SIGNING AN AGREEMENT.
Madame Alroyd and her niece were sitting quietly in their room, the
morning after the reception of that fatal note.
Both were trying to busy themselves about some light fancy work, to
drive away the agony that was tugging so fiercely at their
heart-strings, and failing most miserably, as their white, wan faces
plainly showed.
Not a word was spoken about Robert’s faithlessness; only when they met
that morning, madam had taken Dora tenderly in her arms, kissed her, and
murmured some loving and soothing words of fondness, and calling her by
all the pet names she had at her command. But Dora gently withdrew from
her aunt’s fond embrace, with a low, “Please don’t, auntie!” while her
face grew a shade paler, and she caught her breath convulsively.
So the subject was dropped, for madam knew she could bear it better if
let alone, and so she said no more, and Dora subsided into her icy
calmness again.
All through that day her aunt kept regarding her with wonder, for Dora
had always been a creature of impulse, and now she was like a block of
marble, so hard and cold; and she more than once found herself repeating
these words of Thomas Hood:
“Fair is she as the dreams young poets weave—
Bright eyes, and dainty lips, and tresses curly—
In outward loveliness a child of Eve,
But cold as nymph of Lurley!”
A slight commotion in the hall attracted their attention, toward the
middle of the forenoon.
There were steps going back and forth, and anxious, troubled whispers;
then the voices grew to muttering, and then louder, till the ladies
sitting so quietly in their room could hear quite plainly what was said,
and Dora instantly recognized the voice of Mr. Ellerton; the other one
she did not know.
“It is the strangest thing,” she heard Robert’s father say, “I ever knew
the boy to do! It doesn’t seem like Robert at all! He never was a coward
about anything when he was at home, and I can’t understand his showing
the white feather now. Besides, the letter doesn’t read like him; it is
too precise and constrained.”
“But you say the writing is his?” asked the other voice.
“Yes, as near as I can tell. You know I have not seen much of it for the
last six years. I will show it to you; you can judge better than I, as
you have probably seen more of it.”
There was a rustling, as if some one was unfolding a letter, then a
moment of quiet, and the strange voice again said:
“It certainly looks like his hand, though perhaps a little straggling,
as if written in a hurry. But I cannot understand why he should do such
a dishonorable thing. As you say, it is not in the least like him. I
have always had the greatest respect for him, thinking him one of the
most noble and manly young men I ever met with.”
“Did you have any idea of his having formed another attachment in this
place?” asked Mr. Ellerton, with a deep sigh.
“No; and that is what puzzles me. But there is his own word for it in
black and white; and can we doubt it? I am deeply disappointed—deeply!”
and the unhappy father’s sigh was echoed from the breast of the other.
“It is _very_ strange; for when he left home neither coaxing nor threats
would move him an inch. He was thoroughly bewitched; and I did not think
he was one that would change.”
“Did I understand you to say that this same young lady was present
yesterday to witness his honors?”
“Yes; and I must say I as deeply regret the termination of this affair
as I was opposed to it in the beginning.”
“May I ask the young lady’s name?”
“Miss Dora Dupont——”
Dora waited to hear no more, but, with flashing eyes and form drawn
haughtily erect, she walked proudly to the door and threw it open, and
stood confronting the astonished gentlemen.
Mr. Ellerton started violently, and the hot blood rushed to his very
brow as he realized how inconsiderate he had been in choosing the
corridor in which to reveal his troubles to the professor. But he had
met him at the head of the stairs as he was about descending, and almost
unconsciously they had turned back into the hall to converse.
The little German professor gazed upon our enraged but beautiful heroine
with eyes and mouth gaping wide with amazement and admiration.
“I beg pardon,” she said, icily, and bowing low, “but will the gentlemen
have the kindness to walk in here and finish their conversation? Being
an interested party, I feel somewhat sensitive about having my name made
public in the affair. Besides, sir,” she added, turning to Mr. Ellerton,
“I believe there is a little matter of business to be settled between
us.”
She stepped one side, and made a graceful motion with her hand for them
to enter.
Being thus taken entirely at a disadvantage, they knew not what else to
do than obey her, and entered the presence of Madame Alroyd with rather
a crest-fallen air.
With queenly stateliness Dora introduced her aunt to Mr. Ellerton, and
he in his turn introduced Professor Ursengen of the —— Institute to both
the ladies.
Mr. Ellerton gazed upon Dora with wonder.
He knew by her words that she had received some communication akin to
his own; and he had not expected to see her bear herself so proudly. He
remembered her only as a little girl whom he had seen in tears, and he
had anticipated a reception of the same kind when he should make known
his son’s desire. But the tables were turned; _she_ was the one who was
self-possessed, and he confused and abashed before a slender girl.
The little professor’s eyes wandered admiringly over her, from the top
of her queenly head to the tip of her dainty feet, while he quoted to
himself:
“A daughter of the gods!
Divinely tall and most divinely fair.”
Then suddenly feeling that he had no part nor lot in her affairs, asked
to be excused and bowed himself out.
Mr. Ellerton immediately recovered himself, and said, in a voice of
regret:
“I beg, Miss Dupont, you will pardon me for being so inconsiderate as to
mention this subject in so public a place. My intense anxiety and
disappointment at the absence of my son must be my apology for my
forgetfulness.”
Dora bowed coldly, then arose, and taking Robert’s letter from the
table, handed it to him, saying:
“It is but right, sir, that you should know the contents of the
communication I have received from your son. I understood from your
conversation with Professor Ursengen that you had been the recipient of
one something like it.
Mr. Ellerton read that cruel letter through, and then exclaimed, with
perplexity:
“Zounds!” He immediately recovered himself, and added, “I beg pardon,
ladies, but I don’t understand this business—it is so unlike Robert of
old.”
“I agree with you there, sir,” replied Dora, a scornful smile wreathing
her white lips, which had again grown pale as her marble cheek.
“I never knew Robert to do a mean thing in his life before. Why on earth
could he not have informed us of the change in his feelings sooner? I
never thought they would change when he left home.”
“But you see that he acknowledges life to be very changeable. But, if
you please, we will not discuss this matter further. He spoke of a paper
for me to sign, which I presume you have with you. I would like to have
this matter settled at once.”
Oh, how proud and cold was that voice!
But he could not see those tiny hands, so fiercely clasped among the
folds of her dress that the blood started beneath the pressure of the
delicate nails.
“My dear young lady,” responded Mr. Ellerton, in deep distress, “I
wish—shall we not wait awhile, until I can see my son, and obtain a more
definite explanation?”
“Sir,” she retorted, pointing to the note he held in his hand, while her
eyes flashed fire, and the blood mounted in an angry torrent to her pale
brow, “sir, I have no desire to humiliate myself enough to await
anything more definite than that.”
He regarded her with a look of admiration while he replied:
“Believe me, Miss Dupont, I suffer more than I can express, that
anything so unfortunate as this should have occurred. Nay,” he
entreated, as he saw the scornful curve of her lip, and knew that she
was thinking of her former opposition, “I also sincerely regret the
past; so sincerely that I had come to receive my boy with open arms, and
allow him to follow his own inclinations, if he still chose to claim you
as his bride. I beg you will believe me. All opposition has long since
died out of my heart.”
Again Dora bowed coldly, and then said, with a touch of sarcasm in her
voice:
“You perceive that your son has followed his own inclinations in
renouncing me. And I pray you will believe me when I say that I, too,
regret the past; bitterly regret that I was ever the cause of discord in
your family. If you will now give me the paper, I will prove my
sincerity by at once sundering the relations which bind me to your son,
Robert Ellerton!”
With tears in his eyes, the unhappy father took a folded paper from his
bosom and handed it to our heroine. He knew the beautiful young creature
was suffering, despite her cold and haughty manner, and his heart melted
at the sight of her pure, waxen face and pale, sternly compressed lips.
Had he dared he would gladly have taken her in his arms and comforted
her.
But she was unapproachable.
She hid her fearfully lacerated heart beneath a barrier of chilling
scorn and contempt.
Dora ran her eyes swiftly over the paper.
It was in the form of an agreement between both parties, to annul the
marriage ceremony which had been performed over six years before.
Robert Ellerton’s name was signed beneath!
With a dash of her pen Dora affixed her own name underneath, and then
returned the document to Mr. Ellerton.
He placed it carefully in his pocket, and then rising, bade the ladies a
polite “good-morning” and retired, sad and disappointed, from the room.
Our poor stricken lamb, utterly overcome by the restraint she had
imposed upon herself, again fell lifeless to the floor.
She soon revived, however, and resumed her cold, calm exterior; refusing
all sympathy, and forbidding the subject to be mentioned.