“You, sir! I want to see you! Come hither!” said Mrs. Houston, as
she stood upon the back piazza, early the next morning, and beckoned
Forrest to her presence.
The old man bowed in his deferential manner, advanced and stood hat in
hand before the little lady.
“Where did you go last night after we had all retired?”
Forrest bowed again, humbly and deprecatingly, but remained silent.
“Did you hear me speak to you?” inquired Mrs. Houston, impatiently.
The old man bowed once more very meekly, and answered:
“I went after no harm, mistress.”
“Nor after any good, I’ll venture to say!--but that is not the point,
sir. I ask you where you went! and I intend to have an answer.”
“I begs your pardon sincere, mistress, but mus’ ’cline for to ’form
you.”
“You old villain! Do you dare to defy me here on my own premises?
I’ll see about this!” exclaimed the lady, in a voice more shrill than
ladylike, as with a flushed face and excited air she turned into the
house to summon Colonel Houston.
But she was intercepted by Margaret, who had heard the voice, and now
came from her own apartment and stood before her.
“Stay, Mrs. Houston, I sent Forrest away on an errand, last night, and
if he declined to inform you whither he went, it was from no disrespect
to you; but from fidelity to me. I had enjoined him not to speak to any
one of his errand,” she said, in a voice and manner so respectful as to
take away everything offensive from her words.
“You did! Now then where did you send him, Margaret? I am your
guardian, and I have a right to know.”
“You must forgive me, Mrs. Houston, if I decline to inform you,”
replied the maiden, firmly, though still very respectfully.
“I know, however. It was to mail that letter.”
“You must draw your own conclusions, dear madam.”
“I know it was to mail that letter! And I will put on my bonnet and
drive over to the post office, and demand of the postmaster to whom the
letter mailed last night by the negro Forrest was directed! There’s not
so many letters go to that little office but what he will be able to
recollect!” exclaimed Mrs. Houston, angrily.
“Oh, God!”
The words breathed forth possessed so much of prayerful woe that the
little lady half started, and turned back to see Margaret grow pale and
sink upon the corner of the hall settee.
Mrs. Houston hesitated between her curiosity and anger on the one hand,
and her pity on the other. Finally she made a compromise. Coming to
Margaret’s side, she said:
“Maggie, I am treated abominably, standing as I do in your mother’s
place toward you, and being as I am your guardian--abominably! Now I
am sure I do not wish to pry into your correspondence, unless it is an
improper one.”
“Mrs. Houston, my mother’s daughter could not have an improper
correspondence, as you should be the first to feel assured.”
“Yet, Margaret, as it appears to me, if this correspondence were
proper, you would not be so solicitous to conceal it from me.”
It occurred to Margaret to reply, “Mrs. Houston, suppose that I
were writing sentimental letters to a female friend, which might
not be really wrong, yet which I should not like to expose to your
ridicule, would I not, in such a case, even though it were a proper
correspondence, be solicitous to conceal it from you?”--but her exact
truthfulness prevented her from putting this supposititious case, and
as she did not in any other manner reply, Mrs. Houston continued:
“So you see, Margaret, that you force me to investigate this matter,
and I shall, therefore, immediately after breakfast, proceed to the
village to make inquiries at the post office.” And having announced
this resolution, the lady, still struggling with her feelings of
displeasure, left the hall.
Margaret withdrew to her own sitting-room, and threw herself upon her
knees to pray. Soon rising she touched the bell and summoned Forrest.
The old man came in looking very sorrowful.
“How did it become known that you left the premises last night,
Forrest?”
“Somebody must o’ ’spicioned me, chile, an’ been on de watch.”
“Yes! yes! I see now! that was it; but, Forrest, this is what I called
you to say: In future, whenever Mrs. Houston asks you a question about
your services to your mistress, refer her to me.”
“Yes, Miss Marget.”
“You may go now.”
“Pardon, Miss Marget; I wants to say somefin as’ll set your min’ at
ease ’bout dat letter.”
“Ah, yes, you mailed it?”
“True for you, Miss Marget; but listen; de pos’ office was shet up.
So I jes drap de letter inter de letter-box. Same minit der was two
colored boys an’ a white man drap as many as five or six letters in
long o’ mine. So even ef de pos’masser could o’ see me t’rough de
winder, which he couldn’t, how he gwine know which letter ’mong de
half-dozen I drap in?”
“True! true! true! Oh, that was very providential! Oh, thank Heaven!”
exclaimed Margaret, fervently clasping her hands.
The old man bowed and retired.
After breakfast, Mrs. Houston, without explaining the motive of her
journey to any one, ordered her carriage, and drove to the village as
upon a shopping excursion.
Now you have not known Mrs. Nellie Houston thus long without
discovering that with some good qualities, she was, in some respects,
a very silly woman. She drove up to the post office, and by her
indiscreet questions respecting “a certain letter mailed the night
before by Forrest, the messenger of her ward, Miss Helmstedt,” set
the weak-headed young postmaster to wondering, conjecturing and
speculating. And when she found that he could give her no satisfaction
in respect of the letter, she made matters worse by directing him to
detain any letters sent there by her ward, Miss Helmstedt, unless such
letters happened to be directed to a Helmstedt or a Houston, who were
the only correspondents of Miss Helmstedt recognized by her family.
The postmaster thereupon informed Mrs. Houston, that if she wished
to interfere with the correspondence of her ward, she must do so at
her own discretion, and necessarily before they should be sent to his
office, as he had no authority to detain letters sent thither to be
mailed, and might even be subjected to prosecution for so doing.
Mrs. Houston went away baffled and angered, and also totally
unconscious of the serious mischief she had set on foot.
To an idle and shallow young man she had spoken indiscreetly of the
young maiden whose orphanage she had promised to cherish and defend,
exposing her actions to suspicion and her character to speculation. She
had left the spotless name of Margaret Helmstedt a theme of low village
gossip.
And thus having done as much evil as any foolish woman could well do in
an hour, she entered her carriage, and with the solemn conviction of
having discharged her duty, drove home to the Bluff.
“God defend me, only, from my friends, for of my enemies I can myself
take care,” prayed one who seemed to have known this world right well.
From that day Margaret Helmstedt, whenever she had occasion to write
a letter, took care to turn the key of her room door; and whenever
she had occasion to mail one, took equal precaution to give it,
unperceived, into the hands of Forrest, with directions that he should
drop it into the letter-box at a moment when he should see other
letters, from other sources, going in. Poor girl! she was slowly
acquiring an art hateful to her soul. And one also that did not avail
her greatly. For notwithstanding all her precautions, the report
crept about that Miss Helmstedt had a secret correspondent, very much
disapproved of by her friends. And in course of time also, the name
of this correspondent transpired. And this is the manner in which it
happened. Young Simpson, the postmaster, to whom Mrs. Houston had so
imprudently given a portion of her confidence, found his curiosity
piqued to discover who this forbidden correspondent might be, and after
weeks of patient waiting, convinced himself that the letters addressed
in a fair Italian hand to a certain person were those dropped into the
box by Miss Helmstedt’s messenger, old Forrest. A few more observations
confirmed this conviction. Then wishing to gain consequence in the
eyes of Mrs. Houston, he availed himself of the first opportunity
presented by the presence of that lady at the office to inform her of
the discovery he had made.
“You are sure that is the name?” inquired the lady, in surprise.
“Yes, madam, that is the name, in a regular slanting hand. I always
find a letter bearing that name in the box the moment after that old
man has been seen about here, and never at any other time.”
“Very well; I thank you for your information; but mind! pray do not
speak of this matter to any one but myself; for I would not like to
have this subject discussed in town,” said Mrs. Houston.
“Oh, certainly not, madam! You may rely on me,” replied the young man,
who, in half an hour afterward, laughed over the whole affair with
a companion, both making very merry over the idea that the wealthy
heiress, Miss Helmstedt, should be engaged to one lover and in private
correspondence with another.
And so the ball set in motion by Nellie’s indiscretion rolled finely,
never wanting a helping hand to propel it on its course; and gathered
as it rolled. The rumor changed its form: the gossip became slander.
And every one in the county, with the exception of Miss Helmstedt and
her friends, “knew” that young lady was in “secret” correspondence with
a low, disreputable sailor, whose acquaintance she had formed in some
inexplicable manner, and the discovery of whose surreptitious visits to
the island had been the proximate cause of her mother’s death.
Could Mrs. Houston have imagined half the evil that must accrue
from her own imprudent conversation, she would have been touched
with compunction; as it was, hearing nothing whatever of this
injurious calumny, the guilty reveled in the rewards of “an approving
conscience.” She kept her discovery of the mysterious name to herself;
hinting to no one, least of all to Margaret, the extent of her
knowledge upon this subject. And in order to throw the girl off her
guard, she was careful never to resume the subject of the letters.
And the plan succeeded so far that Margaret continued, at intervals of
three or four weeks, to send off those mysterious letters, and thus the
scandal grew and strengthened. That upon such slight grounds the good
name of an innocent girl should have been assailed may astonish those
unacquainted with the peculiar character of a neighborhood where the
conduct of woman is governed by the most stringent conventionalism,
and where such stringency is made necessary by the existing fact,
that the slightest eccentricity of conduct, however innocent, or even
meritorious it may be, is made the ground of the gravest animadversions.
Mrs. Houston, unconscious, as I said, of the rumors abroad, and biding
her time for farther discoveries, treated Margaret with great kindness.
Nellie had always, of all things, desired a daughter of her own. In her
attached stepchild, Franky, she felt that she had quite a son of her
own, and in Margaret she would have been pleased to possess the coveted
daughter. As well as her capricious temper would allow her to do so,
she sought to conduct herself as a mother toward the orphan girl; at
times overwhelming her with flippant caresses and puerile attentions,
which she might have mistaken for “the sweet, small courtesies of
life,” but which were very distasteful and unwelcome to one of Margaret
Helmstedt’s profound, earnest, impassioned soul, and mournful life
experiences.
The malaria of slander that filled all the air without must necessarily
at last penetrate the precincts of home.
One day, a miserable, dark, drizzling day, near the last of November,
Mr. Wellworth presented himself at the Bluff, and requested to see Mrs.
Houston alone.
Nellie obeyed the summons, and went to receive the pastoral call in
the front parlor across the hall from Margaret’s wing.
On entering the room she was struck at once by the unusually grave and
even troubled look of the minister.
He arose and greeted her, handed a chair, and when she was seated
resumed his own.
And then, after a little conversation, opened the subject of his visit.
“Mrs. Houston it is my very painful duty to advise you of the existence
of certain rumors in regard to your amiable ward that I know to be as
false as they are injurious, but with which I am equally certain you
should be made acquainted.”
Nellie was really amazed--so unconscious was she of the effect of her
own mischief-making. She drew out her perfumed pocket handkerchief to
have it ready, and then inquired:
“To what purpose should I be informed of false, injurious rumors, sir?
I know nothing of the rumors to which you refer.”
“I verily believe you, madam. But you should be made acquainted with
them, as, in the event of their having been occasioned by any little
act of thoughtlessness on the part of Miss Helmstedt, you may counsel
that young lady and put a stop to this gossiping.”
“I do entreat you, sir, to speak plainly.”
“You must pardon me then, madam, if I take you at your word. It
is currently reported, then, that Miss Helmstedt is in secret
correspondence, ‘secret’ no longer, with a person of low and
disreputable character, a waterman, skipper, or something of the sort,
whose acquaintance she formed in her mother’s lifetime and during
her father’s absence, while she lived almost alone, on her native
island. Now, of course, I know this rumor to be essentially false and
calumnious; but I know also how delicate is the bloom on a young girl’s
fair name, and how easily a careless handling will smirch it. Some
thoughtless, perhaps some praiseworthy act on the part of this young
creature--such as the sending of charitable donations through the post
office, or something of the sort--may have given rise to this rumor,
which should at once be met and put down by her friends. But I advise
you, my dear madam, to speak to Miss Helmstedt and ascertain what
ground, if any, however slight, there may be for this injurious rumor.”
For all answer, Mrs. Houston put her handkerchief to her face and began
to weep.
“No, no, my dear Mrs. Houston, don’t take this too much to heart! these
things must be firmly confronted and dealt with--not wept over.”
“Oh, sir! good sir! you don’t know! you don’t know! It is too true!
Margaret gives me a world of anxiety.”
“Madam! you shock me! What is it you say?”
“Oh! sir, I am glad you came this morning! I have been wanting to ask
your advice for a long time; but I did not like to. It is too true!
Margaret is very imprudent!”
“Dear Heaven, madam! do you tell me that you knew of this report, and
that it is not unfounded?”
“Oh! no, sir, I knew nothing of the report, as I told you before! I
knew that Margaret was very, very imprudent, and gave me excessive
uneasiness, but I did not dream that she had compromised herself
to such an extent! Oh, never!” exclaimed Nellie, still and always
unsuspicious of her own great share in creating the evil.
“You said that you had thought of asking my counsel. If you please to
explain, my dear Mrs. Houston, you shall have the benefit of the best
counsel my poor ability will furnish.”
“Oh! Heavens, sir! girls are not what they used to be when I was
young--though I am scarcely middle-aged now--but they are not.”
“And Miss Helmstedt?”
“Oh, sir! Margaret is indeed in correspondence with some unknown man,
whose very name I never heard in all my life before! She does all she
can to keep the affair secret, and she thinks she keeps it so; but poor
thing, having very little art, she cannot succeed in concealing the
fact that she sends off these mysterious letters about once a month.”
“And do you not expostulate with her?” inquired the deeply-shocked
minister.
“Oh, I did at first, sir, but I made no more impression upon her than
if she had been a marble statue of Firmness. She would not tell me who
her correspondent was, where he was, what he was, what was the nature
of the acquaintance between them; in short, she would tell me nothing
about him.”
“And can neither Colonel nor Mrs. Compton, nor your husband, impress
her with the impropriety of this proceeding?”
“Oh, sir, they know nothing about it. No one in this house knows
anything about Margaret’s conduct but myself. And the rumor you have
just brought me has never reached them, I am sure.”
“Suppose you let me talk with my young friend. She means well, I am
sure.”
“Well, sir, you shall have the opportunity you desire. But--excuse me
for quoting for your benefit a homely adage--‘Trot sire, trot dam, and
the colt will never pace!’ Margaret Helmstedt takes stubbornness from
both parents, and may be supposed to have a double allowance,” said
Mrs. Houston, putting her hand to the bell cord.
A servant appeared.
“Let Miss Helmstedt know that Mr. Wellworth desires to see her,” said
Mrs. Houston.
The messenger withdrew, and soon returned with the answer that
Miss Helmstedt would be glad to receive Mr. Wellworth in her own
sitting-room.
“Will you accompany me hither then, Mrs. Houston?”
“No, I think not, sir. I fancy Miss Helmstedt prefers a private
interview with her pastor. And I believe also that such a one would
afford the best opportunity for your counseling Margaret.”
“Then you will excuse me, madam?”
“Certainly; and await here the issue of your visit,” said Mrs. Houston.
With a bow, the clergyman left the room, crossed the hall, and rapped
at the door of Miss Helmstedt’s parlor.
It was opened by Hildreth, who stood in her starched puritanical
costume, curtseying while the pastor entered the pretty boudoir.
Margaret, still clothed in deep mourning, with her black hair plainly
banded each side of her pale, clear, thoughtful face, sat in her low
sewing-chair, engaged in plain needlework. She quietly laid it aside,
and, with a warm smile of welcome, arose to meet her minister.
“You are looking better than when I saw you last, my child,” said the
good pastor, pressing her hand, and mistaking the transient glow of
pleasure for the permanent bloom of health.
“I am quite well, thank you, dear Mr. Wellworth! and you?”
“Always well, my child, thank Heaven.”
“And dearest Grace? I have not seen her so long.”
“Ah! she has even too good health, if possible! it makes her wild. We
have to keep her at home to tame her.”
“But see--I am housekeeping here to myself, almost. My dear father
has placed my maintenance upon the most lavish footing, and Mrs.
Houston has given to his requests in regard to me the most liberal
interpretation. See! I have, like a little princess, an establishment
of my own. This wing of the house, a maid and messenger, a boat and
horse; and my dear father has even written to have the carriage brought
from the island for my use, so that I may be able to visit or send for
my friends at pleasure,” said Margaret, with a transient feeling of
girlish delight in her independence.
“Yes, my child, I see; and I know that, in addition to this, you have
an ample income. These are all great and unusual privileges for a young
girl like yourself, not past childhood,” said Mr. Wellworth, very
gravely.
“Oh! I know they are. I know, too, that these favors are lavished upon
me in compassion for--to console me for--as if anything could make me
cease to regret----” Here faltering, and finding herself on the verge
of tears, Margaret paused, made an effort, controlled herself and
resumed: “It is done in kindness toward her child; and I accept it all
in the same spirit.”
“It is accorded in consideration of your grave and important position,
my dear girl--do you never think of it? Young as you are, you are the
affianced wife of the heir of this house.”
Again a transient flush of bashful joy chased the melancholy from
Margaret’s face. Blushing, she dropped her eyes and remained silent.
“You think sometimes of your position, Margaret?” asked the clergyman,
who, for his purpose, wished to lead and fix her mind upon this
subject--“you remember sometimes that you are Ralph Houston’s promised
wife?”
For an instant she lifted her dark eyelashes, darting one swift, shy,
but most eloquent glance deep into his face, then, dropping them,
crimsoned even to the edges of her black hair, and still continued
silent.
“Ah! I see you do. I see you do. But do you know my dear, that
something of the same discreet exclusiveness, reserve, circumspection,
is demanded of a betrothed maiden as of a wife?” inquired the
clergyman, solemnly.
Again her beautiful dark eyes were raised, in that quick, and
quickly-withdrawn, penetrating, earnest, fervid, impassioned glance,
that said, more eloquently than words would have spoken, “All that you
demand for him, and more, a millionfold, will my own heart, daily,
hourly yield!” and then the blush deepened on her cheek, and she
remained dumb.
“She, the promised wife, I mean, must not hold free conversation with
gentlemen who are not her own near relatives; she must not correspond
with them--she must not, in a word, do many things, which, though
they might be perfectly innocent in a disengaged woman, would be very
reprehensible in a betrothed maiden.”
Margaret’s color visibly fluctuated--her bosom perceptibly fluttered.
“Well, Margaret, what do you think of that which I have been telling
you?”
“Oh! I know--I know you speak truly. I hope I know my duty and love
to do it,” she said, in an agitated, confused manner; “but let us
talk of something else, dear Mr. Wellworth. Let us talk of my little,
independent establishment here. When I spoke of the pleasant nature of
my surroundings, it was to win your consent that dear Grace might come
and be my guest for a week. She would be such a sweet comfort to me,
and I could make her so happy here! If you will consent, I will send
Forrest with the carriage for her to-morrow. Say, will you, dear Mr.
Wellworth?”
“Perhaps; we will talk about that by and by. Margaret,” he said,
suddenly lowering his voice, “dismiss your woman, I wish to speak alone
with you, my child.”
“Hildreth, go, but remain in sound of my bell,” said Miss Helmstedt.
As soon as Hildreth had left the room, Mr. Wellworth drew his chair
beside the low seat of Margaret, took her hand, and would have held it
while he spoke, but that she, who always shrank even from the fatherly
familiarity of her pastor, very gently withdrew it, and respectfully
inquired:
“What was it you wished to say to me, dear Mr. Wellworth?”
“A very serious matter, my dear child. Margaret, I have no art in
circumnavigating a subject. I have been trying to approach gradually
the subject of my visit to you this morning, and I have not succeeded.
I am no nearer than when I first entered. I know not how to ‘break’ bad
news----”
“In a word, sir, has misfortune happened to any of my friends?”
inquired Margaret, with a pale cheek, but with a strange, calm voice.
“No; that were more easily told than what I have to tell,” said the
minister, solemnly.
“Please go on then, sir, and let me know the worst at once.”
“Then, my dear Margaret, I have been informed that you, a betrothed
wife, have an intimate male correspondent, who is neither your father
nor your affianced husband, and whose name and character, and relations
with yourself, you decline to divulge?”
Margaret grew ashen pale, clasped her hands, compressed her lips, and
remained silent.
“What have you to say to this charge, Margaret?”
There was a pause, while Mr. Wellworth gazed upon the maiden’s
steadfast, thoughtful face. She reasoned with herself; she struggled
with herself. It occurred to her to say, “My correspondent is a
gray-haired man, whom I have never set eyes upon.” But immediately,
she reflected. “No, this may put suspicion upon the true scent; I must
say nothing.”
“Well, Margaret, what have you to answer to this charge?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“You admit it, then?”
“I neither admit nor deny it!”
“Margaret, this will never do. Are you aware that you seriously
imperil, nay, more, that you gravely compromise your good name?”
Her pale cheek grew paler than before, the tightly-clasped fingers
trembled, the compressed lips sprang quivering apart, and then closed
more firmly than ever. It had occurred to her to say: “But this
correspondence is solely a business affair, with one of whom I have no
personal knowledge whatever.” But then came the reflection: “If I give
them this explanation, this ever so slight clue, these worldly-wise
people will follow it up until they unravel the whole mystery, and I
shall have proved myself a cowardly traitor to her confidence. No, I
must be dumb before my accusers!”
“You do not speak, Margaret.”
“I have nothing to say, sir!”
“Ah, dear Heaven! I see that I must not ‘prophesy smooth things’ to
you, my girl. I must not spare the truth! Listen, then, Miss Helmstedt:
Your name has become a byword in the village shops! What now will you
do?”
It was on her pallid lips to say: “I will trust in God;” but she
said it only in her heart, adding: “I must not even insist upon my
innocence; for if they believe me, they will be forced to find the
right track to this scent.”
“Margaret Helmstedt, why do you not answer me?”
“Because, sir, I have nothing to say.”
“Nothing to say?”
“Nothing--nothing to say!”
“Listen to me, then. You seem to have some regard for your betrothed
husband. You seem even to understand the duty you owe him! Think, I beg
you, what must be the feelings of a proud and honorable man like Ralph
Houston, on returning to this neighborhood and finding the name and
fame of his affianced bride lightly canvassed?”
It was piteous to see how dark with woe her face became. Her hands were
clenched until it seemed as though the blood must start from her finger
nails; but not one word escaped her painfully-compressed lips.
“I ask you, Miss Helmstedt, when Ralph Houston returns to this
neighborhood and hears what I and others have heard--what do you
suppose he will do?”
“He will do his own good pleasure; and I--I shall submit,” said the
maiden, meekly bowing her head.
But then in an instant--even as though she had heard Ralph’s voice in
her ear--there was a change. Her beautiful head was raised, her color
flushed brightly back, her dark eyes kindled, flashed, and she replied:
“He may hear, as you and others do, incredible things said of me; but
he will not, as you and others do, believe them! And I only dread to
think what his reply would be to any who should, in his presence, speak
with levity of any woman he respects.”
“Margaret, pause--bethink you! this is no idle gossip! It is slander,
do you hear? It is the venomed serpent slander that has fixed its fangs
upon your maiden name. I believe, of course, unjustly! but nothing
except an open explanation will enable your friends to exculpate you
and silence your calumniators. Will you not give them such a weapon?”
“I cannot,” she breathed, in a low tone of returning despair.
“Reflect, girl. Ralph Houston, when he arrives, will surely hear these
reports; for, in the country, nothing is forgotten. He may stand by
you--I doubt not with his unfunded faith and chivalrous generosity
that he will; but--will you, loving and honoring him, as I am sure you
do, will you, with a blemished name, give your hand to him, a man of
stainless honor?”
“No, no! oh, never, no!” came like a wail of woe from her lips, as her
head sank down upon her bosom.
“Then, Margaret, give your friends the right to explain and clear your
conduct.”
She was incapable of reply, and so remained silent.
“You will not?”
She mournfully shook her head.
“Good-by, Margaret; God give you a better spirit. I must leave you
now,” said the old pastor. And he arose, laid his hand in silent
prayer upon the stricken young head bent beneath him, then took up his
broad-brimmed hat and quietly left the room.
As he came out, Mrs. Houston opened the front parlor door and invited
him in there.
“Well, sir, what success?” she inquired, anxiously, as soon as they
were both seated.
The good old man slowly shook his head.
“None whatever, madam.”
“She still refuses to explain?”
“Ah, yes, madam!”
“In fact, it is just what I expected. I am not surprised. There never
was such contumacious obstinacy. Dear me, what shall I do? What would
you advise me to do?”
“Be patient, Mrs. Houston; and, above all things, avoid betraying
to any others out of your own immediate family the anxiety that you
reveal to me. ‘It is written that a man’s foes shall be those of his
own household.’ Unnatural and horrible as it sounds, every one who has
lived, observed and reflected to any purpose, must have discovered that
still more frequently a woman’s foes are of such.”
“Really and truly, Mr. Wellworth, that is a very strange speech of
yours. I hope you do not suppose that any one in this house is the
enemy of Margaret Helmstedt?”
“Assuredly not. I merely wished to entreat that you will not again
speak of this correspondence in the village post office.”
“But dear me, what then am I to do?”
“Leave matters just where they are for the present. There is nothing
wrong in this, farther than that it has unfortunately been made the
occasion of gossip; therefore, of course it must be perfectly cleared
up for Margaret’s own sake. But our interference at present evidently
will not tend to precipitate a satisfactory denouement.”
“Oh, how I wish her father or Ralph were home. I have a great mind to
write to them!” exclaimed Nellie, who certainly was governed by an
unconscious attraction toward mischief-making.
“My good lady, do nothing of the sort; it would be both useless and
harmful.”
“What, then, shall I do?” questioned Nellie, impatiently.
“Consult your husband.”
“Consult Colonel Houston! You certainly can’t know Colonel Houston.
Why, well as he likes me, he would--bite my head off if I came to him
with any tale of scandal,” said Nellie, querulously.
“Then leave the matter to me for the present,” said the minister,
rising and taking his leave.
Meanwhile, Margaret Helmstedt had remained where the pastor had left
her, with clenched hands and sunken head in the same attitude of fixed
despair. Then, suddenly rising, with a low, long wail of woe, she
threw herself on her knees before her mother’s portrait, and raising
both arms with open hands, as though offering up some oblation to that
image, she cried:
“Oh, mother! mother! here is the first gift, a spotless name! freely
renounced for thy sake! freely offered up to thee! Only look on me!
love me, my mother! for I have loved thee more than all things--even
than him, mother mine!”
Mrs. Houston, in her excited state of feeling, could not keep quiet.
Even at the risk of being “flouted” or ridiculed, she went into the
colonel’s little study, which was the small room in the second story
immediately over the front entrance, and sitting down beside him,
solemnly entered upon the all-engrossing subject of her thoughts.
The colonel listened, going through the successive stages of being
surprised, amused and bored, and finally, when she ceased and waited
for his comments, he just went on tickling his ear with the feathered
end of his pen and smiled in silence.
“Now, then, colonel, what do you think of all this?”
“Why, that it must be all perfectly correct, my dear, and need not give
you the slightest uneasiness. That our fair little daughter-in-law
regularly writes and receives letters from a certain person, is of
course a sufficient proof of the correctness of both correspondence and
correspondent,” said the colonel, gallantly.
“All that may be very true, and at the same time very indiscreet--think
of what they say.”
“Tah--tah, my love! never mind ‘they say!’ the only practical part of
it is, that in the absence of Ralph, if I should happen to meet with
‘they say’ in man’s form, I shall be at the trouble of chastising him,
that’s all!”
“Now, colonel! of all things, I do hope that you will not, at your age,
do anything rash.”
“Then, my pretty one, pray do not trouble me or yourself, and far less
little Margaret, with this ridiculous wickedness,” he said, drawing her
head down to give her a parting kiss, and then good-humoredly putting
her out of the study.
Colonel Houston, in his contempt of gossip, had unhappily treated the
subject with more levity than it deserved. In such a neighborhood as
this of which I write, calumny is not to be despised or lived down--it
must be met and strangled; or it will be pampered and cherished until
it grows a very “fire-mouthed dragon, horrible and bright.”
In such a place events and sensations do not rapidly succeed each
other, and a choice piece of scandal is long “rolled as a sweet morsel
under the tongue.” Margaret either ceased to write obnoxious letters,
or else she changed her post office, but that circumstance did not
change the subject of village gossip--it only furnished a new cause of
conjecture. And this continued until near Christmas, when Frank Houston
was expected home to spend the holidays, and a large party was invited
to dinner and for the evening to meet him.
Frank arrived on Christmas eve, at night. He involuntarily betrayed
some little agitation on first meeting Margaret; his emotion, slight
as it was, and soon as it was conquered, was perceived by his fond
stepmother, upon whom it produced the effect of reviving all her
former feelings of suspicion and resentment toward Margaret, for
having, as she supposed, trifled with his affections, and abandoned
him in favor of his elder brother. And this resuscitated hostility was
unconsciously increased by Frank, who, being alone with his stepmother
later in the evening, said with a rueful attempt at smiling:
“So Ralph and my little Margo--mine no longer! are to be married. Well,
when I went away I charged him with the care of my little love; and he
has taken excellent care of her, that is all.”
“You have been treated villainously, Franky! villainously, my poor
boy! And I am grieved to death to think I had anything to do with it!
only--what could I do at such a time as that, when her mother, my poor,
dear, Marguerite, was dying?” said Nellie, half crying from the mixed
motives of revived grief for the loss of her friend, and indignation at
what she persisted in regarding as the wrongs of her favorite stepson.
“However, Franky, dear, I can tell you, if that will be any comfort to
you, that I don’t think you have lost a treasure in Margaret, for I
doubt if she will be any more faithful to Ralph than she has been to
you!”
“Fair little mamma, that is not generous or even just!” said Frank,
in a tone of rebuke, tempered by affectionate playfulness. “Don’t
let’s imitate the philosophical fox in the fable, nor call sour these
most luscious of grapes hung far above my reach. Margaret owed me no
faith. My aspiration gave me no claim upon her consideration. She is
a noble girl, and ‘blistered be my tongue’ if ever it say otherwise.
Henceforth, for me, she is my brother’s wife, no more, nor less,” said
the young man, swallowing the sob that had risen in his throat and
nearly choked him.
“Oh, my dear Franky! my very heart bleeds for you,” said Nellie, with
the tears streaming down her face; for if the little lady had one deep,
sincere affection in the world, it was for her “pretty boy,” as, to the
young man’s ludicrous annoyance, she still called him.
But Frank wiped her tears away and kissed her. And the next moment
Nellie was talking gayly of the party she had invited to do honor to
his return home.
This festival fixed for Christmas was intended to come off the next
afternoon. There was to be a dinner followed by an evening party.
As the family were still in mourning for Mrs. Helmstedt, dancing
was prohibited; but the evening was laid off to be employed in
tea-drinking, parlor games, cards, and conversation.
Mrs. Houston, as far as the contradictory nature of her sentiments
would permit, took some pride in the beauty, wealth, and social
importance of her “daughter” Margaret; and experienced quite a
fashionable, mamma-like solicitude for her favorable appearance upon
the evening in question. Therefore, without ever having had any
altercation with the pensive and unwilling girl upon the subject of her
toilet, Nellie, on the morning of Christmas day, entered Margaret’s
little boudoir, accompanied by Jessie Bell, bringing a packet.
Margaret, who sat by the fire quietly reading, looked up, smiled, and
invited her visitor to be seated.
“I have not time to sit down, Maggie; all those cakes are to be frosted
yet; the jellies are waiting to be poured into the moulds; the cream
has yet to be seasoned and put in the freezers; flowers cut in the
greenhouse for the vases; and I know not what else besides. Here,
Christmas Day, of all days in the year, that I should be working harder
than any slave,” said the little lady.
“I had no idea that you were so busy. Pray let me and Hildreth assist
you. We are both skillful, you know. Please always let me know when
I or my servants can be of any use to you, Mrs. Houston,” said Miss
Helmstedt, laying aside her book and rising.
“Nonsense, my dear, I don’t really need your services or I should call
upon you. I came in to bring you a Christmas gift. Your foolish little
mother-in-law, whom you refuse to call ‘mamma,’ has not forgotten you.
Jessie, open that box.”
The waiting-maid obeyed, and drew from it a rich black velvet evening
dress, made with a low corsage and short sleeves, and both neck and
sleevelets trimmed with point lace.
“There! there is your dress for this evening, my dear. How do you like
it?” asked the little lady, holding up the dress in triumph.
“It is very beautiful, and I am very grateful to you, Mrs. Houston.”
“‘Mrs. Houston!’ There it is again! You will not say ‘mamma.’
By-and-by, I suppose, you will expect me also to say ‘Mrs. Houston,’
and we, a mother and daughter-in-law, shall be formally ‘Mrs.
Houston-ing’ each other. Well, let that pass--‘sufficient unto the
day,’ etc. Now, about this dress. You do not, after all, look as if
you half liked it? It is true, I know, that velvet is rather matronly
to wear for a girl of fifteen; but then, when one is in mourning, the
choice of material is not very extensive; and besides, for Christmas,
velvet may not be very much out of place, even on a young person. But I
am sorry you don’t like it,” concluded Nellie, regretfully dropping the
dress that she had been holding up to exhibition.
“Oh, I do like it, very much, indeed. I should be very tasteless not to
like it, and very thankless not to feel your kindness. The dress is as
beautiful as can be--only too fine for me,” said Margaret.
“Not the least so, my dear girl. Consider,” replied the little lady,
launching out into a strain of good-humored compliment upon her
“daughter’s” face and figure, riches, position, prospects, etc.
Margaret arrested the flow of flattery by quietly and gratefully
accepting the dress. She would have preferred to wear, even upon
the coming festive evening, the nunlike black bombazine, that, ever
since her mother’s death, had been her costume. But, in very truth,
her mind was now too heavily oppressed with a private and unshared
responsibility, to admit of her giving much thought to the subject of
her toilet. Her neatness was habitual, mechanical; beyond the necessity
of being neat, dress was to her a matter of indifference.
Nellie next took out a small morocco case.
“And here,” she said, “is Colonel Houston’s Christmas offering to his
little daughter-in-law.”
Margaret opened the casket, and found a beautiful necklace and bracelet
of jet, set in gold.
“I will wear them to-night, and thank the kind donor in person,” said
Miss Helmstedt, putting it beside her book on the stand.
Mrs. Houston then bustled out of the room, leaving the young girl to
her coveted quiet.
Late in the afternoon, the Christmas party began to assemble--a mixed
company of about forty individuals, comprising old, middle-aged,
and young persons of both sexes. The evening was spent, according
to programme, in tea-drinking, parlor games, tableaux, cards and
conversation, _i. e._, gossip, _i. e._, scandal.
Among all the gayly attired young persons present Margaret Helmstedt,
in her mourning-dress, with her black hair plainly braided around her
fair, broad forehead, was pronounced not only the most beautiful,
but by far the most interesting; her beauty, her orphanage, her
heiress-ship, her extreme youth, and her singular position as a
betrothed bride in the house of her father-in-law, all invested with a
prestige of strange interest this fair young creature.
But, ah! her very pre-eminence among her companions, instigated the
envious to seize upon, and use against her, any circumstance that might
be turned to her disadvantage. Whispers went around. Sidelong glances
were cast upon her.
As a daughter of the house, she shook off her melancholy
pre-occupation, and exerted herself to entertain the visitors.
But matrons, whose daughters she had thrown into the shade, could not
forgive her for being “talked of,” and received all her hospitable
attentions with coldness. And the maidens who had been thus
overshadowed took their revenge in curling their lips and tossing their
heads, as she passed or smiled upon them.
Now Margaret Helmstedt was neither insensible, cold, nor dull; on the
contrary, she was intelligent to perceive, sensitive to feel, and
reflective to refer this persecution back to its cause. And though no
one could have judged from her appearance how much she suffered under
the infliction; for, through all the trying evening, she exhibited the
same quiet courtesy and ladylike demeanour; the iron entered her soul.
Only when the festival was over, the guests departed, the lights put
out, and she found herself at liberty to seek the privacy of her own
chamber, she dropped exhausted beside her bed, and burying her face in
the coverlid, sighed forth:
“Oh, mother! mother! Oh, mother! mother!”
The Christmas party had the effect of giving zest and impetus to the
village gossip, of which Margaret was the favorite theme. It was
scarcely in fallen human nature to have seen a girl of fifteen so
exalted beyond what was considered common and proper to one of her age,
and not to recollect and repeat all that could justly or unjustly be
said to her disadvantage.
This newly-augmented slander resulted in an event very humiliating to
the family at the Bluff.
Near the end of the Christmas holidays, Frank happened to be in the
village upon some unimportant business. While loitering near a group
of young men in one of the shops, he started on hearing the name of
Margaret Helmstedt coupled with a light laugh. Frank’s eyes flashed as
he advanced toward the group. He listened for a moment, to ascertain
which of their number had thus taken the name of Miss Helmstedt upon
irreverent lips; and when the culprit discovered himself, by again
opening his mouth upon the same forbidden theme, without another word
spoken on any side, Frank silently and coolly walked up, collared, and
drew him struggling out from the group, and using the riding wand he
held in his hand, proceeded to inflict upon him summary chastisement.
When he considered the young man sufficiently punished, he spurned him
away, threw his own card in the midst of the group, inviting whomsoever
should list to take it up (with the quarrel), mounted his horse and
rode home.
He said nothing of what had occurred to any member of the family.
But about the middle of the afternoon, he received a visit from the
deputy sheriff of the county, who bore a pressing invitation from a
justice of the peace, that “Franklin Pembroke Houston, of said county,”
should appear before him to answer certain charges.
“Why, what is this?” inquired Colonel Houston, who was present when the
warrant was served.
“Oh, nothing, nothing; only I heard a certain Craven Jenkins taking
a lady’s name in vain, and gave him a lesson on reverence; and now,
I suppose, I shall have to pay for the luxury, that is all,” replied
Frank. And then, being further pressed, he explained the whole matter
to his father.
“You did well, my boy, and just what I should have done in your place.
Come! we will go to the village and settle up for this matter,” said
the colonel, as he prepared to accompany his son.
The affair ended, with Frank, in his being fined one hundred dollars,
which he declared to be cheap for the good done.
But not so unimportant was the result to the hapless girl, whom every
event, whether festive or otherwise, seemed to plunge more deeply into
trouble.
When, after New Year, Franky went away, Mrs. Houston accompanied
him to Belleview, whence he took the packet. And after parting with
him, on her return through the village, she chanced to hear, for the
first time, the affair of the horsewhipping, for which her Franky had
been fined. Upon inquiry, she further learned the occasion of that
chastisement. And her indignation against Margaret, as the cause, knew
no bounds.
Happily, it was a long, cold ride back to the Bluff, and the sedative
effect of time and frost had somewhat lowered the temperature of little
Mrs. Houston’s blood before she reached home.
Nevertheless, she went straight to Margaret’s sanctum, and laying off
her bonnet there, reproached her bitterly.
Margaret bore this injustice with “a great patience.” That had,
however, but little power to disarm the lady, whose resentment
continued for weeks.
Drearily passed the time to the hapless girl--the long desolate months
brightened by the rare days when she would receive a visit from one of
her two friends, Grace or Clare, or else get letters from her father or
Ralph Houston.
Toward the spring, the news from camp held out the prospect of Mr.
Houston’s possible return home. And to Ralph’s arrival poor Margaret
looked forward with more of dread than hope.