
desk and started downstairs with it.
The sitting-room door was open, and, aware that Victoria West was in
there with Lucy, Sarah trod very softly as she neared it. Her own name
arrested her as she was going by. She stopped involuntarily.
"I thought Sarah a girl of better regulated mind," said Victoria, in a
tone of censorious pity. "Of course she suffers! It is the inevitable
consequence of an unrequited attachment. Such miserable folly, such
unpardonable weakness brings its punishment with it. But my sympathies
are all yours, my dearest. I only wish you were not so sensitive. You
are not to blame for her blind mistake."
"I cannot help it!" said Lucy, plaintively. "It seems so sad that I
should be made the means of depriving her of happiness. I wish I had
never known that she was attached to poor Philip. I can't tell you how
awkward I feel when any allusion is made in her hearing to the dear
fellow, or to our marriage."
"I meant it for the best, dear, in telling you of my discovery,"
replied Victoria, slightly hurt.
"I know that, my dear creature! And it is well that I should not be
kept in the dark as to the state of her affections. I only hope that
Philip never penetrated her secret. I should die of mortification for
her if he were to find it out. It is a lamentable affair--and I am sure
that he is not in fault. What did you say that you gave for that set of
handkerchiefs you showed me yesterday?"
"The cheapest things you ever saw! I got them at Stewart's, and they
averaged six dollars apiece! As to Mr. Benson, I trust, with you, that
he is as unsuspecting as he seems; but he has remarkable discernment,
you know. What I could not help seeing, before I had any other proof
than her behavior, is not likely to have escaped him."
Half an hour later the twain were disturbed in their confidences by
the sound of wheels stopping before the house, followed by a ring at
the door. Victoria, ever on the alert, peeped, with feline caution and
curiosity, around the edge of the curtain.
"What is going to happen? Look, Lucy! Mr. Hammond in a handsome light
carriage, and driving a lovely pair of horses! I never thought to see
him go in such style. How well he looks! Take care! he will see you!"
Both dodged as he glanced up at the upper windows; but resumed their
lookout in time to see the light that was kindled in his face when
Sarah emerged from the front door. He was at her side in a second,
to lead her down the steps, and his manner in this movement, and in
assisting her into the carriage, the more striking in one generally
so self-contained and deliberate, inspired the pair of initiated
observers with the same conviction. As the spirited horses disappeared
into the avenue, the friends drew back from their loophole, and stared
each other in the eyes, with the simultaneous exclamation--"They are
engaged!"
They were engaged! Lewis felt it with a glad bound of the heart--but a
minute before sickening in deadly suspense; felt, as he seated himself
by her side, that the sorrows of a lonely and struggling youth, the
years of manhood's isolation and unsatisfied longings, were swept from
memory by this hour of abundant, unalloyed happiness.
And Sarah felt it! As her hand touched his, at their meeting upon the
steps, a chill ran through her frame that told the consummation of the
sacrifice which was to atone for past folly; to silence, and brand as
a lying rumor, the fearful tale that bruited abroad the revelation of
that weakness. In her mad horror at the knowledge of its discovery, she
had rushed upon this alternative. Better an estate of honorable misery,
than to live on, solitary, disgraced, condemned and pitied by her
meanest foe! Now that the irreversible step was taken, she experienced
no sharp regret, no wild impulse of retreat, but a gradual sinking of
spirit into hopeless apathy.
Her veil concealed her dull eyes and stolid features, and to Lewis'
happy mood there was nothing surprising or discouraging in her
disposition to silence. With a tact for which she had not given him
credit, and did not now value aright, he refrained from any direct
reference to their altered relation until they were returning homeward.
Then changing his tone of pleasant chat for one of deeper meaning, he
said:
"I have dared to hope much--everything--from your consent to become
my companion for this afternoon. Before I ventured to address you
directly, I had a long and frank conversation with your father."
"What did he say?" asked Sarah, turning towards him for the first time.
"He referred me to you for my answer, which, he said, must be final and
positive, since he would never attempt to influence your choice. In the
event of an affirmative reply from you, he promised that his sanction
should not be withheld."
Sarah was silent. She comprehended fully her father's warm interest in
his friend's suit, which the speaker was too diffident to imply, and
how this expression of his wishes set the seal upon her fate.
"We are poor and proud! Mr. Hammond is rich and seeks to marry me!"
was her bitter thought. "It is a fine bargain in the eyes of both my
parents. It would be high treason for me to dispute their will. Mr.
Hammond has conceived the notion that I am a useful domestic character,
a good housekeeper and nurse, and he is willing to bid liberally
for my services. It is all arranged between them! Mine is a passive
part, to copy Lucy's sweet, submissive ways for a season, for fear of
frightening away the game, afterwards to attend to my business, while
he looks after his. I have chosen my lot, and I will abide by it!"
"Have I your permission to call this evening and inform your father of
my success--may I say of our engagement?" asked Lewis.
"It is best, I suppose, to call things by their right names," replied
Sarah, in a cold voice, that was to him only coy. He smiled, and was
about to speak, when she resumed: "Since we are virtually engaged"--she
caught her breath as she brought out the word--"I see no reason why we
should hesitate to announce it to those whose right it is to know it."
"Thank you! That was spoken like the noble, unaffected woman you are!
Will you always be equally sincere with me--Sarah?" His accent trembled
with excess of emotion in calling the name.
Is it, then, an easy lot that you have chosen, Sarah Hunt? You, whose
pride and glory it was to be truthful, who spurned whatever assimilated
in the least degree to deception, what think you of a life where a lie
meets you on the threshold and must be accepted and perpetuated if you
would preserve your name and position in his eyes and those of the
world. "It is the way two-thirds of the married people live!" you were
saying to yourself, just now. It may be so; but it is none the less a
career of duplicity, perjury--crime!
"I will endeavor to please you!" she faltered, her face in a flame of
shame and confusion.
And this was the hue that met Lewis' eye, as her veil was blown aside,
in her descent to the pavement, a blush he interpreted to suit his own
wishes. Mr. Hunt appeared in the doorway as she alighted, and read
in Hammond's smile and joyous salutation all that he most desired to
learn. When the door was closed upon the departing suitor, the father
drew his best-beloved child to him, and kissed her, without a word of
uttered blessing.
"It would break his heart were I to recede now!" thought Sarah, as she
bore hers--heavy, hard--up to her room.
That evening was the proudest era of Mrs. Hunt's existence. Two
daughters well engaged--unexceptionably paired off! What mother more
blest than she? Where could be found other children so dutiful? other
sons-in-law so acceptable? By breakfast time, next day, she had
arranged everything--Sarah's trousseau, her house, and the double
wedding.
Lucy expostulated here. "But, mother, this is the first of November."
"I know that, my dear; but the ceremony will not come off until
Christmas, and much can be done in six weeks for your sister--your
work is so forward. Then, again, 'tisn't as if Sarah couldn't get
everything she needs right here, if she shouldn't have enough. It will
be tremendously expensive--awful, in fact; but we must make sacrifices.
We can live economical after you're married and gone, and save enough
to meet the bills."
"If you please, madam, I prefer a plain outfit and no debts," said
Sarah's most abrupt tones.
"If you please, my dear, I understand my affairs, and mean to do as I
think proper," retorted the no less strong-willed mother.
Sarah was not cowed. "And as to the time you set, I cannot agree to
it. I presume that in this matter I have some voice. I say six months
instead of six weeks!"
"Very well, my love." Mrs. Hunt went on polishing a tumbler with her
napkin. She always washed her silver and glass herself. "You must
settle that with your father and Mr. Hammond. They are crazy for this
plan. They were talking to me about it last night, and I told them
that I would engage to have everything ready in time; but you must be
consulted. I never saw your father more set upon anything. He said to
me, private, that he did hope that you wouldn't raise any squeamish
objections, and upset their arrangements."
Mrs. Hunt took up a handful of spoons as composedly as if she had never
stretched her conscience in her life.
Sarah's head drooped upon the table. She was very, very miserable. In
her morbid state of mind she did not dream of questioning the accuracy
of her mother's assertion. That a marriageable single daughter was
a burden to one parent, she knew but too well; that to this able
financier the prospect of getting two out of the way, with the eclat
of a double ceremony that should cost no more than Lucy's nuptials
would have done, was a stupendous temptation, she also perceived.
But that the father whom she so loved; whose sickbed she had tended
so faithfully; whose lonely hours it was her province and delight to
solace--that he should acquiesce--nay more, rejoice in this indelicate
haste to get rid of her, was a cruel stab.
"Very well," she said, raising an ashy face. "Let it be as you say. The
sooner it is over, the better."
This clause was unheeded by her mother and sister. Had they heard it,
they might have understood it as little as they did the composure
with which she joined in the work which was begun, without an hour's
delay. In this trying juncture, Mrs. Hunt came out in all her strength.
Her sewing machine (she was one of the earliest purchasers of these
inestimable time, labor, and money savers) went night and day; she
shopped largely and judiciously, giving orders to tradespeople with the
air of a princess; "Jewed" her butcher; watched her pantry, and served
up poorer dinners than ever. Jeannie's winter outfit was ingeniously
contrived from her sister's cast-off wardrobe; Mr. Hunt's and the boys'
shirts and socks were patched and darned until but a trifling quantity
of the original material remained; and this pearl of mothers had her
two-year-old cloak and last season's hat "done over" for this year's
wear.
Foremost among the visitors to the Hunts, after this latest engagement
was made public, was Mrs. Marlow, the wife of Mr. Hammond's benefactor
and partner. Sarah was out when she called; so Mrs. Hunt received
her, and discovering very soon that in spite of her husband's wealth
and her splendid establishment, she was not, as Mrs. Hunt phrased it
to her daughters, "one mite proud, and thought the world and all of
Lewis"--the mother opened her heart to her so freely, with regard to
the prospective weddings and her material anxieties, that Mrs. Marlow
was emboldened to introduce a subject which had taken hold of her
thoughts so soon as she heard from Mr. Hammond of his expected marriage.
She had a daughter, resident for the winter in Paris, whose taste in
female attire was unquestionable, and her good-nature as praiseworthy.
If Miss Sarah Hunt would prepare a memorandum of such articles as she
would like to have selected in that emporium of fashion, she would
promise, for her daughter, that they should be forwarded in time for
"the occasion."
"Some friends of mine, now abroad, have kindly offered to bring me over
any quantity of fine dresses with their baggage," said the complaisant
old lady; "and, as I do not need their services for myself, I can
smuggle in whatever your daughter may order. You would be surprised at
the difference in prices here and there--to say nothing of the superior
excellence and variety of the assortment from which one can choose. My
friends will return early in December. Therefore, should you like this
arrangement, I ought to have the list and write my letters to-morrow."
Energetic, fussy, snobbish Mrs. Hunt! She stood an inch taller in
her shoes at the imagination of this climax to the glory of the dual
ceremony. "Trousseau ordered directly from Paris!" She seemed already
to hear the envious and admiring buzz of her set; saw herself the most
blessed of women--her daughters the brides of the season. She would
order for Lucy, also; for the longer the list the more importance would
the future Mrs. Hammond acquire in the sight of her husband's friends.
They could not know that it was not for her alone. Then, as Mrs. Marlow
intimated, it would be a saving. Here, like a cold shower-bath, came
the agonizing query, "Where was the money to come from?" It would
never do to run in debt to such people as the Marlows. If they were
hard-pressed shopkeepers, who needed the money, it would be another
thing. No! the cash in hand, or its representative, must accompany the
memorandum.
Sarah was secretly pleased at this obstacle, for she despised the
ostentation and extravagance going on in their hungry household. Strive
as she did, with wicked pertinacity, to conform herself to the world's
code, there was as yet too much of the ancient and better leaven left
to permit more than an outward obedience to the dictates of customs so
irrational and tyrannical.
That very evening there arrived a letter that settled the question,
and inflated Mrs. Hunt's collapsed spirits to an expansion hitherto
unequalled. It was from Aunt Sarah to her namesake niece; a guileless,
fervent expression of good wishes and unabated affection, and a request
from "husband" and herself that she would accept the enclosure as a
mark of that hopeful regard.
"Since our daughters died"--wrote this true and gentle mother--"we have
always intended to give you just exactly what we would have done one of
them, as a wedding present--as you were named for me, and I had nursed
you before your mother ever did, and you seemed in some way to belong
to us. But since you paid us a visit we have felt nearer to you than
ever, and seeing that the Lord has prospered us in this world's goods,
we have made up our minds to give you a double portion, dear, what both
of our girls would have had, if it had pleased our Father to spare them
to have homes of their own upon earth. Living is high in New York, but
we have calculated that what we send will buy your wedding clothes and
furnish your house."
The enclosed gift, to Sarah's astonishment, was a check upon a city
bank for a thousand dollars!
"Was there ever such a child for luck?" exclaimed Mrs. Hunt, clapping
her hands. "What a fortunate thing we sent you down there when we did!
That was one of my plans, you remember, Mr. H. Really, Lucy, our little
Sarah understands how to play her cards, after all. I never did you
justice, my dear daughter. I ain't ashamed to confess it. This puts all
straight, and is real handsome in sister Benson--more than I expected.
Go to work right away upon your list, girls! We'll have to set up the
best part of the night to get it ready. Ah, well! this comes of putting
one's trust in Providence and going ahead!"
Sarah thought, with aching heart and moistened eyes, of Aunt Sarah's
mind-pictures of the neat apparel and snug dwelling she deemed proper
for a young couple just beginning housekeeping, and rebelled at this
waste, this frivolous expenditure of her love-portion. Mr. Hunt sided
with her, so far as to urge the propriety of her doing as she pleased
with what was her exclusive property; but, as in a majority of former
altercations, their arguments and powers of endurance were no match for
the determination and mind of the real head of the family. With a sigh
of pain, disgust, and despair, Mr. Hunt succumbed, and, deserted by her
ally, Sarah contended but a short time longer ere she yielded up the
cause of the combat to the indomitable victress.