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[Transcriber's Note:
The form of this e-text is predicated upon an assumption about the
editorial practices that obtained in Canadian publishing around the
year 1874. It is presumed that the authoress had the opportunity to
review pre-publication galley proofs and make any changes or
corrections she deemed appropriate, and that the published book is
therefore an accurate reflection of her wishes and intentions.]
ISABEL LEICESTER,
A ROMANCE,
by
MAUDE ALMA.
"Twist ye, twine ye, even so,
Mingled threads of joy and woe,
Hope and fear, peace and strife,
In the cord of human life."
HAMILTON:
SPECTATOR PRINTING HOUSE.
1874.
ISABEL LEICESTER.
CHAPTER I.
In a spacious apartment superbly furnished, and surrounded by every
luxury that could please the most fastidious taste, sat Isabel
Leicester, attired in deep mourning, with her head resting upon her
hand, her face almost as white as the handkerchief she held. Isabel's
Father had failed in business, and the misfortune had so preyed upon his
mind, that he sank under it and died. The funeral had taken place that
day, and she was to leave the house on the day following--the house
where she was born and had always lived, except when at school. The
servants had all been discharged but two, who were to leave next day.
A friend had offered Isabel a home until she could procure a situation
as a governess, which that friend Mrs. Arnold was endeavouring to obtain
for her, in the family of a lady who had been one of Mrs. Arnold's
school-fellows. Mrs. Arnold was the widow of a clergyman, with a very
limited income, and Isabel was unwilling to trespass upon the kindness
of one whose means she knew to be so small. But she had no alternative
at the time and trusted that it would not be long before she would be
able to procure the situation she had in view, or some other. The tea
remained untasted on the table, for Isabel was absorbed by the
melancholy thoughts that filled her heart. She tried to feel resigned,
but her pride was wounded at the idea of becoming a 'governess.' She had
been the spoiled petted daughter of a wealthy merchant of the city of
New York, whose chief delight had been to indulge her in every way. But
still Mr. Leicester had been a truly good and christian man, and had
taught his daughter not to set her affections on earthly things, and to
remember that wealth was given to us for the benefit of others, as well
as for our own enjoyment. And he was rewarded as she grew up to find
that her chief aim was to do good to the many poor families whose
necessities came to her knowledge. Great also was his satisfaction to
find that after two seasons in New York, where she had been the Belle,
she was still the same loving, unassuming, pure-minded girl she had ever
been, tho' the admiration and attention her beauty and accomplishments
had excited, had she been less carefully trained, might have rendered
her haughty and vain.
During her Father's illness, when her time and thoughts were occupied
with attending upon him, and in anxiety for his recovery she had thought
and felt that the loss of property was an evil of little moment, and
tried to persuade her Father not to think so much about the reverse,
urging that he could get some employment, and they would still live very
happily together in a cottage.
But now that he was gone, and she had no one left to look too, her
lonely and self-dependant position was felt severely, and the tears she
could not restrain, fell unheeded. The fire sank low, and finally went
out, and still Isabel sat thinking of the miserable prospect the future
presented. At last she rose with a shudder, and rang for the tea-things
to be removed, then retiring to her own room, she threw herself upon the
bed in an agony of grief.
She had remained there some time, when she felt a kind hand laid upon
her shoulder, and turning her head she saw the old housekeeper, Mrs.
Stewart, with a cup of hot tea. "Come my dear young lady," said she,
while the tears streamed down her aged cheeks, "You must take this,
it will never do for you to go without your tea."
"I know you attach great virtue to a cup of tea" replied Isabel, "so to
please you I will take it."
"Oh dear, dear," muttered the old woman as she descended the stairs,
"how pale and ill she looks, and no wonder poor lamb, if she goes on
like this she will be laid up. Oh, how I wish Mrs. Mornington had not
gone to Europe. Poor child, poor child."
After Mrs. Stewart had left her, Isabel knelt down and prayed for
strength to do her duty, however trying she might find it, and for the
holy spirit to comfort her in affliction, after which she retired to
rest, and was soon in a calm sleep.
Next morning she arose much refreshed, and having sought divine aid and
protection, she commenced to arrange for her departure. Her Father's
creditors knowing him to be a man of strict integrity, and that his
failure was not attributable to any want of prudence on his part, had
kindly arranged that she should retain whatever she particularly wished.
This was a great gratification to Isabel, tho' she was too honorable to
take an undue advantage of this benevolent intention, indeed she was
almost too conscientious upon this point.
The task before her was a sad one, and although she strove very hard she
could not restrain her tears as she made her selections. She was soon
joined by Mrs. Arnold, who told her she had come to help her to pack,
and that she should not leave until Isabel accompanied her. "Come" she
said, kissing her affectionately, "the sooner this painful task is over
my love the better. I have good news for you. I have heard from Mrs.
Arlington, and she says that she shall be most happy to obtain the
services of any one recommended by me. The salary I find is only two
hundred dollars a year, it is indeed less than I expected, but you must
remember that this is your first engagement, no doubt if you remain
there a year or two, you will be able to obtain a much more remunerative
one."
This announcement of Mrs. Arnold's brought to Isabel's mind in full
force all the annoyances to which she would be subjected in her new
position, and clasping her hands, she gave way to uncontrollable
emotion.
"I do not wonder, dear, at your being disappointed, after what you have
been used to, two hundred dollars must seem a very paltry sum. I dare
say you gave nearly as much to your maid Harris, but my dear, as a
governess your requirements will be less, so with the wardrobe you now
possess, you will be able to manage very nicely."
"Oh, Mrs. Arnold, I was not thinking about the salary, I am sure I can
make that do very well," sobbed Isabel. "You are very kind indeed to
trouble yourself so much about me."
"You need not go to Elm Grove at present, my love, you are quite welcome
to stay with me until you get over your loss a little, and feel better
able to conform to circumstances," said Mrs. Arnold kindly.
Isabel made an effort to respond gratefully to her kind friend, and
expressed a hope that she would shortly be able to undertake the duties
of her new situation.
"I have no doubt you will be very comfortable at Elm Grove, it is a
lovely place. Of course it will seem strange at first, but people soon
get used to a place you know if they only try. I am very happy now, but
I am sure at one time, I thought I never should be again," continued
Mrs. Arnold, "but we will say no more on that subject now, we must get
on with our work." And she began to give advice about what Isabel should
take, and said that whatever she did not like to take with her to her
new home, she could leave at her house.
Fortunately the housekeeper then came to ask if she should pack.
"Certainly," exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, "the very person I wanted," and off
they went to Isabel's great relief.
Being left to herself, Isabel soon concluded her selection, and ordering
Mary to take them to be packed, she went into the library to get a
little rest, and time to think, tho' the latter she could scarcely do,
as her temples throbbed violently. Laying her head on the old familiar
couch, she endeavoured to calm the tumult of her feelings, the bright
sunshine, and the merry sound of the sleigh bells outside, only made her
feel her desolation more acutely.
"Luncheon is ready dear, and the packing all done," said Mrs. Arnold,
throwing herself in an easy chair.
"You have indeed been quick," replied Isabel, heartily wishing they had
been longer.
"It is all due to Mrs. Stewart, she is really the most clever person at
packing I ever saw, tho' poor soul she was nearly blinded with tears.
Come love, we must have luncheon now, and after that we will send for a
sleigh."
"Indeed, dear Mrs. Arnold, I cannot go until evening, I am sure Mr.
Macdermott will be here presently, for he knows that I am going to-day."
"Ah, I know, you want to be alone to muse of things in your dreamy way,
but my love, it is better not to do so, it only makes things harder to
bear. Try to banish disagreeable subjects as much as possible, that is
my maxim. But I cannot refuse you anything just now, so after luncheon I
will go home, and will come back for you in the evening."
Soon after Mrs. Arnold's departure, Mr. Macdermott the clergyman, called
as Isabel had expected, and his sympathy, and advice, tended greatly to
soothe the pain she felt at leaving the home she loved so well. He said
that Mrs. Macdermott was still too ill to visit her, but that if she
felt able she would try to see her at Mrs. Arnold's. He told her also
that he had that morning received a letter from Louis, in which he
desired to be kindly remembered. Mr. Macdermott remarked the rich
crimson that suffused her cheeks, at the mention of his nephew's name,
but the remotest idea of their engagement never entered his mind. He
remained with her about an hour, then after enquiring if he could be of
any service to her, he took his leave.
At last the dreaded hour arrived, and Mrs. Arnold with it. After bidding
the housekeeper and Mary a kind farewell, (they had both been with her a
great many years,) Isabel accompanied her friend to Rose Cottage.