THE PARTING
“Oh, Earle, what can he mean? For the first time in my life I am
actually afraid of my own father,” Editha said, sinking back upon the
sofa from which she had so recently arisen, and bursting into nervous
weeping.
Earle knelt upon the floor beside her, and, lifting her head to his
breast, folded his strong arms around her.
“My darling, I think he is so beside himself with anger at some fancied
injury that he scarcely knows what he means himself. Do not allow his
words to distress you, Editha, and time, I feel, will bring everything
right,” he said, soothingly.
“Papa has changed so during the last two or three years—I cannot
understand it at all. He used to pet and indulge me as a child, and only
laughed at my whims and fancies, as he termed my childish wilfulness;
but, since mamma’s and Uncle Richard’s death, he has seemed entirely
indifferent. He will not bear the least opposition from me upon any
subject. We have had more than one controversy regarding you, Earle—I
_will_ stand up for what I know to be right and honorable, and if it
happens to conflict with his ideas, he is so angry. Besides——”
She stopped suddenly, blushing vividly.
“Well, my ‘happiness?’” Earle said, encouragingly.
“I had occasion to offend him deeply not long ago, and I suppose he
cannot recover from his disappointment.”
Then she went on to tell him of Mr. Tressalia’s proposals, and her
repeated rejection of the same.
“I should not feel it right to speak of this to any one else,” she said,
in conclusion, “for I think it is very wrong for any woman to boast of
having given pain in any such way; but henceforth I am to have no
secrets from you, and it is but proper that you should know of this.”
“I thought perhaps Mr. Tressalia would win you, Editha, at one time, and
such _was_ the report,” Earle said, wondering if she had read of that
gentleman’s succession to a marquisate and great possessions.
But she knew nothing of it as yet, and only nestled nearer to him as she
returned:
“Did you hear of that, Earle, and did you believe it?”
“I cannot say that I _really_ believed it, for I cherished a little hope
myself all the time; and yet I do not know but that it is a wonder he
did not carry off my treasure after all,” he returned, as he folded her
closer.
“No, it is not a wonder; if there had been no _Earle Wayne_ in
existence, I _might have_ learned to love _him_, but there _was_ an
Earle Wayne in the world, consequently it was an impossibility,” Editha
answered, with a twinkling little smile in her deep blue eyes.
Earle bent and touched her red lips with fond thanks for the sweet words
they had uttered; but there was an expression of thoughtfulness mingled
with anxiety on his brow.
“Mr. Tressalia is a noble man, if he is all you represent him, and it is
a sad thing to have all his hopes blighted thus,” he said, in tones of
regret.
“Yes; I cannot tell you how sorry I was for him, and I hope I may never
see such a look on another face as long as I live as I saw on his when I
left him that night,” Editha replied, her eyes filling with tears at the
remembrance.
“Editha,” Earle said, suddenly, after a short silence, “_you_ do not
believe that I care for your fortune—that I give it even a thought?”
“My sensitive Earle, no,” she answered, with a skeptical smile.
“Then I am going to propose a bold measure. I dread—I almost fear to go
away and leave you. I know you will be unhappy with your father’s
displeasure constantly following you, and I have a strange
presentiment—something tells me that I must not leave you behind. Editha
will you marry me and go with me to Europe to-morrow as my wife?”
“Earle!”
She started from his unfolding arms, sitting suddenly erect, her face as
white as a snow-flake at the proposition.
“Does the idea startle you so, my own? It is so sudden, I know; but
would it not be best for our mutual happiness?”
“And papa—would be left behind entirely alone,” she said, thoughtfully.
“Only for a short time, dearest. I shall return as soon as I can arrange
my business there to do so, even if I have to go back afterward. Perhaps
by that time Mr. Dalton will look at matters in a different light from
what he does now,” Earle urged.
Editha heaved a long sigh that meant a good many things.
“Earle, I would like it _so_ much,” she said, sorrowfully, after a long
and thoughtful pause, “both the going to Europe, where I have always
longed to go, and—being your wife; but——”
His arms clasped her more tightly at that word of doubt.
“Must there be a ‘but?’” he whispered.
“I am afraid there must,” and her hand went up to his face with a
caressing motion. “Perhaps if I stay and wait I may be able to win papa
over to our way of thinking. At any rate, I must strive for peace with
him. It will not be so very long, will it, Earle?”
“I cannot tell, dear, exactly how long. I may have to be gone six
months; I do not think it can possibly take any longer than that to
decide my case.”
“Six months!” with another sigh and slight quiver of her lips. “I feel
that it is best to wait, Earle. I must be patient, and try to do what is
right. Papa may be angry with me, but I cannot think he is wholly devoid
of affection for me, and he is so alone in the world, he might miss me.”
“It shall be just as you wish or say,” Earle replied, but looking
disappointed nevertheless. It really seemed to him as if something told
him he _must not_ leave her behind. “I would rather come to you with my
hands full,” he added; “and Editha, if I am successful in my business
abroad, I feel that even your father, with all his prejudice against me,
will be proud to give you to me.”
“That settles it, then Earle; we shall wait; for it is better to win
than to displease him. But I shall miss you; it is hard to let you go,”
she said, with a quiver in her voice.
“My darling, do you not think it is hard also for me to go away and
leave you—particularly as I fear you are not going to be very happy?
And, dearest, for fear that something may happen to our letters, in the
_same way that there did your flowers_, I will secure a lock-box at the
office for you before I go, and send you the key.”
“That will be a good plan,” she answered, flushing.
It was hard to feel that her father would be guilty of anything so
underhanded as to intercept her letters, but she had discovered, by
questioning his servant, that he had intercepted and destroyed her
flowers, and the distrust now would naturally arise.
“Every mail, dear,” Earle went on, “I shall expect to hear from you, and
I will write as often to you. Now, my darling, I must say farewell. I
shall not have time to come again, as I have much to do, and the steamer
sails to-morrow at noon.”
“So soon? Can I let you go so soon?” Editha sighed; then, looking up
with an effort to smile, she added: “I ought not to murmur, for, of
course, the sooner you go the sooner you will return.”
“That is my brave little comforter. I could not bear to leave you
sorrowing. Now put your hands in mine and tell me once for all that you
love me, then I can go quite content,” Earle pleaded; but his lips
trembled slightly, nevertheless, as they sought hers in a mute caress,
for this parting was not an easy thing for him, strong man though he
was.
Editha folded her white hands together and laid them upon his palm.
“I love you, Earle; I never have loved any one but you; and I shall love
only you as long as my life shall last,” she said, solemnly, her grave,
sweet eyes lifted with a beautiful trust to his face.
“Bless you, my ‘happiness;’ I cannot help calling you that, it is so
fitting; those words will ring sweetly in my ears all the long months I
am separated from you.”
He bent and touched her white forehead with his lips, then, with a long,
fond embrace, he bade her farewell and went away.
* * * * *
At half-past eleven the next morning Editha Dalton’s carriage might have
been seen drawn close to the wharf near where the great steamer which
was to bear her lover across the ocean lay panting like a thing of life
in mortal agony.
Earle had said he could not come to see her again, but she had resolved
to go to see him off instead.
She must look once more into his face, and hear him speak again in the
tones that had grown so dear to her.
Her fair face looked forth from the carriage window, her eager eyes
anxiously searching the countenance of each new-comer as he hurried
toward the boat anxious to secure his state-room and get settled for the
voyage.
Perhaps, after all, she thinks, as she looks in vain for the beloved
face, she was foolish to come, and will miss him in the throng and
confusion.
But her heart longs inexpressibly for one last look, and word, and
hand-clasp, and she resolves to linger until the last moment.
But suddenly her face lights and flushes, and a glad, tender gleam beams
from her beautiful eyes. She sees a manly form coming with quick, firm
tread toward the wharf.
He also is evidently musing upon something pleasant for a smile of rare
sweetness curls his handsome lips, and lights his noble face.
All at once he lifts his head, and, as if drawn by some magnetic
influence, his eyes meet those of his betrothed, and, with a bound, he
is beside her carriage in an instant.
“My darling! I did not expect this,” he said, with a warm clasp of her
hand, his face all aglow.
“I could not help it, Earle; it was foolish in me, I suppose, after you
had once said ‘good-by,’” she said, with a lovely color rising in her
cheeks.
“A very agreeable kind of foolishness to me, dear; and I shall take it
as a good omen for my journey, that I have had such a pleasant
surprise,” he answered, smiling tenderly down upon that lovely face,
with its shining golden crown.
It was the most beautiful thing in all the world to him.
“I was not sure of seeing you, but I thought at least I should see the
vessel that was to take you away from me, and that would be something,”
she returned, with an answering smile, though it bade fair to be rather
a dewy one, judging from the tears in her eyes.
“Do you so dread to have me go, Editha? I _wish_ I might have taken you
with me,” he said, wistfully, as he noted the tears “something
unaccountably impresses me that you will not be safe until I have you
within my sheltering care.”
“I shall not express another regret if it is going to trouble you so;
but, Earle, I shall be glad to have _you_ safely back again,” she
returned, leaning toward him with a yearning on her fair face that
thrilled him through and through.
“My darling, do you know how very lovely you are?” he asked, with eager
fondness, as his eyes lingered upon the sweet picture before him.
She flashed a brilliant glance at him and colored beautifully at this
involuntary tribute.
“You should not say such things to me, Earle. You will make me vain,”
she said, with playful chiding, yet her lips wore a smile of tremulous
tenderness, as if she was glad to be lovely in his eyes.
He laughed softly.
“I am to tell you just what I like, my own, all the rest of your life.
Do you know it? And I am not in the least afraid of the result of which
you speak. Do you know, beloved,” dropping his voice and speaking with
an intensity that moved her whole being, “that all the world has changed
for me since yesterday?”
A quick, luminous glance up into the eyes bent so fondly upon her, a
rare, sweet smile and a deepening flush, told him that this change had
not touched him alone.
The ringing of a bell now startled them.
“I must not detain you,” Editha said, with a sigh and an anxious glance
at the steamer, where all was bustle and confusion.
“Not long, I fear. But you will take good care of my ‘happiness’ for me
while I am away?” he returned, tenderly.
“I will do the best that I can, Earle; but how I shall wish the time
away. See, I have brought you these, and,” with a sly look and smile,
“if you can read this mute language, you will know all I would like to
tell you and cannot,” and she put into his hands an elegant and
carefully selected bouquet of flowers.
He took them with fond thanks, and involuntarily laid the bright
blossoms, weighted with their fragrance, against his lips. Then, with a
sudden start and a brilliant smile, he said, eagerly:
“Ah! strange I did not think before; but now I can give you something
that I purchased this morning, hoping to have time to drop it in the
office for you, but did not after all.”
He took a little case from his pocket, opened it, and drew forth a
lovely ring, set with one large, rare, pure pearl.
“Hold out the finger I want, Editha,” he commanded, softly.
And, with downcast eyes and a deeper, richer surging of color, she held
out the forefinger of her left hand, while, with a look of reverence and
solemn joy, he slipped the ring to its place.
“I am glad that I can put it on myself, instead of sending it, as I
thought I must. Do you like it, Editha?” he asked, regarding the shyly
downcast face with exceeding tenderness.
“I cannot tell you how much, Earle.”
“I am glad. I suppose, however, that a diamond would have been the
proper thing, since, being the most precious stone, it perhaps more
fitly represents the most precious gift a man can receive; but to me
this pure hearted pearl is a more appropriate symbol of the love I have
won than the cold glitter of diamonds. My darling, this small hand
belongs to me now.”
“Yes, Earle, it is all your own,” Editha answered, now raising her eyes,
which were full of tender tears, to his.
Then, with a movement graceful as it was involuntary, she lifted her
hand and touched her lips to the pure, gleaming pearl.
Earle’s look spoke volumes as he noted the act, and brought the
ever-ready blushes quickly to the fair face again.
Editha smiled, and, to cover her confusion, said, archly:
“It is well, is it not, to yield _gracefully_ to the bonds that bind
one?”
“My love—my love!” Earle answered, with a look of tender affection, “you
never can know how precious you are to me. I wish—oh, how I wish I could
take you with me; but I must go now.”
With no other farewell than one long, long hand-clasp, one fond,
lingering glance—for other eyes were upon them—he was gone, mingling
with the crowd, and so passed from her sight.
That night, when Sumner Dalton saw the pale gleam of that pure pearl
upon Editha’s finger, a sinister look crept into his eyes and curved the
corners of his mouth, though he gave no other sign that he had seen it.
“Do they think to defy me thus?” he muttered to himself, when he was
alone again. “Let them beware, _both_ of them. I will not brook such
opposition to my will. If it were not for the very convenient purse of
little Miss Independence, I would crush her now, before this thing goes
any further. What can the youngster have gone to Europe for? It cannot
be that——”
Sumner Dalton seemed to be smitten with some sudden and startling
thought that made him grow very pale and troubled.
“No, no,” he went on, after thinking awhile, “it is as utterly
_impossible_ as that the sun should cease to shine.”