It was the night of Charlotte Reeves' grand party, which had been talked
about for weeks, and more than one passer-by paused in the keen February
air to look at the brilliantly-lighted house, where the song, the
flirtation, the dance, and the gossip went on, and to which, at a late
hour, Mrs. Bartow came, and with her Jessie Graham. Walter accompanied
them, for Mr. Graham had asked him to be their escort, and Walter never
refused a request from one who, since his residence in the city, had
been to him like a father rather than a friend.
Mr. Graham had evinced much surprise when told that Walter would rather
some other house should be his home, but Jessie, too, had said that it
was better so, and looking into her eyes, which told more tales than she
supposed, Mr. Graham saw that Walter was not indifferent to his only
child, nor was he displeased that it was so, and when Walter came to the
city he found to his surprise that he was not to be the clerk, but the
junior partner of his friend, who treated him with a respect and
thoughtful kindness which puzzled him greatly. Especially was he
astonished when Mr. Graham, as he often did, asked him to go with Jessie
to the places where he could not accompany her.
"He wishes to show me," he thought, "that after what I said to Mrs.
Bartow, he dare trust his daughter with me as if I were her brother,"
and Walter felt more determined than ever not to betray the trust, but
to treat Jessie as a friend and nothing more.
So he called occasionally at the house, where he often found William
Bellenger, and compelled himself to listen in silence to the flattering
speeches his cousin made to Jessie, who, a good deal piqued at Walter's
apparent coldness, received them far more complacently than she would
otherwise have done, and so the gulf widened between them, while in the
heart of each there was a restless pain, which neither the gay world in
which Jessie lived, nor yet the busy one where Walter passed his days,
could dissipate. He had absented himself from Jessie's "come-out party,"
and for this offense the young lady had been sorely indignant.
"She wanted Charlotte Reeves and all the girls to see him, and then to
be treated that way was perfectly horrid," and the beautiful belle
pouted many a day over the young man's obstinacy.
But Charlotte Reeves did see him at last, and when she learned that he
was Mr. Graham's partner, and much esteemed by that gentleman, she
partially took him up as a card to be played whenever she wished to
annoy William Bellenger, who kept an eye on her in case he should lose
Jessie. The relationship between the two was not known, for Walter had
no desire to speak of it, and as William vainly fancied it might reflect
discredit on himself, he, too, kept silent on the subject, while Mrs.
Bartow, having received instructions both from Jessie and her father,
never hinted to her bosom friend and deadliest enemy, Mrs. Reeves, that
the young Marshall whom Charlotte was patronizing, and who was noticed
by all for his gentlemanly bearing and handsome face, was in any way
connected with the Bellenger disgrace.
After her return from Saratoga, Mrs. Reeves had been sick for several
months, and at the time of the party was still an invalid, and claimed
the privilege of sitting during the evening. Consequently Mrs. Bartow
had not yet found a favorable opportunity for wounding her as she
intended doing, and when, on the evening of the party, she entered the
crowded rooms, she made her way to the sofa, and greeting the lady with
her blandest words, told her how delighted she was to see her in society
again, how much she had been missed, and all the other compliments which
meant worse than nothing. Then taking a mental inventory of the
different articles which made up her dear friend's dress and comparing
them with her own, she set her costly fan in motion and watched to see
which received the more attention,--Charlotte Reeves or Jessie. The
latter certainly looked the best, as, arm in arm with Walter, she walked
through the parlor, oblivious to all else in her delight at seeing him
appear so much like himself as he did to-night.
"It's such a pity he's poor," said Mrs. Reeves, as he was passing. "Do
you know I think him by far the most distinguished looking man in the
room, always excepting, of course, Mr. Bellenger," and she nodded
apologetically to a little pale-faced lady sitting beside her on the
sofa.
This lady she had not seen fit to introduce to her dear friend, who had
scanned her a moment with her glass, and then pronounced her "somebody."
Twice Walter and Jessie passed, stopping the second time, while the
latter received from her grandmother the whispered injunction "not to
walk with him until everybody talked."
"Pshaw!" was Jessie's answer, while Mrs. Reeves slyly congratulated Mr.
Marshall on his good luck in having the belle of the evening so much to
himself, and as they stood there thus the face of the little silent lady
flashed with a sudden light, and touching Mrs. Reeves when they were
gone, she said:
"Who was that young man? You called him Marshall, didn't you?"
"Yes, Walter Marshall, and he is Mr. Graham's partner. You know of Mr.
Graham,--people call him a millionaire, but my son says he don't believe
it."
This last was lost upon the little lady, who cared nothing for Mr.
Graham, and who continued:
"Where did he come from?"
"Really, I don't know. Perhaps Mrs. Bartow can enlighten you," and Mrs.
Reeves went through with a form of introduction, speaking the stranger's
name so low, that in the surrounding hum it was entirely lost on Mrs.
Bartow, who bowed, and briefly stated that Walter was from Deerwood,
Mass.
The lady's hands worked nervously together, and when Walter again drew
near, the white, thin face looked wistfully after him, while the lips
moved as if they would call him back. He was disengaged at last. Jessie
had another gallant in the person of William Bellenger, Mrs. Bartow's
fan moved faster than before, and Mrs. Reeves was about to make some
remark to her companion, when the latter rose, and crossing over to
where Walter stood, said to him in a low, pleasant voice:
"Excuse me, Mr. Marshall, but would you object to walking with me,--an
old lady?"
Walter started, and looking earnestly into the dark eyes, which were
full of tears, offered her his arm, and the two were soon lost amid the
gay throng.
"Who is she? I didn't understand the name," Mrs. Bartow asked, her lip
dropping suddenly, as Mrs. Reeves replied:
"Why, that's the honorable Mrs. Bellenger, returned from a ten years'
residence abroad."
"Mrs. Bellenger," Mrs. Bartow repeated. "Is it possible? I have always
had a great desire to make her acquaintance. How plain, and yet how
elegantly she dresses."
"She is not the woman she used to be," returned Mrs. Reeves. "She is
very much changed, and they say that during the last year of her sojourn
in London she spent her time in distributing tracts among the poor, and
all that sort of thing. I wonder what she wants of Mr. Marshall. Wasn't
it queer the way she introduced herself to him?"
"Very," Mrs. Bartow said; but she thought, "not strange at all," and she
was half tempted to tell her friend the relationship existing between
the two.
This she would perhaps have done had not Mrs. Reeves at that moment
directed her attention to William and Jessie, saying of the former that
he seemed very unhappy.
"The fact is," she whispered, confidentially, "he never appears at ease
unless he is somewhere near Charlotte. I think he monopolizes her
altogether too much. I tell her so too. But she only laughs, and says he
don't go with her any more than with Jessie Graham, though everybody
knows he does. He likes Jessie, of course, but Charlotte is his first
choice," and the old lady glanced complacently toward the spot where her
sprightly granddaughter stood surrounded by a knot of admirers, each of
whom had an eye to her father's coffers as well as to herself.
"The wretch!" thought Mrs. Bartow. "Just as though William preferred
that great, long-necked thing to Jessie; but I'll be even with her yet.
I'll be revenged when Mrs. Bellenger comes back," and the fan moved
rapidly as Mrs. Bartow thought how crest-fallen her dear friend would be
when she said what she meant to say to her.
Meantime Mrs. Bellenger had led Walter to a little ante-room where they
would be comparatively free from observation, and sitting down upon an
ottoman, she bade him, too, be seated. He complied with her request, and
then waited for her to speak, wondering much who she was, and why she
had sought this interview with him. As Mrs. Reeves had said, Mrs.
Bellenger had for the last ten years resided in different parts of
Europe. She had gone there with her husband and only surviving daughter,
both of whom she had buried, one among the Grampian Hills, and the other
upon the banks of the blue Rhine. Her youngest son, who was still
unmarried, had joined her there, but he had become dissipated, and
eighteen months before her return to America she had lain him in a
drunkard's grave. With a breaking heart she returned to her lonely home
in London, dating from that hour the commencement of another and better
life, and now there was not in the whole world an humbler or more
consistent Christian than the once haughty Mrs. Bellenger. Many and many
a time, when away over the sea, had her thoughts gone back to her
youngest born, the gentle brown-eyed Ellen, whom she had disowned
because the man she chose was poor, and in bitterness of heart she had
cried:
"Oh, that I had her with me now!"
Then, as she remembered the helpless infant which she had once held for
a brief moment upon her lap, her heart yearned toward him with all a
mother's love, and she said to herself:
"I will find the boy, and it may be he will comfort my old age."
On her return to Boston she went to the house of William's father, but
everything there was cold and ostentatious. They greeted her warmly, it
is true, and paid her marked attention, but she suspected they did it
for the money she had in her possession, for the family was extravagant
and deeply involved in debt. Once she asked if they knew anything of
Ellen's child, and her son replied that he believed he was a clerk of
some kind in New York, but none of the family had ever seen him save
Will, who had met him once or twice, and who spoke of him as having a
little of the Bellenger look and bearing.
Then she came to New York and found her grandson Will, who was less her
favorite than ever when she heard how sneeringly he spoke of Walter.
From his remarks, she did not expect to meet the latter at the party,
but she would find him next day, she said, and when he entered the room
she was too much absorbed in her own thoughts to notice him, but when he
passed her with Jessie she started, for there was in his face a look
like her dead daughter.
"Can it be that handsome young man is Ellen's child?" she said, and she
waited anxiously till he appeared again.
He stopped before her then, and with a beating heart she listened to
what they called him, and then asked who he was.
"It is my boy,--it is," she murmured between her quivering lips, and as
soon as she saw that he was free she joined him, as we have seen, and
led him to another room.
For a moment she hesitated, as if uncertain what to say, then, as they
were left alone, she began:
"My conduct may seem strange to you, but I cannot help it. Twenty-five
years ago a sweet girlish voice called me mother, and the face of her
who called me thus was much like yours, young man. She left me one
summer morning, and our house was like a tomb without her; but she never
came back again, and when I saw her next she lay in her coffin. She was
too young to be lying there, for she was scarcely twenty. She died with
the shadow of my anger resting on her heart, for when I heard she had
married one whom the world said was not her equal, I cast her off, I
said she was not mine, and from that day to this the worm of remorse has
been gnawing at my heart, for I hear continually the dying message they
said she left for me: 'Tell mother to love my baby for the sake of the
love she once bore me.' I didn't do it. I steeled my proud heart even
against the little boy. But I'm yearning for him now,--yearning for that
child to hold up my feeble hands,--to guide my trembling feet and smooth
my pathway down into the valley which I must tread ere long."
She paused, and covering her face, wept aloud. Glancing hurriedly
around, Walter saw that no one was very near, and going up to her, he
wound his arm round her, and whispered in her ear:
"My mother's mother,--my grandmother,--I never expected this from you."
Before Mrs. Bellenger could reply, footsteps were heard approaching, and
William appeared with Jessie. He had told her of his grandmother's
unexpected arrival that morning, and when she expressed a wish to see
her, he started in quest of her at once. He knew that he was not a
favorite with her, but she surely would like Jessie, and that might make
her more lenient toward himself; so he had sought for her everywhere,
learning at last from Mrs. Bartow that she had gone off with Walter.
"Upon my word," he thought, "he has commenced his operations soon," and
a sudden fear came over him lest Walter should be preferred to himself
by the rich old lady.
And this suspicion was not in the least diminished by the position of
the parties when he came suddenly upon them.
"He is playing his cards well," he said, involuntarily, while Jessie was
conscious of a feeling of pleasure at seeing Walter thus acknowledged by
his grandmother.
With a tolerably good grace, Will introduced his companion, his spirits
rising when he saw how pleasantly and kindly his grandmother received
them both. Once, as they stood together talking, Mrs. Bellenger spoke of
Deerwood, where her daughter was buried, and instantly over William's
face there flitted the same uneasy look which Mrs. Reeves had seen and
imputed to his desire to be with Charlotte.
"Have you heard from Miss Howland recently?" he asked Walter, who
replied:
"I heard some three weeks since, and she was then about as usual. She is
always feeble in the winter, though I believe they think her worse this
season than she has ever been before."
William thought of a letter received a few days before, the contents of
which had written the look upon his face which Mrs. Reeves had noticed,
and had prompted him to ask the question he did.
"Poor Ellen!" sighed Jessie. "I fear she's not long for this world."
"What did you call her?" Mrs. Bellenger asked, and Walter replied:
"Ellen, my mother's namesake, and my cousin."
"I shall see her," returned the lady, "for I am going to Deerwood
by-and-by."
William was going, too, but he would rather not meet his grandmother
there, and he said to her, indifferently, as it were:
"When will you go?"
"In two or three weeks," she answered, and satisfied that she would not
then interfere with him, he offered Jessie his arm a second time and
walked away, hearing little of what was passing around him, and caring
less, for the words "Oh, William, I am surely dying! Won't you come?"
rang in his ears like a funeral knell.
For a long time Mrs. Bellenger talked with Walter, asking him at last of
his father, and if any news had been heard of him.
"It does not matter," she said, when he replied in the negative. "I have
outlived all that foolish pride, and love you just the same."
Her words were sweet and soothing to Walter, and he did not care much
now even if William did keep Jessie continually at his side, walking
frequently past the door where he could see them. Once, as they passed,
Mrs. Bellenger remarked:
"Miss Graham is a beautiful young woman. Is she engaged to William?"
"No, no! oh, no!" and in the voice Mrs. Bellenger learned all she wished
to know.
"Pardon me," she continued, taking Walter's hand, "pardon the liberty,
but you love Jessie Graham," and her mild eyes look gently into his.
"Hopelessly," he answered, and his grandmother rejoined:
"Not hopelessly, my child; for as one woman can read another, so I saw
upon her face that which told me she cared only for you. Be patient and
wait," and with another pleasant smile she arose, saying to him,
laughingly: "I am going to acknowledge you now. You say they do not know
that my blood is flowing in your veins," and she passed again into the
crowd, who fell back at her approach, for by this time every body knew
who she was, and numerous were the surmises as to what kept her so long
with young Marshall.
The matter was soon explained, for she only needed to say to those about
her, "This is my grandson,--my daughter Ellen's child," for the news to
spread rapidly, reaching at last to Mrs. Reeves, still seated on her
throne. Greatly she wondered how it could be, and why William had not
told her before; then, as she remembered her investigations with regard
to the Bellengers, she added what was wanting to complete the tale,
leaving out the robbery, and merely saying that Mr. Marshall's poverty
had been the chief objection to his marriage with Miss Ellen Bellenger.
This she did because she knew that, with his grandmother for a prop,
Walter could not be trampled down, and she meant to be the first to hold
him up.
In the midst of a group of ladies, to whom she was enumerating Jessie's
many virtues, Mrs. Bartow heard the news, and answered very carelessly:
"Why, I knew that long ago. Mr. Marshall is a fine young man," and as
she spoke, she wondered if he would share with William in his
grandmother's property.
"Even if he does," she thought, "William will have the most, for his
father is very wealthy,--then there is the name of Bellenger, which is
something," and having thus balanced the two, and found the heavier
weight in William's favor, she looked after him, as he led Jessie away
to the dancing-room, with a most benignant expression, particularly as
she saw that Mrs. Reeves was looking at him too.
"I wonder what she thinks now about his wishing to be with Charlotte?"
she thought, and she longed for the moment when she could pay the lady
for her ill-natured remarks.
By this time Mrs. Bellenger had returned to her seat by Mrs. Reeves, and
thinking this a favorable opportunity, Mrs. Bartow took her stand near
them and began:
"By the way, Mrs. Reeves, did you ever know any one in Leicester,
Massachusetts, by the name of Marshall--Debby Marshall, I mean?"
Mrs. Reeves started, with a look upon her face as if that which she had
long feared and greatly dreaded had come upon her at last. Then,
resuming her composure, she repeated the name:
"Debby Marshall?--Debby Marshall? I certainly do not number her among my
acquaintances."
"I knew it must be a mistake," returned Mrs. Bartow, "particularly as
she was malicious enough to say that your father was a tin peddler."
"A tin peddler!" gasped Mrs. Reeves, making a furious attack upon her
smelling salts. "I believe I'm going to faint. The idea! It's perfectly
preposterous! Where is this mischief-maker?" and the black eyes flashed
round the room, as if in search of the offending Aunt Debby.
"Pray don't distress yourself," said the delighted Mrs. Bartow. "Of
course it isn't true, and if it were, it's safe with me. I met this
woman last summer in Deerwood, when I went down for Jessie. I chanced to
mention your name, as I frequently do when away from you, and this
Debby, who is an old maid, seventy at least, said she used to know a
factory girl,--Charlotty Ann Gregory, of about her age, who married a
man by the name of Reeves, a storekeeper, she called him. It's a
remarkable coincidence, isn't it, that there should be two Charlotte Ann
Gregorys, with sister Lizzies, and that both should marry merchants of
the same name and come to New York. But nothing is strange now-a-days,
so don't let it worry you. This old Debby is famous for knowing
everybody's history."
Like a drowning man, Mrs. Reeves caught at this last remark. If Debby
Marshall knew everybody's history, she of course knew Mrs. Bartow's, and
the disconcerted lady hastened to ask:
"Where did you say she lived?"
"In Deerwood, with her brother, Deacon Amos Marshall, about half a mile
from the village," returned the unsuspecting Mrs. Bartow.
Silently Mrs. Reeves wrote the information upon the tablets of her
memory, and then, in a low voice of entreaty, said to her friend:
"You know it is all false, as well as you know that there are, in this
city, envious people who would delight in just such scandal, and I trust
you will not repeat it."
"Certainly,--certainly," said Mrs. Bartow, but whether the certainly
were affirmative or negative was doubtful.
Mrs. Reeves accepted the latter, and then turned to Mrs. Bellenger to
remove from her mind any unpleasant impression she might have received.
This, however, was wholly unnecessary, for Mrs. Bellenger was too much
absorbed in her own reflections to hear what Mrs. Bartow had been
saying, and to Mrs. Reeves' remark, "I trust you do not credit the
ridiculous story," she answered:
"What story? I heard nothing."
Thus relieved in that quarter, Mrs. Reeves became rather more composed,
and for the remainder of the evening addressed Mrs. Bartow as "my dear,"
complimenting her once or twice upon her youthful looks, and saying
several flattering things of Jessie.