FAILURE AND SUCCESS.
In a state of great anxiety, which increased each moment, Eugenia
looked for the twentieth time into the long hall, and seeing no one,
went back again to the glass, wondering if her new hat, which, without
her mother's knowledge, had that afternoon been purchased, and now
adorned her head, were as becoming as the milliner had said, and if
fifteen dollars were not a great price for one in her circumstances to
pay for a bonnet. Then she thought if Mr. Hastings proposed soon, as
she believed he would, she should never again feel troubled about the
trivial matter of money, of which she would have an abundance. But
where was he and why did he not come? she asked herself repeatedly,
caring less, however, for the delay, when she considered that if they
were late, more people would see her in company with the elegant Mr.
Hastings, who was well known in the city.
"Eight o'clock as I live," she exclaimed at last, consulting her watch,
"and the concert was to commence at half-past seven. What can it mean?"
and with another glance at her bonnet, she walked the length of the
hall, and leaning far over the balustrade looked anxiously down into
the office below, to see if by any chance he were there.
But he was not, and returning to her room, she waited another half
hour, when, grown more fidgety and anxious, she descended to the
office, inquiring if Mr. Hastings had been there that evening. Some one
thought they had seen him in the ladies' parlor that afternoon, but
further information than that she could not obtain, and the discomfited
young lady went back to her room in no very enviable frame of mind,
particularly as she heard the falling of the rain and thought how dark
it was without.
"What can have kept him?" she said, half crying with vexation. "And how
I wish I had gone home with mother!"
Wishing, however, was of no avail, and when that night at half-past
ten, the hotel omnibus as usual went to the depot, it carried a very
cross young lady, who, little heeding what she did, and caring less,
sat down beneath a crevice in the roof, through which the rain crept
in, lodging upon the satin bows and drooping plumes of her
fifteen-dollar hat, which, in her disappointment, she had forgotten to
exchange for the older one, safely stowed away in the bandbox she held
upon her lap. Arrived at Dunwood station, she found, as she had
expected, no omnibus in waiting, nor any one whose services she could
claim as an escort, so, borrowing an umbrella, and holding up her dress
as best she could, she started, band-box in hand, for home, stepping
once into a pool of water, and falling once upon the dirty sidewalk,
from which the mud and snow were wiped by her rich velvet cloak, to say
nothing of the frightful pinch made in her other bonnet by her having
crushed the band-box in her fall.
In a most forlorn condition, she at last reached home, where to her
dismay she found the door was locked and the fire gone out, her mother
not having expected her to return on such a night as this. To rouse up
Dora, and scold her unmercifully, though for what she scarcely knew,
was under the circumstances quite natural, and while Mr. Hastings at
Rose Hill was devising the best means of removing Dora from her power,
she at Locust Grove was venting the entire weight of her pent-up wrath
upon the head of the devoted girl, who bore it uncomplainingly.
Removing at last her bonnet, she discovered the marks of the omnibus
leak, and then her ire was turned towards him as having been the cause
of all her disasters.
"I'll never speak to him again, never," she exclaimed, as she crept
shivering to bed.
But a few hours' quiet slumber dissipated in a measure her wrath, and
during the next day she many times looked out to see him coming, as she
surely thought he would, laden with apologies for his seeming neglect.
But nothing appeared except the huge box containing the piano, and in
superintending the opening of that her mind was for a time diverted.
Greatly Alice and Dora marveled whence came the money with which the
purchase had been made, and both with one consent settled upon Mr.
Hastings as having been the donor. To this suggestion Eugenia made no
reply, and feeling sure that it was so, Dora turned away and walking to
the window sighed as she wondered what Ella would say if she could know
who was to take her place in the heart of Howard Hastings.
The instrument was finely toned, and Eugenia spent the remainder of the
day in practising a very difficult piece, which she knew Mr. Hastings
admired, and with which she intended to surprise and charm him. But he
did not come, either that day or the next, and on the morning of the
next, which was Saturday, feigning some trivial errand to Mrs. Leah,
she went herself to Rose Hill, casting anxious glances towards the
windows of his room to see if he were in sight. Dame Leah was a shrewd
old woman, and readily guessing that Eugenia's visit was prompted from
a desire to see her master, rather than herself, she determined to
tantalize her by saying nothing of him unless she were questioned.
Continually hoping he would appear, Eugenia lingered until there was no
longer a shadow of excuse for tarrying, and then she arose to go,
saying as she reached the door, "Oh, now I think of it, Mr. Hastings
has a book in his library which I very much wish to borrow. Is he at
home?"
"No," answered Mrs. Leah, "he went to New York, Thursday morning, on
the early train."
"To New York!" repeated Eugenia, "for what? and when will he be home?"
"He said he had important business," returned Mrs. Leah, adding that
"maybe he'd be home that night."
Eugenia had heard all she wished to know, and forgetting entirely the
_book_, bade Mrs. Leah good-morning, and walked away, feeling in a
measure relieved, for the _business_ which took him so suddenly to New
York, had undoubtedly some connection with his failing to call at the
hotel for her! He had never called upon Sunday evening, but thinking
that after so long an absence he might do so now, she sat in state from
six o'clock till nine, starting nervously at every sound, and once,
when sure she heard him, running from the room, so he would not find
her there, and think she had been waiting for him. But he did not come,
and the next day, feeling exceedingly anxious to know if he had
returned, and remembering the book, which she had failed to get, and
_must_ have, she towards night sent _Dora_ to Rose Hill, bidding her if
she saw Mr. Hastings tell him that her piano had come and she wished
him to hear it.
In the long kitchen by a glowing stove, Dame Leah sat, busy with her
knitting, which she quickly suspended when she saw Dora, who was with
her a favorite.
"So Eugenia sent you for that book?" she said, when told of Dora's
errand. "I'll see if he will lend it."
Mr. Hastings was alone in his library. All that day he had been making
up his mind to call at Locust Grove, where he knew Eugenia was
impatiently expecting him, for Mrs. Leah had told him of her call,
winking slily as she spoke of the _forgotten book_!
"Yes, I will go and have it over," he thought, just as Mrs. Leah
entered, telling him that "Miss Deane wanted that book."
Thinking that Eugenia was in the house, he answered hastily. "Take it
to her, and pray don't let her in here."
"It's Dora, not Eugenia," said Mrs. Leah, and instantly the whole
expression of his countenance changed.
"_Dora!_" he exclaimed. "It's a long time since I saw her in this room.
Tell her to come up."
Very gladly Dora obeyed the summons, and in a moment she stood in the
presence of Mr. Hastings.
"I am glad to see you," he said, motioning her to the little stool, on
which she had often sat when reciting to him her lessons, and when she
now sat down, it was so near to him that, had he chosen, his hand could
have rested on her beautiful hair, for she held her hood upon her lap.
Two months before and he would not have hesitated to smooth these
shining tresses, but the question of his sister, "Do you love her?" had
produced upon him a curious effect, making him half afraid of the
child-woman who sat before him, and who, after waiting a time for him
to speak, looked up into his face, and said, "Do you want me for
anything in particular, Mr. Hastings?"
"Want you, Dora? Want you?" he said, abstractedly, as if that question,
too, had puzzled him; then remembering himself, and why he had sent for
her, he answered, "I want to talk with you, Dora--to tell you
something. Do you remember my sister Mrs. Elliott?"
The eager, upward glance of Dora's eyes, was a sufficient answer, and
he continued, "I saw her last week and talked with her of you. She
wishes you to come and live with her. Will you go?"
Dora could never tell why she cried, but the thought of living with
Mrs. Elliott, whom she regarded as an almost superior being, overcame
her, and she burst into tears, while Mr. Hastings looked at her, quite
uncertain as to what, under the circumstances, it was proper for him to
do. If his sister had never bothered him with that strange question, he
would have known exactly how to act; but now in a state of perplexity,
he sat motionless, until, thinking he must do something, he said
gently, "_Dora, my child_" The last word removed his embarrassment
entirely. She _was a child_, and as such he would treat her. So he said
again, "Dora, my child, why do you cry?" and Dora answered impulsively,
"It makes me so glad to think of living with Mrs. Elliott, for you do
not know how unhappy I have been since she found me four years ago."
"I know more than you suppose. But it is over now," he said; and
stretching out his arm, he drew her nearer to him, and resting her head
upon his knee, he soothed her as if she were indeed the child he tried
to believe she was, and he her gray-haired sire, instead of a young man
of twenty-seven!
And Dora grew very calm sitting there with Mr. Hastings's hand upon her
head, and when he told her it was all arranged, and she should surely
go, she sprang to her feet, and while her cheeks glowed with
excitement, exclaimed, "It is too good to come true. Something will
happen, Aunt Sarah will not let me go."
"Yes, she will," said Mr. Hastings decidedly. "I am going there
to-night to talk with her."
Then, as it was already growing dark, he rose to accompany Dora home,
both of them forgetting the book, which Eugenia seemed destined never
to receive. But she did not think to ask for it in her joy at meeting
Mr. Hastings, who succeeded in appearing natural far better than he had
expected, telling her not that he was sorry for having failed to keep
his appointment, but that it was not consistent for him to do so, and
adding that he hoped she was not very much disappointed.
"Oh, no," she said, "I know of course that business detained
you;"--then, as she saw him looking at her piano, she advanced towards
it, and seating herself upon the stool, asked, "if he would like to
hear her play?"
He could not conscientiously answer "yes," for he felt that the sound
would sicken him; but he stood at her side and turned the leaves of her
music as usual, while she dashed through the piece she had practised
with so much care.
"How do you like it?" she said, when she had finished; and he answered,
"I always admired your playing, you know, but the tone of the
instrument does not quite suit me. It seems rather muffled, _as if the
wires were made of hair!_" and his large black eyes were bent
searchingly upon her.
Coloring crimson, she thought, "Can he have learned my secret?" then,
as she remembered how impossible it was for him to know aught of the
money, she answered, "Quite an original idea," at the same time seating
herself upon the sofa. Sitting down beside her as he had been in the
habit of doing, he commenced at once upon the object of his visit,
asking if her mother were at home, and saying he wished to see her on a
matter of some importance; then, knowing who was really the ruling
power there, he added, as Eugenia arose to leave the room in quest of
her mother, "perhaps I had better speak of my business first to you!"
Feeling sure now of a proposal, the young lady resumed her seat,
involuntarily pulling at her fourth finger, and mentally hoping the
_engagement ring_ would be a diamond one. What then was her surprise
when she found that not herself, but Dora was the subject of his
remarks! After telling her of his visit to his sister, and of her
wishes with regard to Dora, he said, "since the death of my wife and
baby, I have felt a deep interest in your family for the kindness shown
to me in my affliction. I promised Ella that I would befriend Dora, and
by placing her with Louise, I shall not only fulfil my word, but shall
also be relieved of all care concerning her. Do yon think I can
persuade your mother to let her go?"
Eugenia did not know. She would speak to her about it after he was
gone, and tell him on the morrow.
"I shall rely upon you to plead my cause," he continued; "Louise's
heart is quite set upon it, and I do not wish to disappoint her."
"I will do my best," answered Eugenia, never suspecting that Mr.
Hastings was quite as anxious as his sister, who, she presumed,
intended making a half companion, half waiting-maid of her cousin.
"But it will be a good place for her, and somewhat of a relief to us,"
she thought, after Mr. Hastings had gone. "She is getting to be a young
lady now, and growing each year more and more expensive, I presume Mrs.
Elliott will send her to school for a time at least, and in case our
families should be connected, it is well for her to do so. I wrote to
Uncle Nat that we wished to send her away to school, and this is the
very thing. Mother won't of course insist upon her having all that
money, for she will be well enough off without it, and if Mr. Hastings
ever does propose, I can have a handsome outfit! Fortune does favor me
certainly."
Thus Eugenia mused, and thus did she talk to her mother and she was the
more easily persuaded when she saw how eager Dora was to go.
"I shall be sorry to leave you, Aunt Sarah," said Dora, coming to her
side, and resting her hand upon her shoulder, "but I shall be so happy
with Mrs. Elliott, that I am sure you'll let me go."
Mrs. Deane was naturally a cold, selfish woman, but the quiet,
unassuming Dora had found a place in her heart, and she would be very
lonely without her; still it was better for her, and better for them
all that she should go; so she at last gave her consent, and when the
next day Mr. Hastings called he was told that Dora could go as soon as
he thought best.
"Let it be immediately, then," he said. "I will write to Louise
to-night, and tell her we shall come next week."
"I wish I could go to New York with her," said Eugenia. "It's so long
since I was there."
"You had better wait till some other time, for I could not now show you
over the city," answered Mr. Hastings, who had no idea of being
burdened with Eugenia.
"He expects me to go with him sometime, or he would never have said
that," thought Eugenia, and this belief kept her good-natured during
all the bustle and hurry of preparing Dora for her journey.
The morning came at last on which Dora was to leave, and with feelings
of regret Mrs. Deane and Alice bade her good-by, while Eugenia
accompanied her to the depot, where she knew she should see Mr.
Hastings.
"I've half a mind to go with you as far as Rochester," she said to
Dora, in his presence, as the cars came up, but he made no reply, and
the project was abandoned.
Kissing her cousin good-by, she stood upon the platform until the train
had moved away, and then walked slowly back to the house, which even to
her seemed lonesome.