AN INSIGHT INTO MR. VERNE'S AFFAIRS.
Summer had passed into autumn--all nature was arrayed in robes of
gorgeous dye. The foliage of Sunnybank was brilliant and the leafy
shrubberies had not yet begun to show signs of decay.
Mr. Verne sat in the library and beside him sat a welcome guest.
Mrs. Montgomery made several excuses for her untimely interruption
and Mr. Verne received them with the best of grace--he well knew
what had prompted the visit--the good kind and generous heart.
As the matronly appearance of the new comer awakened a spirit of
interest in the affairs of Sunnybank so it aroused the quiet
unobtrusive master. Mr. Verne thanked God from the bottom of his
heart that he could sit in his office and hear the voice of a true
friend in kindly counsel with the domestics.
"Ah! if Matilda were only like her, how different our lives might
have been," murmured the wearied man of business, then heaving a
deep sigh glanced over the latest exchange sheets, trying to find
relief from the depressing thoughts that were crowding hastily
through his overworked brain.
"Sooner or later it must come and God knows it is through no
discrepancies on my part. Poor little Madge; she is a good child. If
she were only settled I would feel more relief; but she is to be
bartered for pelf, poor child. I will stand by her to the last."
Voices in the parlor now claimed Mr. Verne's attention.
"Strange too, at the very moment," murmured the latter as he closed
the folios and then ran his fingers through his hair as if to
prepare for some pleasing reception.
A cheery voice exclaimed "business kept me away sir, but I could
stand it no longer," and shaking his host's hand with more than
hearty grasp Phillip Lawson soon found himself at home in
Sunnybank's elegant parlor.
The young lawyer could not fail to note the careworn look upon Mr.
Verne's passive countenance, nor did he fail to note the cause,
while a strange yearning feeling went straight to the warm heart.
"If it were only in my power to help him," murmured Phillip in
inarticulate tones as he took up a newspaper that lay on the small
table near. It was a late English paper and bore the address of Mr.
Verne in a neat graceful hand.
"We have just heard from Marguerite," said Mr. Verne, attempting to
be very cheerful.
"I hope all are well, sir?" ventured Mr. Lawson timidly.
"Yes, they are in good health, but I fear that Marguerite is wearied
of life in gay cities. Mr. Lawson, you cannot imagine how much I
miss her. It seems as if part of my life is gone from me."
Mr. Verne's voice was husky and unsteady and his eyes had a far off
wistful look that struck a vibrative chord in Phillip Lawson's
breast.
"I might as well make a clean breast of it at once," thought the
latter, "no good comes of carrying a pent up sorrow to one's grave
without trying to seek sympathy from a fellow being--and to none
would I go more willingly than her father."
A slight pause ensued and Mr. Lawson spoke.
"It is pleasant for Miss Verne to see the mother country and form
comparisons for herself and no doubt she will be the better for
having had a change of climate."
"Yes, that was why I did not oppose her going away. I knew that her
constitution was delicate, but again, that fact made it the harder
for me to associate Marguerite with late hours and all the
inconveniences of fashionable life. I tell you what it is Mr. Lawson
I am no advocate of fast living and I thank God that my daughter is
only playing a part in which her heart has no interest."
"Miss Verne has a mind far above such things," said Mr. Lawson with
some warmth.
Mrs. Montgomery had adroitly slipped out unobserved and was busying
herself over some mending which was needed.
She could hear the hum of the voices and could almost distinguish
the words being said.
"If Stephen Verne is not a downright fool he will straighten matters
up yet," thought the woman as she put away the work-basket and began
to plan work for the following day.
Conversation still went on briskly and Mr. Verne seemed himself once
more. His burden felt light in the presence of the young lawyer and
from the depths of his soul he longed for a closer intimacy--that
bond of true sympathy which cements hearts forever.
Phillip Lawson partly realized the fact: the barriers of
conventionalism were fearlessly torn down as he took courage to
speak out.
"Mr. Verne you do not surely think that a man of sense can be blind
to the inestimable and rare qualities which he sees in Miss Verne's
character. If we had more woman like her what a different world it
would be!"
"God bless you, my boy," said Mr. Verne fervently.
"Amen," responded a voice from another apartment but unheard in the
parlor.
What invisible, subtle power prevented the young man from falling on
his knees and confessing his love for the pure Marguerite?
What invisible presence laid a pressure upon Phillip Lawson's lips
and sealed them fast?
What invisible force turned the conversation into another and
entirely different source, yet did not weaken the bond already
established.
Mr. Verne communicated many proofs of his entire confidence and the
thought gave to his young friend more courage.
"It is indeed a trying season sir, but I trust you will keep abreast
of the times. Many of our establishments are said to be in a shaky
condition."
"If they give me time I am all right, if not I am gone."
Phillip Lawson was a poor man. What right had he to offer
consolation? He said nothing, but inwardly prayed that the storm
might pass over and all would be brighter than the May morn.
"I challenge you to a game of dominoes, gentlemen," cried Mrs.
Montgomery who now felt that her presence was necessary.
"We are only too happy Mrs. Montgomery," said Phillip rising from
his seat and placing a chair for her.
Mr. Verne also being seated the time honored game of muggins was
soon in active operation and, as is often the cape, the lady being
the best player was sadly worsted but submitted with a grace that
was amusing.
"Come in often, Mr. Lawson; I am going to remain for three or four
weeks and we need all the companionship we can muster," said the
lively and unceremonious matron as she bade good-night to the former
with an air of interest in every look and gesture--a something which
seemed to say "depend on me."
Nor was the warm pressure of Mr. Verne's hand lost upon the
susceptible nature of Phillip Lawson.
"If I had Hubert Tracy's riches what an amount of good I could
accomplish; but what's the use." And for once the Christian spirit
of the young man underwent sore temptation. He was wondering why it
was that prodigals and spendthrifts, with no special ability but
that of wasting other people's earnings, should have means
inexhaustible while other poor fellows with fair ability should have
to toil all their days for the means of subsistence and never have
the wherewith to relieve their suffering fellow mortals or follow
the yearnings of their impassionate hearts!
Mrs. Montgomery stood on the terrace and watched the receding figure
of Phillip Lawson until he had crossed Queen Square and turned
Charlotte street. She then returned to the parlor, and finding Mr.
Verne sitting as if in deep study, was about to retire when he
quietly motioned her to a seat.
"Sit down here. Our young friend has gone, and it seems as if he
took all the sunshine with him, for I feel more prosy than ever."
"You need not try to hide your feelings from me, Stephen; it is of
no use. I am here to help you all I can, and much as it will cost
you I must hear your trouble. Heaven knows I would gladly do all
that lies within my power."
Mrs. Montgomery's bustling and blustering nature had now become calm
and gentle as a child as she sat beside her brother-in-law and
poured into his ear such words of sympathy and encouragement as she
could honestly give.
"We will not blame her altogether," said Mr. Verne. "She was young
and fond of gaiety, and I thought that in course of time our natures
should blend together, but sad to say, with coming years the breach
widened. She went into society and I took refuge in seclusion."
"Stephen, you need not try to smooth matters!" exclaimed Mrs.
Montgomery, allowing her temper to get aroused. "She is all to
blame. Matilda is a fool, and I would tell her so if she stood face
to face with me to-night!"
Mr. Verne did not raise his eyes, for he did not wish his companion
to see the look of desperation settled there.
"And to think of the manner in which poor Marguerite is dragged over
the continent for the sake of hunting up a grand match is something
beyond endurance."
"It is all too true, Hester," moaned the grief-stricken husband. "It
is all too true."
"And I would oppose it to the bitter end, Stephen. Yes, I would face
poverty a thousand times rather than see a child of mine subjected
to such indignity. I have watched Matilda's high-handed work with
keen interest, I have noted everything, and if she thinks she has
hoodwinked me I pity her delusion."
"The truth is I have been too much immersed in business to attend to
much else, Hester, but at times I have not liked the manner in which
things were going on. I never gave consent to Evelyn's marriage, I
could not sanction it, but the girl seemed bent upon it, and I made
no opposition in the matter."
"Montague Arnold is a dissipated man and immoral in every sense of
the word, but that matters not in good society."
Mrs. Montgomery's face was indeed severe as she took from her pocket
a piece of knitting and began making stitches rapidly.
"It is one of the many enigmas of fashionable society which I can
never account for: why the most worthless, debauched and dissipated
young men are fawned upon, lionized and courted by the most
respectable mothers and matrons, and allowed the full liberty of
their ball-rooms, drawing-rooms, salons, &c., claiming the most
virtuous maidens for their amusement and pastime! And further, an
honest-minded young man, who leads a strictly moral life, and labors
hard to gain a reputation for himself, is cast aside or scorned as a
mere nobody!"
"It is too true, Hester, I can fully endorse what you say. I have
indeed turned away in disgust from fashionable resorts when I have
seen young men of the most vicious habits contaminating the very air
with their dissoluteness, flirting and dancing with the pure-minded
girls who would have shrunk away in loathing could they hare seen
the same young men at a later hour in dens of iniquity."
Mr. Verne was excited; he thought of his lovely Marguerite, and a
pang shot through his heart, causing his face and lips to become
ashy white.
"It is a disagreeable subject to broach, but I cannot help it,
Stephen--I mean Hubert Tracy," said Mrs. Montgomery, in suppressed
and measured tones. "You are not blind, Stephen, to the fact that
Matilda and Evelyn are conspiring to find a son-in-law for you, and
that one is Mr. Tracy?"
"God forbid!" said Mr. Verne, springing to his feet as if stung by
an adder.
"As true as my name is what it is, Stephen, you will see it--that
is--if you do not try to prevent it."
"My Marguerite will never sacrifice herself in that way," said Mr.
Verne, vehemently--"never!"
"She will be talked into it. Marguerite will do anything rather than
incur her mother's ill-will; for depend upon it, Matilda will lead
her a sorry life if she shows opposition to her will."
"I have been too careless, Hester. It is yet time enough, thank God!
When Marguerite is once more safe in my sheltering arms she will
neer be subjected to the importunities of disagreeable suitors."
"Evelyn has too much diplomacy in her character. Marguerite cannot
cope with her ingenious allurements, depend upon it, but I hope
everything may turn out for the best yet," said Mrs. Montgomery,
with a wistful look upon her countenance.
"Hester, I have much to think of. Sometimes my thoughts are almost
insupportable, I almost sink--I believe I would if it were not for
Marguerite. She is my ministering angel--and I miss her so much."
It was only on this evening that Mr. Verne had become communicative.
He was always looked upon as a cold, reticent man, who had no
sympathy with humanity in general; but there were those who could
say "God bless you, Mr. Verne," from the bottom of their hearts. Who
will presume to say that those grateful invocations were lost upon
the winds--that they were not wafted to the Throne of Mercy, and
received the plaudits of the King of Kings?
"I have long been thinking of having a talk with you, Stephen, and I
feel now is the time," said Mrs. Montgomery, in confidential tone,
yet betraying some hesitation. "We all know Stephen, that your
family is living beyond your means, and that you are robbing
yourself of health, strength and peace of mind to keep up an
extravagant appearance. I ask you if that is right?"
"Hester, it is this that is killing me by inches, yet I cannot
prevent it. What can I do? I cannot breast the current that is
carrying along everything with it in maddening fury. One day I must
make the plunge!"
Mr. Verne buried his face in his hands and wept like a child, while
Mrs. Montgomery sat motionless, her eyes fixed upon the quaintly
carved case of the eight day clock, whose solemn tick made the
stillness more oppressive.
Mrs. Montgomery was the first to speak. "Stephen, it is not too late
to straighten up matters. Take my advice, and if you are not more
prosperous a year hence I will give you the deed of 'Gladswood.'--a
present on your next birthday."
Mr. Verne forced a smile, and grasping the woman's hand, exclaimed,
"Hester, you are, indeed, a friend in the hour of need. I feel
stronger already."
"It is growing late, Stephen, and you need rest; we will talk over
the matter to-morrow," and bidding good-night, Mrs. Montgomery arose
and retired to her own apartments, while Mr. Verne sat buried in
thought until the clock struck the hour of midnight; then slowly he
arose, and, with languid step, turned a sad face towards the door,
musing, "It is all sent for some good. Teach me, oh God, to see
things as I ought."