The Two Elsies
A Sequel to Elsie at Nantucket
BOOK 10
By Martha Finley
1868
LIST OF THE ELSIE BOOKS AND OTHER POPULAR BOOKS BY MARTHA FINLEY
ELSIE DINSMORE.
ELSIE'S HOLIDAYS AT ROSELANDS.
ELSIE'S GIRLHOOD.
ELSIE'S WOMANHOOD.
ELSIE'S MOTHERHOOD.
ELSIE'S CHILDREN.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
GRANDMOTHER ELSIE.
ELSIE'S NEW RELATIONS.
ELSIE AT NANTUCKET.
THE TWO ELSIES.
ELSIE'S KITH AND KIN.
ELSIE'S FRIENDS AT WOODBURN.
CHRISTMAS WITH GRANDMA ELSIE.
ELSIE AND THE RAYMONDS.
ELSIE YACHTING WITH THE RAYMONDS.
ELSIE'S VACATION.
ELSIE AT VIAMEDE.
ELSIE AT ION.
ELSIE AT THE WORLD'S FAIR.
ELSIE'S JOURNEY ON INLAND WATERS.
ELSIE AT HOME.
ELSIE ON THE HUDSON.
ELSIE IN THE SOUTH.
MILDRED KEITH.
MILDRED AT ROSELANDS.
MILDRED'S MARRIED LIFE.
MILDRED AND ELSIE.
MILDRED AT HOME.
MILDRED'S BOYS AND GIRLS.
MILDRED'S NEW DAUGHTER.
CASELLA.
SIGNING THE CONTRACT AND WHAT IT COST.
THE TRAGEDY OF WILD RIVER VALLEY.
OUR FRED.
AN OLD-FASHIONED BOY.
WANTED, A PEDIGREE.
THE THORN IN THE NEST.
THE TWO ELSIES.
CHAPTER I.
"Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave."
LONGFELLOW.
It was a lovely summer morning, glorious with sunlight, sweet with the
fragrance of flowers and the songs of birds.
The view from the bay-window of the library of Crag Cottage, the
residence of Mr. George Leland, architect and artist, was very fine,
embracing, as it did, some of the most magnificent scenery on the banks
of the Hudson.
The house stood very high, and from that window one might look north and
south over wooded mountain, hill and valley, or east upon the majestic
river and its farther shore.
The nearer view was of well-kept, though not extensive, grounds; a
flower-garden and lawn with a winding carriage-way leading up the hill by
a gradual ascent.
It was a pleasant place to sit even on a sunny summer morning, for a tall
tree partially shaded the window without greatly obstructing the view,
and it was there the master of the house was usually to be found, at this
time of day, with Evelyn, his only child, close at his side.
They were there now, seated at a table covered with books and papers, he
busied in drawing plans for a building, she equally so with her lessons.
But presently, at the sound of a deep sigh from her father, she glanced
hastily up at him.
He had dropped his pencil and was leaning back against the cushions of
his easy-chair, with a face so wan and weary that she started up in
alarm, and springing to his side, exclaimed, "Dear papa, I am sure you
are not well! Do stop working, and lie down on the sofa. And won't you
let me tell Patrick to go for the doctor when he has taken mamma to
Riverside?"
"Yes, Evelyn, I think you may," he answered in low feeble tones, and with
a sad sort of smile, gently pressing the hand she had laid in his, as he
spoke. "It will do no harm for me to see Dr. Taylor, even should it do no
good."
"What is that? send for the doctor? Are you ill, Eric?" asked a lady who
had entered the room just in time to catch his last sentence.
"I am feeling unusually languid, Laura," he replied; "yet not much more
so than I did yesterday. Perhaps it is only the heat."
"The heat!" she echoed; "why, it is a delightful day! warm, to be sure,
but not oppressively so."
"Not to you or me, perhaps, mamma," remarked Evelyn, "but we are well and
strong, and poor papa is not."
"A holiday would do you good, Eric," the lady said, addressing her
husband; "come, change your mind and go with me to Riverside."
"My dear," he said, "I should like to go to gratify you, but really I
feel quite unequal to the exertion."
"You need make none," she said; "you need only to sit quietly under the
trees on the lawn; and I think you will find amusement in watching the
crowd, while the fresh air, change of scene, and rest from the work you
will not let alone when at home, will certainly be of great benefit to
you."
He shook his head in dissent. "I should have to talk and to listen; in
short, to make myself agreeable. I have no right to inflict my
companionship on Mrs. Ross's guests on any other condition; and all that
would be a greater exertion than I feel fit to undertake."
"There _was_ a time when you were willing to make a little exertion for
my sake," she returned in a piqued tone, "but wives are not to expect the
attention freely bestowed upon a sweetheart, and so I must go alone as
usual."
"Mamma, what a shame for you to talk so to poor papa!" exclaimed Evelyn
indignantly. "You know--"
"Hush, hush, Evelyn," said her father in a gently reproving tone, "be
respectful to your mother, always."
"Yes, sir," returned the child, with a loving look into his eyes. Then to
her mother, "I beg your pardon, mamma, I did not mean to be rude; but--"
with a scrutinizing glance at the richly attired figure before her.
"Well?" laughingly interrogated the lady, as the child paused with a
slight look of embarrassment and a heightened color.
"Nothing, mamma, only--"
"Something your correct taste disapproves about my attire?"
"Yes, mamma; your dress is very handsome; quite rich and gay enough for a
ball-room; but--wouldn't a simpler, plainer one be more suitable for a
lawn-party?"
"Well, really!" was the laughing rejoinder; "the idea of such a chit as
you venturing to criticise her mother's taste in dress! You spoil her,
Eric; making so much of her and allowing her to have and express an
opinion on any and every subject. There, I must be going; I see Patrick
is at the door with the carriage. So good-by, and don't overwork
yourself, Eric."
"Mamma," Evelyn called after her, "Patrick is to go for the doctor, you
know."
"Oh, yes; I'll tell him," Mrs. Leland answered, and the next moment the
carriage was whirling away down the drive.
"There, she is gone!" said Evelyn. "Oh, papa, when I am a woman I shall
not marry unless I feel that I can always be content to stay with my
husband when he is not able to go with me."
"But business may prevent him very often when sickness does not, and you
may grow very weary of staying always at home," he said, softly smoothing
her hair, then bending to touch his lips to her smooth white forehead and
smile into the large dark eyes lifted to his as she knelt at the side of
his chair.
"No, no! not if he is as dear and kind as you are, papa. But no other man
is, I think."
"Quite a mistake, my pet; the world surely contains many better men than
your father."
"I should be exceedingly angry if any one else said that to me," she
returned indignantly.
At that he drew her closer to him with a little pleased laugh. "We love
each other very dearly, do we not, my darling?" he said; then sighed
deeply.
"Indeed we do!" she answered, gazing anxiously up into his face. "How
pale and ill you look, papa! do lie down and rest."
"Presently, when my work has progressed a little farther," he said,
putting her gently aside, straightening himself and resuming his pencil.
Evelyn was beginning a remonstrance, but at the sound of wheels upon the
drive sprang to the window, exclaiming, "Can mamma be coming back
already? She has perhaps changed her mind about attending the party. No,"
as she caught sight of the vehicle, "it is the doctor. I'm glad."
"Go, receive him at the door, daughter, and show him in here," said Mr.
Leland; "and as I desire a private interview, you may amuse yourself in
the grounds while he stays."
"Yes, sir; and oh, I do hope he will be able to give you something that
will make you well directly," the little girl replied, bestowing a look
of loving anxiety upon her father, then hastening to obey his order.
She received the physician at the front entrance, with all the graceful
courtesy of a refined lady, ushered him into the library, then putting on
a garden-hat, wandered out into the grounds.
It was the month of roses, and they were to be found here in great
variety and profusion; they bordered the walks, climbed the walls, and
wreathed themselves about the pillars of the porches, filling the air
with their rich fragrance, mingled with that of the honeysuckle, lilac,
heliotrope, and mignonette.
Evelyn sauntered through the garden, pausing here and there to gather one
and another of the most beautiful and sweet-scented of its floral
treasures, arranging them in a bouquet for her father; then crossed the
lawn to an artistic little summer-house built on the edge of the cliff,
where it almost overhung the river.
The view from this spot was magnificent, extending for many miles and
embracing some of the grandest scenery of that region; and to Evelyn and
her father, both dear lovers of the beauties of nature, it was a favorite
resort.
Seating herself upon a rustic bench, she passed some moments in absorbed,
delighted contemplation of the scene so familiar, yet ever new.
The thought that anything worse than a passing illness threatened her
beloved father had not yet entered her youthful mind, and she was
serenely happy as she sat there waiting for the departure of the
physician as the signal that she might return to him.
From her earliest recollection he had been father and mother both to her,
Mrs. Leland's time being too fully occupied with her onerous duties to
society to allow her to bestow much attention upon her child.
Had the husband and father taken a like view of his responsibilities,
Evelyn would have been left almost entirely to the care of the servants;
but to him the formation of his child's character, the cultivation of her
mind and heart, was a duty that outweighed all social claims, and to
which even business might to some extent be sacrificed.
Nor was it a duty only, but also a delight. And so well was she rewarding
his efforts that he found her, at thirteen, more companionable than her
mother had ever been; taking an enthusiastic interest in his professional
work, and sharing his aspirations after perfection therein and
recognition as one of the foremost architects of his day.
In her esteem he had already distanced all competitors; no one else could
plan a house so well for comfort, convenience, and beauty combined. Also
he was to her the very embodiment of all that was unselfish, good, and
noble.
She thought, and truly, that her mother failed to appreciate him.
While Evelyn waited the doctor subjected his patient to a thorough
examination, not only feeling his pulse, listening to the beating
of his heart, sounding his lungs and looking at his tongue, but
cross-questioning him closely, his face growing graver with every reply
elicited.
"You have told me everything?" he inquired at length.
"Yes, I think so; every symptom that I can recall at this moment. And
now, doctor, I want you to be equally frank with me; tell me exactly what
you think of my case."
"I cannot hold out any hope of recovery," was the unwilling reply; "but
there is little, if any, immediate danger."
"You but confirm my own impressions," said Mr. Leland quietly. "But I
would have a clearer understanding of your verdict; do you mean that I
may have years of invalidism before me, or that a few weeks or months
must bring the end?"
"You really desire to know the worst, my dear sir?" returned the
physician inquiringly, a look of deep sympathy on his kindly face.
"I do," was the calmly resolute reply; "let me know the worst and face it
in the strength God gives to His children according to their day."
"Then, my dear sir, I will be plain with you; but bear in mind that I lay
no claim to infallibility; I may err in judgment, but I see no reason to
hope that your life on earth will be prolonged for more than three months
at the farthest, and I much fear the end may come in less than half that
time."
The doctor could not at first judge of the full effect of his words, for
Mr. Leland sat with his face half hidden in his hand.
For a moment a deathlike stillness reigned in the room; then Dr. Taylor
said, low and feelingly, "You are a Christian, my dear sir, and for you
dying will be but going home to a brighter and better world."
"Yes," was the reply, "and your tidings would have no terrors for me
were it not--for those who must be left behind; but oh, the parting
from helpless dear ones for whom my care and protection seems so
necessary!--that is the bitterness of death!"
"'Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy
widows trust in Me,'" quoted the physician in sympathizing tones.
"Yes, yes; thank God for that precious promise!" exclaimed Mr. Leland.
"And you, doctor, for reminding me of it," he added, stretching out a
hand to his kind comforter.
It was taken in a warm grasp and held for a moment while other of the
many sweet and comforting promises of God's Word were recalled to the
mind of the sufferer, to his great consolation.
"I would it were in my power," the doctor said at length, "to hold out to
you any hope of restoration to health. I cannot do that, but will write
you a prescription which will, I trust, by God's blessing, give relief to
some of the most distressing symptoms."
"Even partial relief will be most welcome," sighed the patient. "Ah, if I
can but find strength for promised work!"
"Better let it alone and take what rest and ease you can," was the
parting advice of the physician.
"What a long, long visit the doctor is paying!" Evelyn had said to
herself several times before her eyes were gladdened with the sight of
his carriage rolling away down the drive.
"At last!" she cried, springing to her feet and hurrying back to the
house.
She found her father lying on a sofa, his face very pale, his eyes
closed.
She drew near on tiptoe, thinking he might have fallen asleep; but as she
reached the side of his couch he opened his eyes, and taking her hand
drew her down to his breast.
"My darling, my beloved child!" he whispered, putting his arm about her
and holding her fast with tender caresses.
"What did the doctor say, papa?" she asked, nestling closer to him and
laying her cheek to his. "Does he hope to make you well very soon?"
For a moment there was no reply, and Evelyn, startled at her father's
silence, suddenly raised her head and gazed earnestly, inquiringly into
his face.
He smiled, a little sadly, and gently smoothing her hair back from her
forehead, "I was thinking," he said, "of a text in the psalm we read
together this morning--'My soul, wait thou only upon God, for my
expectation is from him.' He and He only can make me well, daughter."
"Then why send for the doctor, papa?"
"Because God works by means; it pleases Him so to do, though it would be
no more difficult to Him to accomplish His designs without. He has
provided remedies, and I think it is His will that we should use them, at
the same time asking His blessing upon them, feeling that without it they
will be of no avail."
"Then you are to have some medicine, I suppose?"
"Yes; and to be out a good deal in the open air."
"Oh, then, won't you come out to the summer-house and lie in the hammock
there, with me close beside you to wait on you?"
"Presently; but I must write a letter first," he said, putting her gently
aside and resuming his seat at the writing-table.
"Can't it wait till to-morrow, papa?" she asked. "You may feel stronger
by then."
"It is to be only a few lines, to your Uncle Lester; and I want it to go
by this afternoon's mail, that, if possible, it may reach Fairview before
they have arranged their plans for the summer. I want them to come here
to spend the hot months. Should you like it?"
"Yes, indeed, papa! I've always been fond of Uncle Lester, as you know,
and I quite fell in love with Aunt Elsie and the baby when he brought
them to see us on their return from Europe."