THE INVITATION TO THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
The first cloud obscuring the heaven of Clara’s perfect happiness as a
wife, had passed. The sun shone again, but never with its ineffable
brightness. Love’s perfect Eden was forever lost.
Dr. Delano and his wife had been keeping house a little over a year.
Clara performed all wifely duties with perfect care. She had been
apparently satisfied with Albert’s course to Ella. She made no
complaints, was cheerful always, received all his friends with a cordial
grace that pleased him well, and if her caresses had lost their old
tenderness, he had not wondered at the change—alas! he had not even
noticed it;—and yet Clara believed that the trusting, childlike
happiness that had been theirs at first, would, by some miracle, return.
She cherished this hope as the drowning cling to straws. Ardent and
romantic in her nature, feeling certain that her love was perfect and
could meet all the needs of Albert, she was terribly shaken by the
discovery that the petting, the flattery, the languishing ways of Ella,
charmed him more than anything else in the world. She did not blame him
nor Ella. It was inevitable that they should like each other, but there
were times when her life seemed unendurable.
Ella was often at the house, and Clara received her as she did many of
Albert’s friends, with whom she had no special sympathy; but when one
day Albert reproached her for showing no affection to Ella, and dwelt
upon Ella’s virtues, among which were her simplicity, her affection, her
childlike innocence, Clara’s patience gave way: “I do not love her,” she
said, “and you know it well. Why should I play the hypocrite? I will
treat her well, because she is your friend. We pretend that we have a
higher guide than mere conventional rules, which would forbid your ever
asking me to receive a woman who stands between me and your love. Ask no
more of me, Albert,” she said, with an expression he but partly
comprehended. “Ask no more of me, Albert, or I shall fail you, not only
in this but in all things.”
Sometimes the temptation was great to open Albert’s eyes as to Ella’s
childlike innocence, but Clara was really above using such a weapon
against her rival; besides, she doubted that they could be opened. Ella
was, apparently, without a single flaw in his eyes.
With the summer came the discussion of passing the heated term at the
White Mountains. Albert declared that Clara was looking a little
fatigued, and the change would give her tone and color. She received
this evidence of anxiety about her health with great pleasure. The
prospect of several weeks, in a delightful country, alone with Albert,
was in itself sufficient to bring color to her cheeks, and to reawaken
her fondest hopes. Mr. Delano, with Charlotte and Ella, were to spend
the summer as usual at Newport; but it happened that just before Miss
Charlotte announced to her father that her preparations were completed,
Ella decided to wait and join Clara and Albert in their trip to the
White Mountains. Miss Delano expressed unqualified surprise.
“I don’t know why you should be surprised. Am I not old enough to choose
for myself?”
“You are _old_ enough to be discreet,” said Miss Delano, severely; “but,
I can assure you, you are not.”
“I know. It is always indiscreet to do what you wish to.”
“No, Miss Wills; it is indiscreet to wish to do what good sense
condemns.”
“I’m sure I cannot see that good sense condemns my wish to go to the
White Mountains with Clara and Albert.”
“You mean with Albert and Clara. I would ask you if you have been
invited by Albert’s wife?”
Ella winced. She saw but one escape, and that was through a falsehood.
“Certainly I have,” she said, with effrontery.
“What is this?” asked Mr. Delano, slow, like most men, to understand the
disputes of women. Miss Delano having the issue clearly thrust upon her,
explained very succinctly.
“My dear Ella,” said the mild old gentleman, mildly, and as if a sudden
thought had struck him, “you know you were an old flame of Albert’s, and
you know he is a very hot-headed fellow. I think you _are_ playing with
the fire.”
The very mildness of the old gentleman was like tinder to flames, in its
effect. Ella answered insolently, and flirted out of the room. Under
such circumstances, she thought the best way to convince Mr. Delano and
his daughter that they had wronged her, was to show them that they had
made her ill. She stayed in her room two whole days, and by great
effort, refusing all food during that time, she succeeded pretty well.
During the second day she wrote the following letter to Albert:
“DEAREST FRIEND:—I am ill and suffering. It is useless to struggle
against fate. No one cares for Ella but you—no one understands her—and
they would have me think it wicked to see you. What does it matter that
we know our love is pure? They will not believe it. Let us submit to
fate, dear, dearest Albert. We had better not meet again, since we
cannot be understood. Though it breaks my heart to say it, _farewell
forever_!
“Your unhappy
“ELLA.”
Whether Ella guessed what would be the result of this epistle or not,
she felt she had done a sublime stroke of duty. She had bade him an
eternal farewell, and if he did not abide by it, the fault was not hers.
Albert, of course, flew to the rescue gallantly, and that no time should
be lost, ordered the carriage for the purpose. He called for Ella, who
refused to see him; whereupon he called for his sister, and expended
considerable brotherly fury upon that staid maiden. She, on her side,
told him some very unpalatable truths, and gave him some advice, which
was yet more distasteful, and to which he replied angrily:
“You know no more of my wife than you do of Ella, whom you never
understood.” Miss Delano gave her views of Ella’s character and general
motives of conduct in most well bred but unmistakable terms, and ended
by saying, “If Clara Forest is a woman to be deceived by Ella Wills, to
‘love’ her as you say, then I am fearfully mistaken in the woman. The
truth is, you are using her love for you, to abuse her good sense.”
Albert did not fail to show that he had a profound contempt for such
ideas of love as might be entertained by prudes and old maids, though he
was too polite to use the latter term to any lady. People who are
married are apt to think that only they have any understanding of love,
just as parents presume that they are better qualified to bring up
children from the fact of their maternity or paternity, than others who
have no children; though all experience shows that the capacity to bear
children, by no means implies the capacity to rear them properly.
In this encounter of brother and sister, Miss Charlotte manifested the
calm dignity of one sure of her position, while Albert showed all the
blustering, virtuous indignation of the guilty man; however, in the end
he succeeded, not only in seeing Ella, but in bearing her away in
triumph.
Clara was sufficiently surprised when he arrived with his charge, and
supported her upstairs in an apparently dying condition, though she had
contrived to look exceedingly interesting in a white cashmere wrapper,
fastened at the throat by a huge scarlet ribbon, which made her pallor
more noticeable by contrast. The old family physician, Dr. Hanaford, had
been called in, but when he came the patient was gone. Mr. Delano
advised him to follow her. This Dr. Hanaford was much inclined to do on
learning that Albert was unaware that the family physician had been sent
for; and further, he did not wish to trust his patient in the hands of
young Dr. Delano, which proved that he did not understand the nature of
her case. Arrived at Ella’s bedside, he examined her tongue, her pulse,
and asked all the usual impertinent questions which doctors seldom omit,
even when summoned to prescribe for a sty on the eyelid. Ella, who had
never in her life been seriously ill, and knew well that she was not
now, winced under the doctor’s examination into her case, the gravity of
which he measured by his inability to comprehend it. By dint of nasty
medicaments, a low diet, and close confinement, he succeeded in a few
days in making Ella very comfortably ill, and she enjoyed greatly the
care and anxiety of her friends. Clara was wholly deceived, and nursed
Ella with the greatest care, but said nothing about her joining their
summer excursion. This vexed Ella, who was determined that Clara should
extend the invitation voluntarily. On the occasion of Dr. Hanaford’s
next visit, he recommended change of air. “Oh, doctor, I can’t go
anywhere,” she replied, languidly. “I don’t wish to move.”
“But, my dear Miss Wills, I advise it. It is the only thing for you in
your present condition.”
“Well, then, don’t send me to the sea-side. I hate the sea, and am
always made ill by being near it. Now, you will not, will you, dear
doctor?” she added, in her most caressing manner. “If you do, I will die
just to spite you.”
“No, my dear Miss Wills, I am rather inclined to think a mountain
region——”
“No, no; don’t advise anything to-day, doctor dear. Wait till to-morrow.
I have such a horrid pain in my side.”
“In your right side? That is a favorable symptom. The bile——”
“Oh, don’t. I haven’t any such horrid thing!” she said, insinuating her
little jeweled hand into his large palm by way of mollifying him. “What
hour will you come to-morrow?”
“At two o’clock.”
“Precisely? I cannot bear to wait for you a minute. It makes me _so_
nervous.” The doctor declared his intention to be punctual, which was
all Ella cared to know, and she was glad when he was gone. The next day,
a few minutes before two, she sent for Clara, pretending to need greatly
her soothing presence; and when the doctor came she insisted upon
Clara’s remaining. This was a part of her plot. Pretty soon she managed
to lead up to the subject of the proposed change of air by saying,
“Oh, I am such a trouble to you, Clara dear! but it will not be long.
The doctor is going to send me to the sea-side.”
“On the contrary,” replied the unsuspecting old doctor. “I wish you to
have the bracing atmosphere of the mountains.” Ella turned her head to
the wall with a weary sigh. The doctor expressed regret at recommending
anything contrary to the young lady’s inclinations. Clara herself had
not the slightest suspicion of Ella’s scheme, and from the goodness of
her heart said, “We are going to the White Mountains, doctor, and can
take her with us. I have no doubt that the mountain air will be better
for her than anything else.” This was a pure, generous self-sacrifice on
Clara’s part, costing more effort than any one could guess.
When Albert heard of the gracious offer of his wife, he was exuberant in
his thanks—called her his sensible, generous love, and was so
demonstrative in his tenderness, that Clara forgot to reflect that it
was all due to her making a sacrifice to Ella.
As the days passed, Ella grew tired of being desperately ill; so she
secretly threw away Dr. Hanaford’s medicines and ate everything that was
offered her. She wished to be ill enough to alarm Albert, and yet she
must contrive to look charming in his eyes, and the work required a good
deal of study. Pretty soon she left her bed, and spent her time in
planning ravishing convalescent _toilettes_, complaining to Albert all
the time of the dire condition of her health. On one occasion he found
her reclining on a lounge in a pretty white-and-blue gown, her hair
exquisitely dressed, and looking a picture of health. She complained of
“utter weariness”—would not talk further than to say she cared for
nothing in the world but to die and be out of everybody’s way. Of course
he called her endearing names, and begged her to live for his sake; he
could not endure life without her. Finally he persuaded her to eat some
delicious hot-house grapes he had brought her, and to consent to endure
existence a little longer!
During Ella’s illness Mr. Delano called upon her, and the day following
Miss Charlotte also. She was a very kind person at heart, though her
manner was a little of the forbidding style. She urged Ella to go home,
and talked to her of the danger and the impropriety also of courting the
affections of married men. Ella could not be angry, for Miss Delano’s
manner and accent on this occasion were really sympathetic and friendly.
Ella could now declare with a good grace that she was engaged to
accompany Albert and Clara to the White Mountains—that Clara had urged
it and desired it. Miss Delano was nonplussed, and soon after took her
leave.