A MEETING.
In due time Mr. Merritt’s effects were levied upon, and advertised for
sale. When it was known that he was ruined, envy and jealousy triumphed,
and the vile tongue of slander was unloosed upon his reputation. People
who had envied his prosperity heretofore, gloried in his ruin. It
descended even to the children, and a stout, malicious boy, threatened
to whip George the very next time he went to school. So certain is
misfortune to meet with taunt and insult every where.
During this period, so fruitful of evil to the Merritt family, young
Warden, though before a frequent visiter, did not cross their threshold.
Emma could not help wondering where he had gone, or why he had not said
good-bye, or whether he had really forgotten her.
Emma was returning from an afternoon visit, some half mile from her
father’s, and with a view to escape observation, she turned down a
by-path, and walked slowly homeward. Soon she heard the sound of
approaching footsteps, and she felt a strange and unaccountable
agitation, although she neither turned her head nor quickened her pace.
They came near, and a voice called, “Emma?”
It was no stranger’s voice that brought the blood rushing unbidden to
that fair girl’s cheek. William Warden was at her side.
Emma, a little piqued by his long absence, could not resist playing the
woman, and she drew herself up rather coldly, “Good evening, Mr.
Warden.”
This was the first time she had called him Mr. Warden. It had always
been William, before.
“Emma—Miss Merritt, I mean—I have no right to call you Emma, now; the
man who has involved you in ruin, and wrecked the prospects of your
dearest friends, is my father; and I feel that you hate and despise me.
I cannot endure this disgrace, and am about to leave for another
country, where the shame of my father will not be known, and where the
dishonor attached to his name will not hang like a mill-stone around my
neck, paralyzing all my efforts to rise to respectability and honor. But
I could not leave you forever without seeing you once more, and for this
opportunity I have watched long and anxiously. I dared not offend your
father with my presence under his roof.”
Emma’s resolution about the little womanly display of temper suddenly
vanished, her warm heart softened, and was throbbing in sympathy, ere
the first tones of Warden’s musical voice died away.
“O no, William, he does not blame you!” she exclaimed, with tearful
eyes, “indeed he does not. He knows you for all that is generous and
good.”
“And have not you blamed me?”
“I, William—no, never! O, William, how could you accuse me thus?”
“Bless you for these kind words, Emma, they inspire me with new hopes.
And now, Emma, as we must soon part, perhaps forever, tell me, if these
things had never happened, if my father had still continued in
prosperity, and free from the crime which makes his name odious to your
ear, could you have loved me, then, Emma—would you, Emma?”
Emma answered not loud, but the gentle whisper reached the ear of love,
and William Warden sealed it in a long, burning kiss upon her glowing
lips. They were happy.
“Farewell, dearest Emma, we meet again,” was all he said, and when she
looked up William Warden was gone.