TROUBLES OVERTAKE THE BEST OF MEN.
"He is miserable once who feels it,
But twice who fears it before it comes."
--Eastern Proverb.
"Well, Edward, what in the world are you going to do? Why, I never heard
of such actions in all my forty years of life. A man of your honorable
principles to be in league with such men as you have just described; why
it just takes my breath away with astonishment, it certainly does."
Aunt Adeline gives the white head-dress on top of her head such an
excited rap that its position lent to her face a peculiarly fierce
expression quite foreign to her general air of amiability.
"Perhaps some means may present itself that will tide us over safely,
but it is very dark looking just now, very dark indeed."
"Well, they cannot do anything with you, can they?" aunt Adeline
inquires excitedly.
"No, my dear sister; only to have an old firm like ours go down seems a
pity. And, Adeline, I hope you will not be very much displeased at what
I did to-day." Mr. Litchfield speaks nervously.
"Now Edward, what have you been about again? You know how many imprudent
actions you commit. Tell me what is the thing now you think I won't
approve of?"
"This morning young Fanchon asked me to sign his note for three months."
Aunt Adeline stiffens visibly in her chair.
"What was the amount?" she asks coldly.
"Only three hundred dollars; and he said it would oblige him, as at the
end of three months he would get some money owing him. Of course it will
be all right you know," replied her brother in an off-hand tone, which
he is far from feeling, for the man Fanchon has long been losing ground
in public favor; and rumor said, if it were not for the senior partner,
Litchfield, the business would be done.
Miss Litchfield looks out the window, as she says slowly:
"You may be sorry, some day, that you did not take my advice. You know I
warned you about your marriage; you scorned my advice then; you know now
how it has turned out. All I can say is, it will be your own fault
either way, good or otherwise."
Mr. Litchfield gets up from his seat at the table.
"Adeline,"--his face is very pale as he stands before his sister--"let
what has passed rest. You have been a most faithful, affectionate sister
to me, and aunt to my girls, but from you, nor no one else living, shall
I take a word of disrespect about my wife." Then Miss Adeline hears the
door close, and she is alone.
"Well," she says, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her apron, "I am
terribly afraid Edward is getting a softness in the head; any man that
could feel no reproach against a woman who has wronged any one, as
Estelle Litchfield has wronged my poor brother, beats me more than words
can express."
The white curtains flap idly in and out at the windows; a white and
yellow butterfly comes in to light among the pink roses and white lilies
in the glass dish on the table. Zoe's voice comes from somewhere in the
garden, scolding her pet kitten for disgracing himself by persisting in
chasing imaginary flies over the flower beds. Jet Glen is whistling "The
girl I left behind me," somewhere near. Aunt Adeline hears the happy
young voices and sighs. Her brother's business has not gone altogether
straight lately; she does her best to keep his spirits up, but sometimes
her own heart nearly fails with anxious forebodings for the future.
"Edward seems to lose the use of all his faculties," Miss Litchfield
soliloquises. "There was that wealthy Mrs.--I won't say her name--but
any one could see with half an eye--was only waiting to change her name
to ours. Her money would have done wonders for Edward, but no one knew
what had become of Estelle, and so for the sake of her my poor brother
must needs lose all the chances that appear, and lose his health
worrying over his business affairs, seems too bad entirely."
An enquiring fly lights on the tip of Miss Litchfield's aristocratic
Roman nose. Now this is something appalling; never does she allow a
single poor stray fly to remain in those cool, shady rooms. The next
half hour is spent in ousting the enemy, and after that length of time
the viper is finally vanquished.
"Auntie, do you notice how very pale father looks?"
The dim shadows lie in long dark lines across the quaint old room. Zoe,
curled up by the window, is trying to catch the last faint rays of
daylight; but the dim light grows dimmer, and the words on the page are
no longer discernable.
"Yes, child, of course I've noticed it; who would not? and what the end
of it will be is more than my knowledge of the future can penetrate; I
have not the least idea."
Dolores' pretty grey kitten jumps up in Miss Adeline's lap.
"Get down, you nuisance," she says crossly.
"Come here, Moody, you dear, pretty thing, to Zoe."
Moody obediently goes sedately, with a look of injured dignity; she rubs
her glossy head against Zoe's arm, and plays with the tassels on the
window curtains.
"I will have to marry old Mr. Vacine after all, and his money bags will
restore the house of Litchfield to its former glory."
Miss Adeline is quick to take offence when one of her old friends are
being spoken lightly of.
"Mr. Vacine is too old for a child like you to jest about. Youth should
always respect old age," she says severely.
"Well, I never could see any sense in him living up there all alone in
that great gloomy mansion, when other people--any quantity of
them--would be willing to share the goods the gods have given him."
The little silver and marble clock on the bracket ticks the minutes
hastily away.
"I am glad to hear that; would you, my dear little friend, be 'one' of
the 'any quantity' you just spoke of?"
Both Zoe and Aunt Adeline are startled by the grave voice behind them.
Mr. Blois Vacine, past sixty years of age, and owner of the finest
properties in the town, seldom leaves his home of gloomy grandeur; and
Zoe mentally calculates, as Miss Litchfield goes forward to greet the
visitor, that something more wonderful than usual is about to take place
after this.
"Father home?" Mr. Vacine inquires, coming over to the window where Zoe
is standing. Evidently the power of speech has deserted the ever
ready-tongued young lady.
"No sir; yes--that is--I don't know," she stammers. She feels horribly
ashamed of herself for having spoken as she had done; and yet it was in
her own house, and if people can't say what they wish in their own
house, pray where would they? and another thing, it was decidedly mean
to come into a house without first ringing the bell to announce one's
coming.
"Oh well, probably he will not be gone long, and meanwhile you and I can
have a little friendly chat," Mr. Vacine says cheerfully.
Zoe politely asks if he will not take the easy chair aunt Adeline has
just vacated.
"And so you don't believe in people being mean and stingy with their
worldly gifts. But even wealth, after a time, grows monotonous; we very
seldom find the pleasure we expect, even in the success of our highest
ambitions. I am a lonely old man, my dear; once I had a dear nephew, of
whom I was too fond; I said something passionate; he took offence at his
old uncle, and left me. But never mind, I would be only too glad if you
would look upon my house and grounds as your own, to come and go in at
your pleasure."
Zoe's eyes dance, and her heart beats with delightful anticipation. The
dream of her life has been to be allowed to pass beyond the heavy iron
gates, with their fantastic guardians of lions' heads, and wander at
will in the dim, unknown depths of the paradise of flowers beyond; and
the house, the dear old rambling castle of which she has heard so much.
Poor Zoe, for some minutes she is unable to speak.
"Ah, you have thought differently since you first spoke. Well, it is all
right; there is not so much to interest one, perhaps, as I imagine."
There is a ring of disappointment in the old man's voice, and Zoe
hastens to say,
"My dear Mr. Vacine, believe me, I am not ungrateful to you for your
goodness, and will take much pleasure in your kind offer," the girl
says, with a choking in her throat.
Aunt Adeline comes in with lights, saying Mr. Litchfield was feeling so
unwell, that he had retired. So Zoe accompanies Mr. Vacine to the door,
watches him walk down the little path to the gate with a step as firm
and elastic as a boy of twenty.
"Well little one, is this the latest victim your charming self has
brought down?" Jet Glen's tall figure stands before her, and Jet's brown
eyes are full of lazy laughter, as he stands and watches Zoe straighten
her slim figure in virtuous indignation.
"You are like a toad, Mr. Glen, always cropping up when least expected,"
she says, with what is intended to be withering sarcasm.
"Allow me to offer a thousand thanks for your kind sentiments on my
appearance, Miss Litchfield." The young man doffs his white straw hat
gallantly.
"No need for thanks; it is the simple, unvarnished truth; it is nothing
to me if you get offended." The little foot, clad in its dainty wigwam
slipper, taps the door step impatiently.
"Never mind, dear, don't get angry; you and I should understand each
other by now. You are such a little wildfire, I like to see you get
excited. But come, tell me what the old gentleman said."
Zoe's anger is never very long lived; now, under Jet's conciliatory
tones, it vanishes and fades like the mist in the morn.
"Of course I'll tell you, you old goose," Zoe exclaims, coming down
toward him.
"Well, let us walk around the paths, and we can talk better," suggests
the 'old goose,' persuasively.
"He asked me over so nicely, to come and go in his beautiful house and
grounds, and make myself at home there. Ah, I felt like hugging the old
dear." Mr. Glen pokes the grass thoughtfully with his cane.
"Indeed," he says drily. "It is a pity you could not expend your surplus
affection on a younger man."
Zoe stops short in her walk. "You are very impolite, to say the very
least; in fact I am rather surprised at you," the youngest Miss
Litchfield says loftily. The wind blows in chilly gusts, suggestive of
rain; it is very cold for a night in August.
"Shall I run in and fetch a shawl for you?" Jet asks in a protective
sort of way.
"No thanks, I shall never accept any service from your hands sir, or in
fact from any one who would dare speak disrespectfully of my friends."
But Zoe forgot the old but true proverb about "pride having a fall."
Suddenly the young lady seems to be seized with a panic of despair.
"Oh! oh! oh!" she cries, in frantic tones.
"What in the name of the stars is the matter now?" inquires the young
man, looking about him to the right and left.
"Oh, kill it; kill it, quick." White dresses are a great magnetiser for
June bugs; caught in the lace of her sleeve is an immense--as Zoe calls
it--'horny bug.'
"He's dead; come look at him," Jet adds; but Zoe retreats to the front
door in haste.
"Come in, come in, quick, till I shut the door; surely the wretches
won't chase us in the house."
The door shuts to with a defiant bang, while the agitated young lady
once more recovers her tranquility of mind.