Upon the morning after their return to Elm Grove, Isabel requested a few
moments conversation with Mrs. Arlington. Desiring Isabel to follow,
Mrs. Arlington led the way into the morning-room, and after expressing
her great satisfaction at the beneficial results of the sea air, she
said "that she hoped Miss Leicester's health was sufficiently restored
to enable the children to resume their studies upon the following
Monday." Isabel replied "that she was quite well, and was as anxious as
Mrs. Arlington could be, that they should lose no more time." Indeed for
some weeks past she had been teaching during the morning, but it was not
of them that I was about to speak," she continued, "it was of myself,
and I trust that you will not blame me for not doing so before I went
away, as indeed it was impossible. Dr. Heathelfid was right in thinking
that my illness was caused by mental suffering, it was indeed a severe
shock," she added, covering her face with her hands, for it was a trial
to Isabel, and it cost her a great deal this self imposed task.
"Defer this communication if it distresses you," said Mrs. Arlington
kindly.
"Oh no, I would rather tell you," but it was not without some difficulty
that Isabel continued, "sometime before my father's death, I was though,
unknown to him, engaged to a medical student, I always regretted
concealing our engagement from him in the first instance. I knew it was
very wrong, but Louis made me promise not to tell my father, or breathe
a word about our engagement to any living soul. I asked him why, but he
would give no reason except that he wished it. I promised, but had I
known that it was for more than a short period, I think that I should
not have done so. About six months afterwards, when his uncle was about
to send him to France to a relation who was a celebrated physician, he
wanted me to be married privately, this I positively refused, I said
that whilst my father lived I would never marry without his consent,
and urged him to let me acquaint my father of our engagement. This he
refused, I told him that I was sure my father would not object, but he
would not listen to me, it was absurd he said, to suppose that he would
let us marry if he knew of it, for he was entirely dependent upon his
uncle, and had positively nothing of his own as yet, but hoped soon to
rise in his profession; if we were once married he argued, my father
would storm a little at first, but would soon give in, and make some
arrangement that would prevent his going away, in vain I entreated to be
allowed to plead our cause with my father. Louis was inexorable upon
that point, he dare not he said, and used every argument to induce me to
accede to his wishes and agree to his propositions; but when I resisted
all entreaties he was mortally offended, and got into a terrible
passion, it seems he never forgave me for thwarting him, but I was not
aware of it, for after his anger had cooled down our parting was most
kind. During my father's illness, my secret became an intolerable
burden, oh, how bitterly I suffered for deceiving so indulgent a parent,
and yet my conscience would not allow me to break my promise. I wrote to
Louis imploring him to give the desired permission, and received a very
kind letter, assuring me that my altered circumstances would make no
difference to him, that in fact the only barrier between us was now
removed, but the longed for permission was withheld, Louis did not
notice that part of my letter in anyway. Shortly after this, my poor
father died--died without ever having heard of our engagement, his
greatest pain in parting from his darling child, being the grief he felt
at leaving her so unprotected, Imagine if you can my grief and misery,"
said Isabel shedding bitter tears of agony and remorse at the
remembrance of that dreadful time, and what it must have been to witness
his anguish, as over and over again he would say "oh my child, could I
but have left you to the tender care of a beloved husband, or even could
I know that you were the promised wife of one who truly loved you,
I could die in peace, even though he were not rich in this world's
goods, but to leave you thus my darling child, to make your own way in
this wicked world is almost more than I can bear." "What good" continued
Isabel "could I expect after such a return for all dear papa's fond
indulgence and unvaried kindness. After my father's death, I received a
letter from Louis full of love and sympathy, and approving of my plans,
as it would be some time before he would be in a position to marry. We
continued to correspond until the night of the ball, at which Dr. and
Mrs. Taschereau were among the guests, then I learned for the first time
that he was faithless and unworthy. You do not know what I suffered, nor
his cruel triumph, or you would not wonder that it should end as it did.
I have told you all this Mrs. Arlington because I thought it my duty,
and also, that should Dr. Taschereau again be your guest, you might
kindly spare me the pain of meeting him."
"Poor child you have suffered greatly," said Mrs. Arlington kindly. She
had listened very patiently and very attentively to all Isabel had to
say, but she had not said how that she already knew something of this
from her own delirious talk during her illness, but she thought that it
would make Isabel uncomfortable, therefore she remained silent upon that
point. "You may depend that I shall not abuse your confidence" she
continued, "I do not promise secrecy, but you may trust to my discretion
without fear. Whenever you need advice, do not scruple to come to me, as
I shall always be glad to give it," no doubt, but Isabel was the last
person to ask advice, though she had the highest opinion of Mrs.
Arlington.
"I think you would do well Isabel, to re-consider the offer I made you
to visit with my daughters."
"You are very kind; but, indeed, I would rather not."
"As you please, Miss Leicester; but I think you are wrong to refuse. You
may be sure that the offer is disinterested on my part." (Disinterested
it certainly was, as neither of the Arlington girls could compare
favorably with Isabel as to beauty or accomplishments.)
"I fully appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Arlington, but indeed it would
be extremely unpleasant to do so," returned Isabel.
"I cannot let this opportunity pass without expressing my gratitude for
your great kindness during my illness, for I can never, never repay you.
But I will use my best endeavors to make your children all that you can
wish."
"And that will quite repay me," replied Mrs. Arlington, kindly.