A CRUEL BLOW.
“Our first love murdered is the sharpest pang
A human heart can feel.”--YOUNG.
Floy came down to breakfast with a violent headache. She said nothing
about it, but her look of suffering and want of appetite did not escape
Hetty’s watchful eye, and made her more determined than ever to come
speedily to the rescue.
The opportunity offered shortly after the conclusion of the meal.
Leaving her mother and Patsy to clear it away, Hetty hurried into the
store. It was still too early to open, but there were accounts to be
looked over and things to be set right before she would be ready for
customers.
She had not been there long when Mrs. Sharp came in with the over-skirt
she had helped Floy to finish the night before.
“See, Hetty, what do you think of this?” she asked, with a pleased
look. “Some of Miss Kemper’s work. She really has a wonderful amount of
taste.”
“Yes, I think so; it’s perfectly lovely, Aunt Prue; you never had an
apprentice before, or a journey-woman either, for that matter, who
could trim half so prettily or had so many original ideas about it.”
Mrs. Sharp assented, shaking out the dress and gazing admiringly upon
it as she turned it this way and that to note the effect.
“Yes,” she said complacently, “we’ve secured a real treasure in her,
and I never shall regret having consented to take her.”
“She’s worth taking care of.”
“Of course she is, Hetty; but what do you mean by that?” asked the aunt
sharply.
“That she isn’t getting sleep enough, or fresh air or exercise enough;
that this work, work, work, from early morning until late at night, is
breaking down her health, and we’ll have to manage differently as far
as she’s concerned, or we’ll have her dying on our hands.”
“Dear me, Het,” in a vexed tone, “you have a way of putting things so
strongly, and in such a sudden fashion too, that I declare it nearly
knocks one down! She’s no more overworked than you or I.”
“Perhaps not; but we’re used to it, and naturally stronger, I think.
Besides, we don’t sit so steadily, but are here and there, all over the
house, and in and out too, shopping or marketing.”
“Well, it can’t be helped while we’re so driven with work.”
“Better spare her for an hour or two every day now than lose her
services for weeks or maybe altogether.”
Mrs. Sharp tossed the dress on to the counter and sat down with her
hands folded in her lap. For a moment she seemed lost in thought, her
countenance expressing a good deal of annoyance.
“I generally send Annie Jones home with finished work,” she said
presently, “because she’s not good for much else; but if Miss Kemper
is really in such pressing need of air and exercise, she may take that
duty sometimes. I don’t believe, though, that she’ll be willing; she is
too high in her notions.”
“She is a lady, and would of course feel it somewhat of a trial to her
pride,” said Hetty, “but I believe she is too sensible and right-minded
to refuse, when it’s so necessary for her health.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
Floy was called and the question laid before her.
The result was as Hetty had predicted--an evident struggle with pride,
then a thankful acceptance of the offer. Health was far too valuable to
be lightly thrown away, and--ah, how many strange faces would present
themselves to her view in the houses to which she was sent, on the
sidewalks, and in the street-cars, and who could tell that the one she
so longed to find might not be among them!
It was assigned to her to carry home the work she had completed the
night before, and when the late hour arrived at which a fashionable
lady might be supposed ready to receive such a call she set out upon
the by no means agreeable errand.
The air was keen and cold, but the sun shone brightly, and she found
her walk of some half dozen squares bracing and enjoyable.
It was to a very handsome residence in a fashionable quarter of the
city that she had been sent.
The servant who answered her ring left her standing in the hall while
he carried away the package she had brought. Presently he returned with
a request that she would follow it.
“Miss Carrie wants you to see it tried on, so’s you can fix it if
’tain’t all right,” he said.
He led her up a flight of marble stairs, broad and low, with an
elegantly-carved balustrade, and over softly-carpeted floors to a
richly-furnished boudoir, where three young girls, in elegant morning
dresses, lounged upon the sofas, taking their ease as though life had
no serious duties for them and time were given only to be frittered
away.
Floy was conscious that the three pairs of eyes were levelled at her on
her entrance, but bore the ordeal with quiet dignity.
“Ah, you’re the young person sent from Mrs. Sharp’s, I presume?” said
one, laying aside a novel. “I’m glad she didn’t disappoint me. Will you
please undo it?” pointing to the parcel lying on an ottoman. “I must
try it on and let you see that it’s all right before you go.”
She spoke as if addressing a menial, and Floy’s cheek burned; but she
silently did as requested.
The wrappings were removed, and in a moment all three of the young
ladies had started to their feet with exclamations of “Lovely!”
“Charming!” “Exquisite!”
“I shall run into the next room and put it on!” cried the owner.
“And I’ll help you, Carrie,” said one of the others.
“No, no, Bell, thank you! you and Laura stay here and let me burst in
upon you in full bloom,” she answered laughingly. “But you may come,”
nodding graciously to Floy. “I’ll need your assistance. I’ll carry this
lovely over-skirt; you may bring the rest.”
The bedroom to which she conducted Floy was, in the richness and
luxury of its furnishing, quite in keeping with the boudoir.
The change of dress was quickly made, Floy adjusting the rich folds of
the new gown, and making one or two little alterations in the looping
or the position of the flowers to suit the taste of the wearer.
“Wait here a moment while I show myself to my friends,” said the latter
when all was done.
She sailed away into the adjoining room, and Floy heard the
exclamations.
“Oh, charming, Carrie!”
“And so becoming! I declare, Cal, even Espy Alden would find you
irresistible in that!”
“Why not say Will? he’s to be here next week--coming home with Fred to
spend the holidays. They’re college chums, you know.”
The light, joyous laugh that accompanied the words seemed to say that
she considered him as already secured.
Floy heard it all, and a pang shot through her heart.
Espy Alden! her own Espy! it could be no other, for it was no common
name.
Faint, giddy, sick at heart, trembling in every limb, she dropped into
a chair and hid her face in her hands. She thought she had resigned
him, yet oh, what anguish that another should have won her place in his
heart!
No tears came to her burning eyes, but she was half frightened at the
pallor of her face as, on raising her head again, she caught sight of
it in a mirror on the opposite wall. She hastily drew down her veil to
hide it.
The talk was going on in the next room, and every word came distinctly
to her ear.
“What’s he like?”
“Oh, you haven’t seen him, Bell? There, what do you think of him? It’s
not a bit flattered; is it, Laura?”
“No; don’t do him justice. No photograph could, for he’s much handsomer
when he’s talking and laughing than when his face is at rest.”
“That’s so, and he’s a splendid talker; quite an artist too, Fred says.
But now tell me if you think all these flowers are disposed to the very
best advantage.”
The rest of the chat was about the dress, and fell utterly unheeded
upon Floy’s ear.
An artist, so handsome, so good a conversationist--it could be no other
than her own Espy--hers from her very babyhood. And this girl had his
likeness--no doubt given by himself. What could it mean if not that
they were betrothed? Well, what right had she to blame him? None, none,
for she had voluntarily resigned him; and yet, and yet--oh, her heart
was like to break!
“What’s the matter? are you ill?” she heard a voice asking at her
side--the voice of the girl who had won him from her.
“Yes,” she answered faintly, “I--I’ve been up very late for several
nights; work is so pressing just now, and I rose this morning with a
terrible headache.”
“Ah, that’s too bad! I wouldn’t be a dressmaker for anything in the
world. Well, I suppose you’d like to go, and there is no need for you
to stay any longer. Tell Mrs. Sharp I’m delighted with the dress. Have
you the bill with you?”
Floy produced it, receipted and signed; the money was paid, and she
took her departure.
The keen, frosty air was no longer refreshing as she retraced her
steps; it seemed rather to chill her to the very bones.
Hetty had asked her to come in through the store. Some customers were
just passing out as she reached the door. Hetty glanced toward her on
her entrance.
“Why, how dreadfully you look!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t managed
right. I shouldn’t have let you go for such a walk when you’d eaten
hardly a mouthful of breakfast.”
She threw an arm about Floy’s waist as she spoke, and drew her into a
small room back of the store, where the making and trimming of bonnets
was carried on. Several girls were working busily at the end nearest
the window.
“Sit down here by the register and warm yourself,” said Hetty, gently
forcing Floy into a large arm-chair.
“No, no, I must go up to the work-room at once,” answered the weary,
half-fainting girl; “you know all hands are needed--”
“You’ll just sit there till you’re well warmed and have had a cup of
tea,” said Hetty with authority. “The Thorne is but just done his
breakfast; there’s a good fire in the kitchen, and--I’ll be back in
two seconds. Don’t you dare to move till I come.” And shaking her
finger threateningly, she rushed away through a door opening into the
dining-room.
Her promise was not fulfilled to the letter, but scarce five minutes
had elapsed when she returned with a cup of fragrant tea and two or
three slices of thin, daintily browned and buttered toast, all fresh
from the fire.
The tray, covered with a snowy napkin, was quickly placed on a stand
close at Floy’s side, and Hetty ordered her, in a tone of good-humored
authority, to eat and drink.
She tried to speak her thanks, but her lip trembled and tears came
instead of words.
“There, now, my dear, don’t emulate the folly of Oliver Twist over
his water-gruel,” said Hetty jocosely. “I think you’ll find this fare
somewhat more tempting than his; but salt water won’t improve it. You
see,” bending low and speaking in a whisper, “I’ve cribbed a little
from the store of dainties provided for the Thorne and served it
upon part of my own breakfast set, generally reserved for high days
and holidays. Now I must leave you, for there’s a customer,” and she
hurried into the store.
The fragrance of the tea was appetizing. Floy tasted it, then broke off
a bit of the toast, and presently discovered that, whatever might have
been the original cause of her headache, an empty stomach had not a
little to do with it now.
The slight refreshment made it possible to force herself to work,
though in other and happier days she would have been deemed too ill for
any place but bed.
The pain in the head was partially relieved, but that of the heart
remained unassuaged; and though it cost a painful effort, it was
perhaps well for her that she was compelled to give her mind to the
details of her employment, cutting, fitting, and trimming through all
the long hours of the day and evening, till nature was so thoroughly
exhausted that sleep came the moment she lay down to her rest, two
hours earlier than on the previous night--the result of Hetty’s kindly
interposition.
It was the same through the remainder of the week; every day some
errand to take her out for a breath of fresh air, every night an hour
or two added to her time for rest; also her bed was removed to a
warmer and purer atmosphere, Mrs. Goodenough and Hetty taking her into
their room, which was heated by a furnace in the cellar and was better
ventilated than the crowded room overhead.
Floy was very grateful, especially when the added luxury of some
degree of privacy was given her by the kindness of Mrs. Goodenough in
curtaining off the corner where her bed was placed.
The beneficial effect of these changes was soon apparent in Floy’s
increased appetite and brighter looks.
On the ensuing Sabbath she felt herself able to go to church, which had
been the case only once before since her coming to the city, all the
other Sundays finding her so worn out with the week’s work as to be
compelled to spend the day in sleeping off her exhaustion.
She went alone; and not wishing to attract observation, slipped quietly
into a pew near the door.
The services had not yet begun, and her thoughts had flown far away to
the dear ones worshipping in the upper sanctuary, when suddenly they
were recalled to earth. A rustle of silk, and three gayly-dressed
young girls swept up the aisle closely followed by two young men, the
foremost, Espy Alden, stepping so close in passing that she could
easily have laid her hand upon his arm.
Her heart gave a wild bound as she recognized him, but he did not see
her.
She said to herself she was glad of it, yet it pained her to her
heart’s core. Had he no eyes for any one but Miss Carrie Lea? Surely if
his heart were loyal as of yore to his first love, he would have felt
her presence near. It had seemed ever so in those earlier days.
He sat where she could see his side face, and many a furtive glance fed
her hunger for the old love, a consuming fire that pride--her woman’s
pride--vainly strove to trample out. Ah, it was the only earthly love
left her, and it had been so sweet!