ELECTRA'S DISCOVERY
From early childhood Irene had experienced a sensation of loneliness.
Doubtless the loss of her mother enhanced this feeling, but the peculiarity
of her mental organization would have necessitated it even under happier
auspices. Miss Margaret considered her "a strange little thing," and rarely
interfered with her plans in any respect, while her father seemed to take
it for granted that she required no looking after. He knew that her beauty
was extraordinary; he was proud of the fact; and having provided her with a
good music master, and sent her to the best school in the county, he left
her to employ her leisure as inclination prompted. Occasionally her will
conflicted with his, and more than once he found it impossible to make her
yield assent to his wishes. To the outward observances of obedience and
respect she submitted, but whenever these differences occurred, he felt
that in the end she was unconquered. Inconsistent as it may appear, though
fretted for the time by her firmness, he loved her the more for her
"wilfulness," as he termed it; and despotic and exacting though he
certainly was in many respects, he stood somewhat in awe of his
pure-hearted, calm-eyed child. His ward and nephew, Hugh Seymour, had
resided with him for several years, and it was well known that Mr.
Huntingdon had pledged his daughter's hand to his sister's son. Irene had
never been officially apprised of her destiny, but surmised very accurately
the true state of the case. Between the two cousins there existed not the
slightest congeniality of taste or disposition; not a sympathetic link save
the tie of relationship. On her part there was a moderate share of cousinly
affection; on his, as much love and tenderness as his selfish nature was
capable of feeling. They rarely quarrelled as most children do, for when
(as frequently happened) he flew into a rage and tried to tyrannize, she
scorned to retort in any way and generally locked him out of the library.
What she thought of her father's intentions concerning herself, no one
knew; she never alluded to the subject, and if in a frolicsome mood Hugh
broached it, she invariably cut the discussion short. When he went to
college in a distant state, she felt infinitely relieved, and during his
vacations secluded herself as much as possible. Yet the girl's heart was
warm and clinging; she loved her father devotedly, and loved most intensely
Electra Grey, whom she had first met at school. They were nearly the same
age, classmates, and firm friends. As totally different in character as
appearance was Electra Grey. Rather smaller and much thinner than Irene,
with shining, purplish black hair, large, sad, searching black eyes, from
which there was no escape, a pale olive complexion, and full crimson lips
that rarely smiled. Electra was a dreamer, richly gifted; dissatisfied
because she could never attain that unreal world which her busy brain kept
constantly before her.
Electra's love of drawing had early displayed itself; first, in strange,
weird figures on her slate, then in her copy-book, on every slip of paper
which she could lay her hands upon; and, finally, for want of more suitable
material, she scrawled all over the walls of the little bedroom, to the
great horror of her aunt, who spread a coat of whitewash over the child's
frescos, and begged her to be guilty of no such conduct in future, as Mr.
Clark might, with great justice, sue for damages. In utter humiliation,
Electra retreated to the garden, and here, after a shower had left the
sandy walks white and smooth, she would sharpen a bit of pine, and draw
figures and faces of all conceivable and inconceivable shapes. Chancing to
find her thus engaged one Sunday afternoon, Russell supplied her with a
package of drawing-paper, and pencils. So long as these lasted she was
perfectly happy, but unluckily their straitened circumstances admitted of
no such expenditure, and before many weeks she was again without materials.
She would not tell Russell that she had exhausted his package, and passed
sleepless nights trying to devise some method by which she could aid
herself. It was positive torture for her to sit in school and see the
drawing-master go round, giving lessons on this side and that, skipping
over her every time, because her aunt could not afford the extra three
dollars. Amid all these yearnings and aspirations she turned constantly to
Russell, with a worshipping love that knew no bounds. She loved her meek
affectionate aunt as well as most natures love their mothers, and did all
in her power to lighten her labours, but her affection for Russell bordered
on adoration. In a character so exacting and passionate as hers there is
necessarily much of jealousy, and thus it came to pass that, on the day of
Irene's visit to the cottage, the horrible suspicion took possession of her
that he loved Irene better than herself. True, she was very young, but
childish hearts feel as keenly as those of matured years; and Electra
endured more agony during that day than in all her past life. Had Irene
been other than she was, in every respect, she would probably have hated
her cordially; as matters stood, she buried the suspicion deep in her own
heart, and kept as much out of everybody's way as possible. Days and weeks
passed very wearily; she busied herself with her text-books, and when the
lessons had been recited, drew all over the margins--here a hand, there an
entire arm, now and then a face, sad-eyed as Fate.
Mrs. Aubrey's eyes became so blurred that finally she could not leave the
house without having some one to guide her, and, as cold weather had now
arrived, preparations were made for her journey. Mr. Hill, who was going to
New Orleans, kindly offered to take charge of her, and the day of departure
was fixed. Electra packed the little trunk, saw it deposited on the top of
the stage in the dawn of an October morning, saw her aunt comfortably
seated beside Mr. Hill, and in another moment all had vanished. In the
afternoon of that day, on returning from school, Electra went to the
bureau, and, unlocking a drawer, took out a small paper box. It contained a
miniature of her father, set in a handsome gold frame. She knew it had been
her mother's most valued trinket; her aunt had carefully kept it for her,
and as often as the temptation assailed her she had resisted; but now the
longing for money triumphed over every other feeling. Having touched the
spring, she took a knife and cautiously removed the bit of ivory beneath
the glass, then deposited the two last in the box, put the gold frame in
her pocket, and went out to a jewellery store. As several persons had
preceded her, she leaned against the counter, and, while waiting, watched
with some curiosity the movements of one of the goldsmiths, who, with a
glass over one eye, was engaged in repairing watches. Some had been taken
from the cases, others were untouched; and as her eyes passed swiftly over
the latter, they were suddenly riveted to a massive gold one lying somewhat
apart. A half-smothered exclamation caused the workman to turn round and
look at her, but in an instant she calmed herself; and thinking it a mere
outbreak of impatience, he resumed his employment. Just then one of the
proprietors approached, and said politely, "I am sorry we have kept you
waiting, miss. What can I do for you?"
"What is this worth?"
She laid the locket down on the counter, and looked up with eyes that
sparkled very joyously he thought. He examined it a moment, and said rather
dryly--
"Well, how do I know, in the first place, that it belongs to you? Jewellers
have to be very particular about what they buy."
She crimsoned, and drew herself proudly away from the counter, then smiled
and held out her hand for the locket.
"It is mine; it held my father's miniature, but I took it out because I
want a paint-box, and thought I could sell this case for enough to buy one.
It was my mother's once; here are her initials on the back, H. G.--Harriet
Grey. But of course you don't know whether I am telling the truth; I will
bring my cousin with me, he can prove it. Sir, are you so particular about
everything you buy?"
"We try to be."
Again her eyes sparkled; she bowed, and left the store.
Once in the street, she hurried to Mr. Campbell's office, ran up the steps,
and rapped loudly at the door.
"Come in!" thundered the lawyer.
She stopped on the threshold, glanced round, and said timidly--
"I want to see Russell, if you please."
"Russell is at the post-office. Have you any particular spite at my door,
that you belabour it in that style? or do you suppose I am as deaf as a
gatepost?"
"I beg your pardon; I did not mean to startle you, sir. I was not thinking
of either you or your door."
She sprang down the steps to wait on the sidewalk for her cousin, and met
him at the entrance.
"Oh, Russell! I have found your watch."
A ray of light seemed to leap from his eyes as he seized her hand.
"Where?"
"At Mr. Brown's jewellery store."
"Thank God!"
He went up the stairway, delivered the letters, and came back accompanied
by Mr. Campbell.
"This is my cousin, Electra Grey, Mr. Campbell."
"So I inferred from the unceremonious assault she made on my door just now.
However, shake hands, little lady; it seems there is some reason for your
haste. Let's hear about this precious watch business."
She simply told what she had seen. Presently Russell said--
"But how did you happen there, Electra?"
"Your good angel, sent me, I suppose; and," she added in a whisper, "I will
tell you some other time."
On re-entering the store, she walked at once to the workman's corner, and
pointed out the watch.
"Yes, it is mine. I would know it among a thousand."
"How can you identify it, Aubrey?"
He immediately gave the number, and name of the manufacturer, and described
the interior tracery, not omitting the quantity of jewels. Mr. Campbell
turned to the proprietor (the same gentleman with whom Electra had
conversed), and briefly recapitulated the circumstances which had occurred
in connection with the watch. Mr. Brown listened attentively, then
requested Russell to point out the particular one that resembled his. He
did so, and on examination, the number, date, name, and all the marks
corresponded so exactly that no doubt remained on the jeweller's mind.
"Young man, this watch was sold for ninety dollars by a man named Rufus
Turner, who lives in New Orleans, No. 240 ---- street. I will write to him
at once, and find out, if possible, how it came into his possession. I
rather think he had some horses here for sale."
"Did he wear green glasses," inquired Russell of the young man who had
purchased the watch.
"Yes, and had one arm in a sling."
"I saw such a man here about the time my watch was missing."
After some directions from Mr. Campbell concerning the proper course to be
pursued, Electra drew out her locket, saying--
"Now, Russell, is not this locket mine?"
"Yes; but where is the miniature? What are you going to do with it?"
"The miniature is at home, but I want to sell the frame, and Mr. Brown does
not know but that it is another watch case."
"If it is necessary, I will swear that it belongs lawfully to you; but what
do you want to sell it for? I should think you would prize it too highly to
be willing to part with it."
"I do prize the miniature, and would not part with it for any
consideration; but I want something far more than a gold case to keep it
in."
"Tell me what you want, and I will get it for you," whispered her cousin.
"No--I am going to sell this frame."
"And I am going to buy it from you," said the kind-hearted merchant, taking
it from her hand and weighing it.
Russell and Mr. Campbell left the store, and soon after Mr. Brown paid
Electra several dollars for the locket.
In half an hour she had purchased a small box of paints, a supply of
drawing-paper and pencils, and returned home, happier and prouder than many
an empress, whose jewels have equalled those of the Begums of Oude. She had
cleared Russell's character, and her hands were pressed over her heart to
still its rapturous throbbing. Many days elapsed before Mr. Turner's answer
arrived. He stated that he had won the watch from Cecil Watson, at a
horse-race, where both were betting; and proved the correctness of his
assertion by reference to several persons who were present, and who resided
in the town. Russell had suspected Cecil from the moment of its
disappearance, and now provided with both letter and watch, and accompanied
by Mr. Brown, he repaired to Mr. Watson's store. Russell had been insulted,
his nature was stern, and now he exulted in the power of disgracing the son
of the man who had wronged him. There was no flush on his face, but a cold,
triumphant glitter in his eyes as he approached his former employer, and
laid watch and letter before him.
"What business have you here?" growled the merchant, trembling before the
expression of the boy's countenance.
"My business is to clear my character which you have slandered, and to fix
the disgrace you intended for me on your own son. I bring you the proofs of
his, not my villainy."
"Come into the back-room; I will see Brown another time," said Watson,
growing paler each moment.
"No, sir; you were not so secret in your dealings with me. Here, where you
insulted me, you shall hear the whole truth. Read that. I suppose the
twenty-dollar gold piece followed the watch."
The unfortunate father perused the letter slowly, and smothered a groan.
Russell watched him with a keen joy which he might have blushed to
acknowledge had he analysed his feelings. Writhing under his impaling eye,
Mr. Watson said--
"Have you applied to the witnesses referred to?"
"Yes; they are ready to swear that they saw Cecil bet Turner the watch."
"You did not tell them the circumstances, did you?"
"No."
There was an awkward silence, broken by Mr. Watson.
"If I retract all that I have said against you, and avow your innocence,
will it satisfy you? Will you be silent about Cecil?"
"No!" rose peremptorily to Russell's lips, but he checked it; and the
patient teaching of years, his mother's precepts, and his mother's prayers
brought forth their first fruit--golden charity.
"You merit no forbearance at my hands, and I came here intending to show
you none; but, on reflection, I will not follow your example. Clear my name
before the public, and I leave the whole affair with you. Good morning."
Afraid to trust himself, he turned away and joined Mr. Campbell in the
office.
In the afternoon of the same day came a letter from Mr. Hill containing sad
news. The oculist had operated on Mrs. Aubrey's eyes, but violent
inflammation had ensued; he had done all that scientific skill could
prompt, but feared she would be hopelessly blind. At the close of the
letter Mr. Hill stated that he would bring her home the following week. One
November evening, just before dark, while Russell was cutting wood for the
kitchen-fire, the stage stopped at the cottage-gate, and he hurried forward
to receive his mother in his arms. It was a melancholy reunion; for a
moment the poor sufferer's fortitude forsook her, and she wept. But his
caresses soothed her, and she followed Electra into the house while he
brought in the trunk. When shawl and bonnet had been removed, and Electra
placed her in the rocking-chair, the light fell on face and figure, and the
cousins started at the change that had taken place. She was so ghastly
pale, so very much reduced. She told them all that had occurred during the
tedious weeks of absence; how much she regretted having gone since the trip
proved so unsuccessful, how much more she deplored the affliction on their
account than her own; and then from that hour no allusion was ever made to
it.