"Yes; or as well as I do. But, poor girl! it isn't expected that she is
to know every thing about young men who visit her. It is better that
she should not."
"Still, I am rather surprised that common report should not have given
her more information about Fisher than she seems to possess."
"So am I. But she'll know him better one of these days."
"I'll warrant you that! Perhaps to her sorrow; though I hope things
will turn out differently from what they now promise. Don't you think
he is pretty well done with his wild oats?"
"Possibly. But time will tell."
"Yes, time proves all things."
Some one joining the young men at this point of their conversation, the
subject was changed. Greatly amused at what they had done, they little
thought how sad the effects of their unguarded words would be.
Five minutes afterwards, the young man named Mears, curious to see how
Clara had been affected by what he knew she must have heard, moved to
another part of the room, in order to observe her without attracting
her attention. But she had left the place where she was sitting. His
eye ranged around the room, but she was nowhere to be seen.
"I'm afraid we've hurt Clara more than we intended," he said, rejoining
his friend. "She has vanished."
"Ah! Where's Fisher?"
"He's at the other end of the room."
"We didn't say any thing against the young man."
"Not in particular. We made no specifications. There was nothing that
she could take hold of."
"No, of course not. But I wonder what is going to be the upshot of the
matter?"
"Nothing very serious, I apprehend."
"No. I suppose she will go home and cry her eyes half out, and then
conclude that, whatever Fisher may have been, he's perfection now. It's
a first-rate joke, isn't it?"
Clara Grant had not only left the parlours, but soon after quietly left
the house, and alone returned to her home. When her lover, shortly
afterwards, searched through the rooms for her, she was nowhere to be
seen.
"Where is Clara?" he asked of one and another. The answer was--
"I saw her here a moment since."
But it was soon very apparent that she was nowhere in the rooms now.
Fisher moved about uneasy for half an hour. Still, not seeing her, he
became anxious lest a sudden illness had caused her to retire from the
company. More particular inquiries were made of the lady who had given
the entertainment. She immediately ascertained for him that Clara was
not in the house. One of the servants reported that a lady had gone
away alone half an hour before. Fisher did not remain a single moment
after receiving this intelligence, but went direct to the house of
Clara's aunt, with whom she lived, and there ascertained that she had
come home and retired to her room without seeing any of the family.
His inquiry whether she were ill, the servant could not answer.
"Have you seen anything of Clara yet?" asked the friend of Mears, with
a smile, as they met about an hour after they had disturbed the peace
of a trusting, innocent-minded girl, "just for the fun of it."
"I have not," replied Mears.
"Where's Fisher?"
"He is gone also."
"Ah, indeed! I'm sorry the matter was taken so seriously by the young
lady. It was only a joke."
"Yes. That was all; and she ought to have known it."
On the next day, Fisher, who had spent a restless night, called to ask
for Clara as early as he could do so with propriety.
"She wishes you to excuse her," said the servant, who had taken up his
name to the young lady.
"Is she not well?" asked Fisher.
"She has not been out of her room this morning. I don't think she is
very well."
The young man retired with a troubled feeling at his heart. In the
evening he called again; but Clara sent him word, as she had done in
the morning, that she wished to be excused.
In the mean time, the young lady was a prey to the most distressing
doubts. What she had heard, vague as it was, fell like ice upon her
heart. She had no reason to question what had been said, for it was, as
far as appeared to her, the mere expression of a fact made in
confidence by friend to friend without there being an object in view.
If any one had come to her and talked to her after that manner, she
would have rejected the allegations indignantly, and confidently
pronounced them false. But they had met her in a shape so unexpected,
and with so much seeming truth, that she was left no alternative but to
believe.
Fisher called a third time; but still Clara declined seeing him. On the
day after this last attempt, he received a note from her in these, to
him, strange words:--
"DEAR SIR:--Since I last met you, I have become satisfied that a
marriage between us cannot prove a happy one. This conclusion is far
more painful to me than it can possibly be to you. You, I trust, will
soon be able to feel coldly towards her whose fickleness, as you will
call it, so soon led her to change her mind; but a life-shadow is upon
my heart. If you can forget me, do so, in justice to yourself. As for
me, I feel that--but why should say this? Charles, do not seek to
change the resolution I have taken, for you cannot; do not ask for
explanations, for I can give none. May you be happier than I can ever
be! Farewell.
"CLARA."
"Madness!" exclaimed Charles Fisher, as he crumpled this letter in his
hand. "Is there no faith in woman?"
He sought no explanation; he made no effort to change her resolution;
he merely returned this brief answer--
"Clara, you are free."
It was quickly known among the circle of their friends that the
engagement between Fisher and Clara had been broken off. Mears and his
friend, it may be supposed, did not feel very comfortable when they
heard this.
"I didn't think the silly girl would take it so seriously," remarked
one to the other.
"No; it was a mere joke."
"But has turned out a very serious one."
"I guess they'll make it up again before long."
"I hope so. Who would have believed it was in her to take the matter so
much at heart, or to act with so much decision and firmness? I really
think better of the girl than I did before, although I pity her from my
heart."
"Hadn't we better make an effort to undo the wrong we have done?"
"And expose ourselves? Oh, no! We must be as still as death on the
subject. It is too serious an affair. We might get ourselves into
trouble."
"True. But I cannot bear to think that others are suffering from an act
of mine."
"It is not a pleasant consciousness, certainly. But still, to confess
what we have done would place us in a very awkward position. In fact,
not for the world would I have an exposure of this little act of folly
take place. It would affect me in a certain quarter--where, I need not
mention to you--in a way that might be exceedingly disagreeable."
"I didn't think of that. Yes, I agree with you that we had best keep
quiet about it. I'm sorry; but it can't be helped now."
And so the matter was dismissed.
No one saw Clara Grant in company for the space of twelve months. When
she did appear, all her old friends were struck with the great change
in her appearance. As for Fisher, he had left the city some months
before, and gone off to a Southern town, where, it was said, he was in
good business.
The cause of estrangement between the lovers remained a mystery to
every one. To all questions on the subject, Clara was silent. But that
she was a sufferer every one could see.
"I wish that girl would fall in love with somebody and get married,"
Mears remarked to his friend, about two years after they had passed off
upon Clara their good joke. "Her pale, quiet, suffering face haunts me
wherever I go."
"So do I. Who could have believed that a mere joke would turn out so
seriously?"
"I wonder if he is married yet?"
"It's doubtful. He appeared to take the matter quite as hard as she
does."
"Well, it's a lesson to me."
"And to me, also."
And, with this not very satisfactory conclusion, the two friends
dropped the subject. Both, since destroying, by a few words spoken in
jest, the happiness of a loving couple, had wooed and won the maidens
of their choice, and were now married. Both, up to this time, had
carefully concealed from their wives the act of which they had been
guilty.
After returning home from a pleasant company, one evening, at which
Clara was present, the wife of Mears said to him--
"You did not seem to enjoy yourself to-night. Are you not well?"
"Oh, yes; I feel quite well," returned Mears.
"Why, then, did you look so sober?"
"I was not aware that I looked more so than usual."
"You did, then. And you look sober now. There must be some cause for
this. What is it, dear?"
Mears was by no means ignorant of the fact that he felt sober. The
presence of Clara distressed him more, instead of less, the oftener he
met her. The question of his wife made him feel half inclined to tell
her the truth. After thinking for a moment, he said--
"I have felt rather graver than usual to-night. Something brought to my
recollection, too vividly, a little act of folly that has been attended
with serious consequences."
His wife looked slightly alarmed.
"It was only a joke--just done for the fun of the thing; but it was
taken, much to my surprise, seriously. I was innocent of any desire to
wound; but a few light words have made two hearts wretched."