"The woman who could thus jest with you, Thomas, is unworthy of
you."
"So I am trying to convince myself. But the trial is a deeply
painful one."
And painful it proved for many weeks afterwards. But, finally, he
was enabled to rise above his feelings.
In the mean time, Mr. Smith had wooed the heiress successfully, and,
in doing so, his own heart had become interested, or, at least, he
deceived himself into the belief that such was the case. He no
longer jested, as he had done at first, about her money, nor
declared, even to his friend Perkins, how strong an influence it had
upon his affections. More serious thoughts of marriage had caused
these selfish motives to retire out of sight and acknowledgment; but
still they existed and still ruled his actions.
The aunt, when Margaretta made known to her that the young man had
offered himself, was pained beyond measure, particularly as it was
evident that her niece favoured the suitor.
"Indeed, Margaretta," said she, earnestly, "he is not worthy of
you!"
"You judge him harshly, aunt," the niece replied. "I know him to be
all that either of us could wish for."
"But how do you know, Margaretta?"
"I have observed him closely, and am sure that, I cannot be deceived
in him."
"Alas! my child, if you know nothing beyond your own observation,
you are far more ignorant than you suppose. Be guided, then, by
me--trust more to my observation than your own. He is not the man to
make you happy! Let me urge you, then, to keep him at a distance."
"I should do injustice to my own feelings, aunt, and to my own sense
of right, were I to do so. In a word, and to speak out plainly, he
offered himself last evening, and I accepted him!"
"Rash girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Riston, lifting her hands in
astonishment and pain, "how could you thus deceive your best friend?
How so sadly deceive yourself?"
"Do not distress yourself so, aunt. You have mistaken the character
of Mr. Smith. He is, in every way, a different man from what you
think him. He is altogether worthy of my regard and your confidence.
I do not wish to deceive you, aunt; but you set yourself so
resolutely against Mr. Smith from the first that I could not make up
my mind to brave your opposition to a step which I was fully
convinced it was right for me to take."
"Ah, Margaretta! You know not what you are doing. Marriage is a far
more serious matter than you seem to think it. Look around among
your young acquaintances, and see how many have wedded unhappily.
And why? Because marriages were rushed into from a fond impulse,
vainly imagined to be true affection. But no true affection can
exist where there is not a mutual knowledge of character and
qualities of mind. Now what do you know, really, about Mr. Smith?
What does he know about you? Why, nothing! I want no stronger
evidence of his unworthy motives, than the fact of his having
offered himself after a three weeks' acquaintance. What could he
know of you in that time? Surely not enough to be able to determine
whether you would make him a suitable wife or not--enough, perhaps,
to be satisfied of the amount of your wealth."
"You are unjust towards Mr. Smith," said Margaretta, half
indignantly.
"Not half so unjust as he is towards you. But surely, my niece, you
will reconsider this whole matter, and take full time to reflect."
"I cannot reconsider, aunt. My word is passed, and I would suffer
any thing rather than break my word."
"You will suffer your heart to be broken, if you do not."
"Time will prove that!" and Margaretta tossed her head with a kind
of mock defiance.
"Have you fixed your wedding day?" the aunt asked after a few
moments' silence.
"Not yet. But Mr. Smith wants to be married in three weeks."
"In three weeks!"
"Yes; but I told him that I could not get ready within a month."
"A month! Surely you are not going to act so precipitately?"
"I cannot see the use of waiting, aunt, when we are engaged and all
ready. And I can easily get ready in a month."
To this the aunt did not reply. She felt that it would be useless.
After this, Mr. Smith was a regular daily and evening visitor. He
perceived, of course, the unfavourable light in which the aunt
viewed him, and in consequence set himself to work to break down her
prejudices. He was kind and attentive to her on all occasions, and
studied her peculiar views and feelings, so as to adapt himself to
her. But the old lady had seen too much of the world, and was too
close an observer to be deceived. Still she found silent
acquiescence her only course of action.
At the end of the month from the day of their engagement Margaretta
Riston was a happy young bride.
One week after their marriage, Mr. Smith entered the room of his
friend Mr. Perkins, with a pale, agitated countenance.
"What in the world has happened, Smith?" the friend asked, in alarm.
"Haven't you heard the news?"
"No. What news?"
"The United States Bank has failed!"
"Oh, no!"
"It is true. And every dollar of Margaretta's money is locked up
there!"
"Really that is dreadful! I would sell the stock immediately for
what it will bring, if I were you."
"So I wish to. But neither my wife nor her aunt are willing. And so
soon after our marriage I do not like to use positive measures."
"But the case is urgent. Delay may sweep from you every dollar."
"So I fear. What shall I do then? To have the prize in hand, and
find it thus suddenly escaping, is enough to drive me mad!"
"Sell in spite of them. That's my advice."
"I will!"
And the half crazy young fortune-hunter hurried away. In a few
minutes after, he entered the room where sat his wife and her aunt
in gloomy and oppressed silence.
"The best thing we can do, Margaretta, I am satisfied, is to sell,"
he said, taking a chair beside his wife. "The stock is falling every
hour, and it is the opinion of competent judges that it will not be
worth five dollars in a week."
"And other competent judges are of a very different opinion,"
replied the aunt. "Mr. Day, who was Margaretta's guardian, has just
been here, and says that we must not sell by any means; that after
the panic is over the stock will go up again. The bank, he assures
us, is fully able to meet every dollar, and still have a large
surplus. It would be folly then to sell, especially when there is no
urgent demand for the money."
"There is more urgent demand than you know of," Mr. Smith said to
himself with bitter emphasis. He added aloud,--
"Mr. Day may know something about the matter; but I am sure he is
mistaken in the calculation he makes. It is said this morning, by
those who know, that the assets of the bank are principally in
worthless stocks, and that the shareholders will never get a cent.
My advice, then, is to sell immediately; a bird in the hand is worth
two in the bush."
But both the wife and aunt objected; and so soon after marriage he
felt that positive opposition would come with a bad grace.
Steadily day after day, the stock went down, down, down--and day
after day Mr. Smith persisted in having it sold. The fact was, duns
now met him at every turn, and it was with the utmost difficulty
that he could prevent his wife and her aunt from guessing at the
nature of the many calls of his "particular friends." Money he must
have, or he could not keep out of prison long, and the only chance
for his obtaining money was in the sale of his wife's stock. But at
the rates for which it was now selling, the whole proceeds would not
cover the claims against him. At last, when the stock had fallen to
twenty dollars, Mrs. Smith yielded to her husband's earnest
persuasions, and handed him over the certificates of her stock, that
he might dispose of them to the best possible advantage.
"Mr. Smith is late in coming home to his dinner," the aunt said,
looking at the timepiece.
The young wife lifted her head from her hand, with a sigh, and
merely responded,
"Yes, he is rather late."
"I wonder what keeps him so!" the old lady remarked, about five
minutes after, breaking the oppressive silence.
"I'm sure I cannot tell. I gave him my certificates of stock to sell
this morning."
"You did? I am afraid that was wrong, Margaretta."
"I'm sure I cannot tell whether it is or not, aunt. But I've had no
peace about them, night nor day, since the bank failed."
There was bitterness in the tone of Margaretta's voice, that touched
the feelings of her aunt, and tended to confirm her worst fears. But
she could not, now, speak out plainly, as she had felt constrained
to do before marriage, and therefore did not reply.
For more than an hour did the two women wait for the return of Mr.
Smith, and then they went through the form of sitting down to the
dinner-table. But few mouthfuls of food passed the lips of either of
them.
Hour after hour moved slowly by, but still the husband of Margaretta
appeared not; and when the twilight fell, it came with a strange
uncertain fear to the heart of the young wife.
"What _can_ keep him so late, aunt?" she said, anxiously, as the
lights were brought in.
"Indeed, my child, I cannot tell. I hope that nothing is wrong."
"Wrong, aunt? What can be wrong?" and Margaretta looked her aunt
eagerly and inquiringly in the face.
"I am sure, my child, I do not know. Something unusual must detain
him, and I only hope that something may be evil neither to him nor
yourself."
Again there was a deep and painful silence--painful at least to one
heart, trembling with an undefinable sensation of fear.
"There he is!" ejaculated Margaretta springing to her feet, as the
bell rang, and hurrying to the door before the servant had time to
open it.
"Here is a letter for Mrs. Smith," said a stranger, handing her a
sealed note, and then withdrawing quickly.
It was with difficulty that the young wife could totter back to the
parlour, where she seated herself by the table, and with trembling
hands broke the seal of the letter that had been given her. Her eyes
soon took in the brief words it contained. They were as follow:--
"Farewell, Margaretta! We shall, perhaps, never meet again! Think of
me as one altogether unworthy of you. I have wronged you--sadly
wronged you, I know--but I have been driven on by a kind of evil
necessity to do what I have done. Forget me! Farewell!"
This note bore neither date nor signature, but the characters in
which it was written were too well known to be mistaken.
Mrs. Riston saw the fearful change that passed over the face of her
niece as she read the note, and went quickly up to her. She was in
time to save her from falling to the floor. All through the night
she lay in a state of insensibility, and it was weeks before she
seemed to take even the slightest interest in any thing that was
going on around her.
It was about three o'clock of the day that Mr. Smith got possession
of the certificates of deposit, that he entered the room of his
friend, Perkins. He looked agitated and irresolute.
"Well, Smith, how are you?" his friend said. "Have you sold that
stock yet?"
"Yes."
"Indeed! So you have triumphed over your wife's scruples. Well--what
did you get for it?"
"Only eight thousand dollars."
"That was a shameful sacrifice!"
"Indeed it was. And it puts me into a terrible difficulty."
"What is that?"
"Why, I owe at least that sum; and I cannot stay here unless it is
paid."
"That is bad."
"Out of the fifty thousand I could have squared up, and it would not
have been felt. But I cannot use the whole eight thousand, and look
Margaretta and her aunt in the face again. And if I don't pay my
debts, you see, to prison I must go."
"You are in a narrow place, truly. Well, what are you going to do?"
"A question more easily asked than answered. Among my debts are
about, four thousand dollars that must be paid whether or no."
"Why?"
"They are _debts of honour!_"
"Ah, indeed! that is bad. You will have to settle them."
"Of course!" Then, in a loud and emphatic whisper, he said--
"And I _have_ settled them!"
"Indeed! Well, what next? How will you account to your wife for the
deficiency?"
"Account to my wife!" and as he said this, he ground his teeth
together, while his lip curled. "Don't talk to me in that way,
Perkins, and cause me to hate the woman I have deceived and
injured!"
"But what _are_ you going to do, Smith?"
"I am going to clear out with the balance of the money in my pocket.
I can't stay here, that's settled; and I'm not going away penniless,
that's certain. Margaretta's old aunt has money enough, and can take
care of her--so she's provided for. And I've no doubt but that
she'll be happier without me than with me."
"Where are you going?"
"Somewhere down South."
"When?"
"At four o'clock this afternoon."
"Well, success to you. There are some rich widows in the Southern
country, you know."
"I understand; but I'm rather sick of these operations. They are a
little uncertain. But good-bye, and may you have better luck than
your friend Smith."
"Good-bye." And the two young men shook hands cordially and parted.
At four o'clock Mr. Smith left for Baltimore--not the happiest man
in the cars by a great deal.
Since that day the confiding young creature who had thrown all into
the scale for him has neither seen him nor heard from him. To her
the light of life seems fled for ever. Her face is very pale, and
wears an expression of heart-touching misery. She is rarely seen
abroad. Poor creature! In her one sad error, what a lifetime of
sorrow has been involved!
Of all conditions in life, that of the young heiress, with her money
in her own right, is peculiarly dangerous. The truly worthy shrink
often from a tender of their affection, for fear their motives may
be thought interested; while the mercenary push forward, and by
well-directed flattery, that does not seem like flattery, win the
prize they cannot appreciate.
There are such base wretches in society. Let those who most need to
fear them be on their guard.
It is now but a few weeks since Thomas Fielding, who was despised
and rejected by Margaretta, married a sweet girl in every way worthy
of him. She is not rich in worldly goods, but she is rich in
virtuous principles. The former Fielding does not need; but the
latter he can cherish "as a holy prize."