Three years had elapsed since the events of the last chapter. Edward
had often visited his native village, and, as the results of these
visits, Emily Lawton became Mrs. Dayton; and she, with Mrs. Brandon,
was removed to an elegantly furnished house in the city. Yet, with
all its elegance, Mrs. Brandon, who had been accustomed to rural
simplicity, did not feel happy except when in her own room, which
Edward had ordered to be furnished in a style answering her own
wishes.
Messrs. Dayton and Treves had been highly successful in their
business operations; and, enjoying as they did the patronage of the
‚lite of the city, they, with but little stretch of their
imaginative powers, could see a fortune at no great distance.
Becoming acquainted with a large number of persons of wealth, they
were present at very many of the winter entertainments; and, being
invited to drink, they had not courage to refuse, and did not wish
to act so ungenteel and uncivil. Others drank; and some loved their
rum, and would have it. Edward had taken many steps since the events
of our last chapter; yet, thought he, "I drink moderately."
There was to be a great party. A musical prodigy, in the shape of a
child of ten years, had arrived, and the leaders of fashion had
agreed upon having a grand entertainment on the occasion.
Great was the activity and bustle displayed, and in no place more
than at the store of Dayton and Treves. As ill-luck would have it,
Ralph had been absent a week on one of his drunken sprees, and his
employers were obliged to procure another to fill his place.
The event was to take place at the house of a distinguished city
officer; and, as Messrs. Dayton and Treves were to provide
refreshment, their time was fully occupied.
The papers were filled with predictions concerning it; and the
editors, happy fellows, were in ecstasies of joy on account of
having been invited to attend. Nor were Messrs. Dayton and Treves
forgotten; but lengthy eulogies upon their abilities to perform the
duty assigned them occupied prominent places, and "steamboat
disasters," "horrid murders," and "dreadful accidents," were obliged
to make room for these.
In the course of human events the evening came. Hacks were in
demand, and the rattling of wheels and the falling of carriage-steps
were heard till near midnight.
The chief object of attraction was a small boy, who had attained
considerable proficiency in musical knowledge, not of any particular
instrument, but anything and everything; consequently a large
assortment of instruments had been collected, upon which he played.
As music had called them together, it was the employment of the
evening, and the hour of midnight had passed when they were summoned
to the tables.
Those gentlemen who desired had an apartment to themselves, where
wine and cigars circulated freely. Some, in a short time, became
excited; whilst others, upon whom the same cause had a different
effect, became stupid. One poor fellow, whose bloated countenance
told a sad tale, lay almost senseless; another sat dreamingly over
his half-filled glass, whilst another excited the risibilities of
not a few by his ineffectual attempts to light his cigar.
Our hero, like his companions, was a little overcome by too frequent
potations from the bottle. It was a sad sight to a reflective mind.
The majority were young men, whose eyes had been blinded to the
danger they were in, by adhering to a foolish and injurious custom.
As hour passed hour, they became more excited, until a high state of
enthusiasm existed.
All the ladies had retired, except one, and she strove hard to
conceal her rising sorrow by forced smiles; yet she could not
restrain her feelings,--her heart seemed bursting with grief. In vain
did officious servants seek to know the cause. To the inquiries of
the lady of the house she made no reply. She dare not reveal the
secret which pierced her very soul; but, burying her face in her
hands, seemed resolved upon not being comforted. Finally, yielding
to the persuasive influence of Mrs. Venet, she expressed her fears
that Edward had tarried too long at the bowl.
Mrs. Venet tried to comfort her by saying that, if what she so much
feared was true, yet it was nothing uncommon; and mentioned several
men, and not a few ladies, who had been carried away in a senseless
condition.
These words did not comfort her; on the contrary, they increased her
fears, and led her to believe that there was more danger at such
parties than there was generally thought to be; and the fact that
Edward had often attended such parties increased her sorrow, for she
knew not but that he had been among that number of whom Mrs. Venet
spoke.
Imagination brought to her view troubles and trials as her future
lot; and last, not least, the thought of Edward's temperament, and
of how easily he might be led astray, rested heavily upon her heart.
Mrs. Venet at length left her, and repaired to the gentleman's
apartment, in order to learn the cause of his delay.
"Who in the devil's there, with that thundering racket?" inquired a
loud voice.
"It is Mrs. Venet," replied the lady.
"O, it is, is it? Well, madam, Dayton the confectioner, and a dozen
jovial souls, are having a rare time here. Put that down in your
memorandum-book, and leave us to our meditations."
"Yes, and these to profit and loss," said another, and the breaking
of glasses was heard.
"If Mr. Dayton is within, tell him his lady is waiting for him,"
said Mrs. Venet.
"Ed, your wife's waiting,"' said one of the party.
"Then, friends, I-I-I must go," said the inebriated man, who, though
badly intoxicated, had not wholly forgotten her.
His companions endeavored to have him remain, but in vain. He
unbolted the door, and, leaving, closed it upon them.
Mrs. Venet, who was standing without, laid hold of his coat, and,
knowing the excited state of Mrs. Dayton, and fearing that the
appearance of her husband would be too much for her to bear,
endeavored to induce him not to enter the room, or, at least, to
wait until he had recovered from the effects of his drinking.
He appeared rational for a while, but, suddenly breaking away,
shouted, "Emily, where are you?"
The sound of his voice resounded through the building, and his
drunken companions, hearing it, made the building echo with their
boisterous laughter.
He ran through the entries gazing wildly around, and loudly calling
for his wife.
The servants, hearing the tumult, hastened to the spot; but neither
they nor Mrs. Venet could induce him to become quiet.
The latter, finding she could have no influence upon him, repaired
to the room in which she left Mrs. Dayton, and found her senseless
upon the floor, and to all appearances dead. She had heard his wild
cries, and what she had so much feared she then knew to be true.
Mrs. Venet rang for the servants, and ordered some restoratives.
These were soon obtained, and by their free use she had nearly
recovered, when her husband rushed into the room.
Upon seeing his wife, the raging lion became as docile as a lamb. A
sudden change came over him; he seemed to realize the truth, and it
sent an arrow to his soul.
Again the injured wife fainted, and again the restoratives were
faithfully applied; but it was evident that if Mr. Dayton remained
in her presence it would be difficult to restore her, and the man
who before would not be approached was led quietly away. In a short
time Mrs. Dayton became sensible, and her first words were to
inquire after Edward. Being told, she was induced to lie down, and,
if possible, enjoy a little sleep; but sleep she could not. Her mind
became almost delirious, and fears were entertained by her
attendants that she would lose her reason.
The effects of Edward's carousal were entirely dissipated by the
sudden realization of the truth.
To Mrs. Dayton this was an hour of the deepest sorrow. She looked
back upon the past, and saw happiness; in the future nothing but
misery seemed to await her. Yet a change came over her; she thanked
God for his past mercies, and wisely trusted him for their
continuance. She implored pardon for past ingratitude, and prayed
that she might be more grateful in future, and that, having tasted
of the cup of sorrow, she might not drink the bitter draught.