DREAMS OF HAPPINESS.
“Oh, what will Doctor Rupert say to my being sent away in disgrace?
Ought I to tell him all?” cried Eva anxiously, despairingly.
Miss Winton negatived the question vigorously.
“No; it would only stir up a scandal and involve your lover in a
quarrel. ‘A still tongue makes a wise head,’ little Eva, but there
are not many still tongues in this hospital. They are always wagging
over other people’s business. So let us try to keep silent, even under
wrongs and injuries, as long as possible. For what if we denounced this
smooth villain who insults us, believing we cannot resent it, being
poor and helpless? Well, he would simply deny the charges and try to
villify our characters and make us out great liars, don’t you see?”
“Yes, I see, for I know already from a terrible experience how an
innocent person may be slandered and discredited,” Eva answered,
breaking down suddenly and sobbing in an abandonment of grief over her
cruel fate.
It all rushed over her freshly again--the tragedy that had blighted her
fair name with an indelible stain and exiled her from home, driving her
mad with despair.
“Oh,” she cried, through raining tears, “I would almost rather die than
go through such sorrows again.”
“Let us pray Heaven that you will not be called upon to endure any
further trials,” her friend said encouragingly. “Now that you have
won such a handsome, noble lover, your future life must be bright and
sunny. You are weary and unnerved by what has occurred to-night. Now,
try to forget the last unpleasant hour, and remember only that you have
won a noble lover who will fill your whole future life with happiness.
Try to get some sleep now, and in the morning I will take you over to
my aunt in town, where you will be sure of a safe retreat until you are
married.”
“Oh, Ada, how good you are to me! May Heaven grant me the power to
repay you some day. I will pray that God will send you a lover as noble
and handsome as mine,” cried Eva, embracing her with girlish fervor in
a fond good night.
She locked her door carefully and sat down to think, too nervous and
excited to retire.
Putting from her the indignation and disgust evoked by her middle-aged
adorer’s loathed advances and cruel revenge, she tried to think only of
her lover and of the happy two hours spent out in the silvery moonlight
by his side.
She recalled every look, every word, every tone, with trembling
ecstasy. There was none like him; none, in all the wide world, she told
herself. To her joy he had admitted his identity with her unknown
lover. He was the author of the poems, the donor of the candy, the
books, the flowers. Yes, he had climbed to her casement to lay these
tokens of love on her window sill, choosing this method of wooing
because he had been told her cousins did not allow her any acquaintance
with young men.
Then he had adroitly let her do some guessing, and admitted that he had
seen her at the church in the woods when she asked him.
“You see, I was visiting a college chum of mine in that neighborhood,”
he said truthfully.
His bonnie sweetheart had gazed at him in innocent rapture, crying:
“To think that you came from Ohio, leaving so many pretty girls behind
you, and fell in love with little rustic me!”
“None was half so beautiful as you, my darling,” he replied truthfully,
though she hardly knew how to credit such an extravagant compliment.
She did not know how peerlessly lovely she was; she thought the whole
world was full of women as fair as herself.
And she felt grateful to Heaven for fixing his dear love on her alone.
The thought came to her that if he had not loved her now she would be
so terribly alone in life she could hardly bear her existence.
So thinking, she fell asleep in her chair and rested thus till
daylight, dreaming of the handsome lover God had sent to bless her
loneliness.
Very soon Ada Winton came to conduct her to her aunt, saying that it
was better to go early, without facing the wonder that would be excited
at the hospital when it became known that she had been so abruptly
discharged.
“I will tell Doctor Rupert all about it myself and send him over to see
you,” the kind young girl said when she had safely established Eva in
her aunt’s simple cottage home and was leaving to return to her work.
Aunt Susan was a dear, kind, pious old lady, so fond of Ada Winton that
she would do anything to please her, so she made Eva as welcome as a
daughter to her homelike little house, with the neatness of a place
inhabited by one woman alone.
There, when the day was a few hours older, came Doctor Rupert to see
his exiled lady love, taking to himself all the blame of her discharge.
“I kept you out too late, forgetting that the rules are very strict,
but I think I should have rated Doctor St. Clair this morning for his
severity had he not gone away on a trip to Charleston before I heard of
it,” he said.
“He told me he was going to Washington,” Eva cried inadvertently.
“He must have changed his mind, but it does not matter,” Doctor Rupert
said carelessly, adding:
“After all, I’m glad you have left that place, for now I can persuade
you to an immediate wedding. Will you marry me this day week, Eva?”
“So soon?”
“Why should we postpone our happiness, darling? I have waited long
enough for it already--longer than you dream. And, somehow, I can never
feel quite sure of you until the magic words are spoken that make you
mine.”
Who could hold out against such pleading words and tender looks? Not
Eva, who was so alone and lonely that he was her whole world. So she
consented to his prayer, though she said tearfully:
“Do you know that I shall have to marry you, dear, in borrowed plumes?”
“That will not matter in the least. We will go on a little bridal tour
to Parkersburg the next day, and do all the shopping you like,” he
answered, kissing the pearly tears from the beautiful dark eyes, and
thanking her over and over for her sweet consent.
He was like a man drunken with bliss. The desire of his heart was
going to be granted to him. He had loved her so long, so faithfully,
without hope, that he could scarcely realize fate’s kindness, now that,
overleaping all adverse barriers, it was going to give him bonnie,
golden-haired Eva for his own.
How fast the days flew!
He could scarcely attend to his duties at the hospital, he was so eager
to spend every moment with his darling. When he came to see her he
could scarcely tear himself away from her side.
He dreamed all night of her dark eyes, her rosy lips, her curling
golden hair, her sweet kisses, the warm clasp of her soft, clinging
hands. His every moment was a pæan of joy and gratitude because God
was going to give him the desire of his heart.
Every one in the town and at the hospital knew that he was going to
marry little Eva in a week. He was so proud of it that he could have
shouted it aloud to the winds.
He had engaged board at the hotel--the very prettiest room in the
house. He wished to shrine his jewel in the finest setting.
And all the time Doctor St. Clair remained mysteriously absent.
No wildest stretch of fancy could have persuaded the young doctor that
that protracted stay meant disaster to his hopes and his happiness.