What thou bidst,
Unargued I obey; so God ordained.
--MILTON.
"I hope you don't intend to hurry this child away from me, Horace?"
remarked Miss Stanhope inquiringly, glancing from him to Elsie, as she
poured out the tea.
"I'm afraid I must, Aunt Wealthy," he answered, taking his cup from
her hand, "I can't do without her any longer, and mamma and little
brother want her almost as badly."
"And what am I to do?" cried Miss Stanhope, setting down the teapot,
and dropping her hands into her lap. "It just makes a baby of me to
think how lonely the old house will seem when she's gone. You'd get
her back soon, for 'tisn't likely I've got long to live, if you'd only
give her to me, Horace."
"No, indeed, Aunt Wealthy; she's a treasure I can't spare to any
one. She belongs to me, and I intend to keep her," turning upon his
daughter a proud, fond look and smile, which was answered by one of
sweet, confiding affection.
"Good-evening!" cried a gay, girlish voice. "Mr. Dinsmore, I'd be
delighted to see you, if I didn't know you'd come to rob us of Elsie."
"What, you too ready to abuse me on that score, Miss Lottie?" he said
laughingly, as he rose to shake hands with her. "I think I rather
deserve thanks for leaving her with you so long."
"Well, I suppose you do. Aunt Wealthy, papa found some remarkably
fine peaches in the orchard of one of his patients, and begs you will
accept this little basketful."
"Why, they're beautiful, Lottie!" said the old lady, rising and taking
the basket from her hand. "You must return my best thanks to your
father. I'll set them on the table just so. Take off your hat, child,
and sit down with us. There's your chair all ready to your plate,
and Phillis's farmer's fresh fruit-cake, to tempt you, and the
cream-biscuits that you are so fond of, both."
"Thank you," said Lottie, partly in acknowledgment of the invitation,
partly of Mr. Travilla's attention, as he rose and gallantly handed
her to her seat, "I can't find it in my heart to resist so many
temptations."
"Shall I bring a dish for de peaches, mistis?" asked Chloe, who was
waiting on the table.
"Yes."
"Oh, let us have them in that old-fashioned china fruit-basket I've
always admired so much, Aunt Wealthy!" cried Lottie eagerly. "I don't
believe Elsie has seen it at all."
"No, so she hasn't; but she shall now," said the old lady, hastening
toward her china-closet. "There, Aunt Chloe, just stand on the dish,
and hand down that chair from this top shelf. Or, if you would,
Horace, you're taller, and can reach better. I'm always like the
sycamore tree that was little of stature, and couldn't see Zaccheus
till he climbed into it."
"Rather a new and improved version of the Bible narrative, aunt, isn't
it?" asked Mr. Dinsmore, with an amused look, as he came toward her.
"And I fear I'm rather heavy to stand on a dish; but will use the
chair instead, if you like."
"Ah! I've put the horse before the cart as usual, I see;" she said,
joining good-humoredly in the laugh the others found it impossible
to suppress. "It's an old trick of my age, that increases with my
advancing youth, till I sometimes wonder what I'm coming to; the words
will tangle themselves up in the most troublesome fashion; but if you
know what I mean, I suppose it's all the same."
"Why, Aunt Wealthy, this is really beautiful," said Mr. Dinsmore,
stepping from the chair with the basket, in his hand.
"Yes, it belonged to your great-grandmother, Horace, and I prize it
highly on that account. No, Aunt Chloe, I shall wipe it out and put
the peaches into it myself; it will take but a moment, and it's too
precious a relic to trust to any other hands than my own."
Lottie was apparently in the gayest spirits, enlivening the little
party with many a merry jest and light, silvery laugh, enjoying the
good things before her, and gratifying her hostess with praises of
their excellence. Yet through it all she was furtively watching her
friends, and grieved to notice the unwonted paleness of her cheek, the
traces of tears about her eyes, that her cheerfulness was assumed,
and that if she ate anything it was only from a desire to please her
father, who seemed never to forget her for a moment, and to be a good
deal troubled at her want of appetite. In all these signs Lottie read
disappointment of Egerton's hopes, and of Elsie's, so far as he was
concerned.
"So I suppose her father has commanded her to give him up," she said
to herself. "Poor thing! I wonder if she means to be as submissive as
she thought she would."
The two presently slipped away together into the garden, leaving the
gentlemen conversing in the sitting-room, and Miss Stanhope busied
with some household care.
"You poor dear, I am so sorry for you!" whispered Lottie, putting her
arm about her friend. "Must you really quite give him up?"
"Papa says so," murmured Elsie, vainly struggling to restrain her
tears.
"Is it that he believes Mr. Travilla was not mistaken?"
"Yes, and--and he has heard some other things against him, and thinks
his explanation of Mr. Travilla's mistake quite absurd. Oh, Lottie, he
will not even allow us one parting interview and says I am never to
see Mr. Egerton again, or hold any communication with him in any way.
If I should meet him in the street I am not to recognize him; must
pass him by as a perfect stranger, not looking at him or permitting
him to see my face, if I can avoid doing so."
"And will you really submit to all that? I don't believe I could be so
good."
"I must; papa will always be obeyed."
"But don't you feel that it's very hard? doesn't it make you feel
angry with your father and love him a little less?"
"I was angry for a little while this afternoon," Elsie acknowledged
with a blush, "but I am sure I have no right to be; I know papa is
acting for my good,--doing just what he believes will be most likely
to secure my happiness. He says it is to save me from a life of
misery, and certainly it would be that to be united to such a man as
he believes Mr. Egerton is."
"But you don't believe it, Elsie?"
"No, no, indeed! I have not lost my faith in him yet, and I hope he
may some day be able to prove to papa's entire satisfaction that he is
really all that is good, noble, and honorable."
"That is right; hope on, hope ever."
"Ah, I don't know how we could live without hope," Elsie said, smiling
faintly through her tears. "But I ought not to be wretched--oh, very
far from it, with so many blessings, so many to love me! Papa's love
alone would brighten life very much to me. And then," she added in a
lower tone, "'that dearer Friend that sticketh closer than a brother,'
and who has promised, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'"
"And He will keep His promise, child," said Aunt Wealthy, joining them
in the arbor where they had seated themselves. "I have proved His
faithfulness many times, and I know that it never fails. Elsie, dear,
your old auntie would save you from every trial, but He is a far wiser
and truer friend, and will cause all things to work together for your
good, and never allow you to suffer one unneeded pang." She softly
stroked her niece's sunny hair, as she spoke, and the kind old face
was full of pitying tenderness.
"Come back to the house now, dears," she added, "I think the dew is
beginning to fall, and I heard my nephew asking for his daughter."
"How much longer may we hope to keep you, Elsie?" Lottie asked as they
wended their way toward the house.
"Papa has set Monday evening for the time of leaving."
"And this is Friday; so we shall have but two more rides together. Oh,
dear! how I shall miss you when you're gone."
"And I you. I shall never forget what pleasant times we have had
together; Aunt Wealthy and you and I. You musn't let her miss me too
much, Lottie." And Elsie turned an affectionate look upon her aged
relative.
"As if I could prevent it! But I'll do my best; you may rest assured
of that."
"You are dear girls, both of you," said Miss Stanhope with a very
perceptible tremble in her voice, "and you have brightened my home
wonderfully; if I could only keep you!"
"Well, auntie, you're not likely to lose me altogether for some time
yet," returned Lottie gayly, though the tears shone in her eyes.
Bromly Egerton went out from Mr. Dinsmore's presence with his temper
at a white heat, for he had just been treated to some plain truths
that were far from palatable; besides which it seemed evident that he
had missed the prize he so coveted and had made such strenuous efforts
to win. He had learned nothing new in regard to his own character, yet
somehow it had never looked so black as now, when seen through the
spectacles of an upright, honest, vice-detesting Christian gentleman.
He writhed at the very recollection of the disgust, loathing, and
contempt expressed in Mr. Dinsmore's voice and countenance as well as
in his words.
He scarcely gave a thought to the loss of Elsie herself: he had no
feeling for her at all worthy of the name of love; his base, selfish
nature was, indeed, hardly capable of such a sentiment; especially
toward one so refined, so guileless in her childlike innocence and
purity that to be with her gave him an uncomfortable sense of his own
moral inferiority.
No, the wounds under which he smarted were all stabs given to his
self-love and cupidity. He had learned how honest men looked upon him;
and he had failed in the cherished expectation of laying his
hands upon a great fortune, which he had fondly hoped to have the
opportunity of spending.
Rushing into the street, boiling with rage and shame, he hurried
onward, scarcely knowing or caring whither he went; out into the open
country, and on through woods and over hills he tramped, nor thought
of turning back till the sun had set, and darkness began to creep
about his path.
There was light in Miss Stanhope's parlor and strains of rich
melody greeted his ear as he passed. He turned away with a muttered
imprecation, crossed the street, and entered Mrs. Schilling's gate.
She was sitting on her doorstep, resting after her day's work, and
enjoying the cool evening air.
"Why, la me Mr. Egerton! is that you?" she cried, starting up, and
stepping aside for him to pass in. "I'd really begun to think you was
lost. The fire's been put and everything cleaned away this two hours.
I kep' the table a-waitin' for you a right smart spell, but finally
come to the conclusion that you must 'a' stayed to Miss Stanhope's or
someone else, to tea."
"No, I've not had supper," he answered gruffly.
"You haint, eh? and I 'spose you're hungry, too. Well, sit down, and
I'll hunt up something or 'nother. But I'm afraid you'll get the
dyspepsy eatin' so late; why, it's nigh on to ten o'clock; and I was
just a-thinking' about shutting' up and going off to bed."
"Well, you'll not be troubled with me long. I shall leave the place in
a few days."
"Leave Lansdale, do you mean?"
"Yes."
"Why, what's up?"
"The time I had appropriated to rest and recreation. Business men
can't play forever."
"Well, I shouldn't wonder. And Mr. Dinsmore's come after his daughter,
too."
"What's that got to do with it?" he muttered. But she had left the
room and was out of hearing.
Before closing his eyes in sleep that night, Egerton resolved to make
a moving appeal to Elsie herself. He would write and find some means
by which to get the letter into her hands. Directly after breakfast
he sat down to his task, placing himself in a position to constantly
overlook Miss Stanhope's house and grounds. He was hoping to get
sight of Elsie, and anxious to watch Mr. Dinsmore's movements. Mrs.
Schilling had informed him that "Miss Stanhope's friends didn't expect
to leave till sometime a Monday; so she had learned from Phillis,
through Lenwilla Ellawea, who had been sent over for a little of
Phillis's light'ning, to raise some biscuits for breakfast," yet he
had some fear that the information might prove unreliable, and Mr.
Dinsmore slip away with his daughter that day.
That fear was presently relieved by seeing Simon bringing out the
horses for the young ladies, and shortly after a livery-stable man
leading up two fine steeds, evidently intended for the use of the
gentlemen. He now laid down his pen, and kept close watch for a few
moments, when he was rewarded by seeing the whole party come out,
mount, and ride away; Mr. Dinsmore beside his daughter, Mr. Travilla
with Lottie. Elsie, however, was so closely veiled that he could not
so much as catch a glimpse of her face.
With a muttered oath, he took up his pen again, feeling more desirous
than ever to outwit "that haughty Southerner," and secure the prize in
spite of him.
Half an hour afterward Simon, who was at work gathering corn and
tomatoes for dinner in the garden behind the house, heard some one
calling softly to him from the other side of the fence. Turning his
head, he saw Mr. Egerton standing there, motioning to him to draw
near.
"Good-mornin', sah. What you want, sah?" inquired the lad, setting
down his basket, and approaching the fence that separated them.
"Do you know what this is?" asked Egerton, holding up a small
glittering object.
"Yes, sah; five-dollar gold piece, sah," replied the negro, bowing and
chuckling. "What de gentleman want dis niggah do for to arn 'em?"
"To put this into Miss Dinsmore's hands," answered Egerton, showing
a letter; "into her own hands, now, mind. If you do that, the five
dollars are yours; and if you bring me an answer, I'll make it ten.
But you are to manage it so that no one else shall see what you do. Do
you understand?"
"Yes, sah, and I bet I do it up about right, sah."
Very anxious to win the coveted reward, Simon was careful to be on
hand when the riding party returned. He stationed himself near Elsie's
horse. Her father assisted her to alight, and as he turned to make a
remark to Lottie, Simon, being on the alert, managed to slip the note
into Elsie's hand, unperceived by Mr. Dinsmore, or the others.
She gave a start of surprise, turning her eyes inquiringly upon him,
the rich color rushing all over her fair face and neck; as he could
see, even through the folds of her thick veil.
Simon grinned broadly, as, by a nod and wink toward the opposite side
of the street, he indicated whence the missive had come.
She turned and walked quickly toward the house, her heart beating very
fast and loud, and her fingers tightly clasping the note underneath
the folds of her long riding-skirt, as she held it up. She hurried
to her room, shut and locked the door, and, throwing off her hat and
veil, dropped into a seat, trembling in every limb with the agitation
and excitement of her feelings. She longed intently to know what he
had said to her; but she had never deceived or wilfully disobeyed her
father, and should she begin now? The temptation was very great, and
perhaps she would have yielded; but Mr. Dinsmore's step came quickly
up the stairs, and the next moment he rapped lightly on the door.
She rose and opened it, at the same time slipping the note into her
pocket.
"Why, my darling, what is the matter?" he asked, looking much
concerned at the sight of her pale, agitated countenance.
"Oh, papa, if you would let me! if you only would!" she cried,
bursting into tears, and putting her arms coaxingly about his neck.
"Let you do what, my child?" he asked, stroking her hair.
"Read this," she said, in a choking voice, taking the note from her
pocket. "Oh, if you knew how much I want to! Mayn't I, papa? do, dear
papa, say yes."
"No, Elsie; it grieves me to deny you, but it must go back unopened.
Give it to me."
She put it into his hand and turned away with a sob.
"How did it come into your hands?" he inquired, going to her
writing-desk for an envelope, pen and ink.
"Must I tell you, papa?" she asked; in a tone that spoke reluctance to
give the information he required.
"Certainly."
"Simon gave it to me a few moments since."
He touched the bell, and, Chloe appearing in answer, bade her take
that note to the house on the opposite side of the street.
"There is no message," he added; "it is directed to Mr. Egerton, and
you have nothing to do but hand it in at the door."
"Yes, sah." And with a sorrowful, pitying glance at the wet eyes of
her young mistress, the faithful old creature left the room.
"My poor little daughter, you feel now that your father is very
cruel," Mr. Dinsmore said tenderly, taking Elsie in his arms again,
"but some day you will thank me for all this."
She only laid her face down on his breast and cried bitterly, while he
soothed her with caresses and words of fatherly endearment.
"Oh, papa, don't be vexed with me," she murmured at length. "I'm
trying not to be rebellious, but it seems so like condemning him
unheard."
"No, my child, it is not. I gave him the opportunity to refute the
charges against him, but he has no proof to bring."
"Papa, he said it would break his heart to lose me," she cried with a
fresh burst of grief.
"My dear child, he has no heart to break. If he could get possession
of your property, he would care very little indeed what became of
you."
Mr. Dinsmore spoke very decidedly, but, though silenced, Elsie was not
convinced.
Egerton, watching through the half-closed blinds of his bed-room, had
seen, with a chuckle of delight, the success of Simon's manoeuvre,
and Elsie hurrying into the house; for the purpose--he had scarcely
a doubt--of secretly reading and answering his note. He saw Chloe
crossing the street, and thought that her young mistress had sent him
a hasty line, perhaps to appoint the time and place of a clandestine
meeting; for such confidence had he in his own powers of fascination
for all the fair sex, that he could not think it possible she could
give him up without a struggle.
Lenwilla went to the door, and in his eagerness to receive the message
he ran out and met her on the landing. What was his disappointment and
chagrin at sight of the bold, masculine characters on the outside, and
only his own handwriting within!
"Sent back unopened! The girl must be a fool!" he cried, fairly
gnashing his teeth with rage. "She could have managed it easily
enough; she had the best chance in the world, for he didn't see her
take it, I know."
He considered a moment, put on his hat, and, walking over to Dr.
King's, inquired for Miss Lottie.
"Jist walk intil the parlor, sir," said Bridget, "an' I'll call the
young lady."
Lottie came to him presently, with her kind face full of regret and
sympathy.
He told his tale, produced his note, and begged her to be his
messenger, saying he supposed Mr. Dinsmore had come upon Elsie before
she had time to read it, and he thought it hard for both her and
himself that she should not have the chance.
"Yes," said Lottie, "but I am very sure she would not read it without
her father's permission, and you may depend upon it, she showed it to
him of her own accord."
He shook his head with an incredulous smile. "Do you really think she
has so little sense? Or is it that you believe she too has turned
against me?"
"No, she has not turned against you, she believes in you still; nor is
she wanting in sense; but she is extremely conscientious about obeying
her father, and told me she meant to be entirely submissive, whatever
it cost her."
"I can hardly think you are right," he said, with another of his
incredulous smiles, "but even supposing she was silly enough to hand
my note over to her father, I should like to give her an opportunity
to retrieve her error, so won't you undertake"--
"Don't ask me to carry it to her," interrupted Lottie. "It would go
against my conscience to tempt Elsie to do violence to hers, I do
assure you, though I have no idea I should be successful. So you
really must excuse me."
He tried argument and persuasion by turns, but Lottie stood firm in
her refusal, and at length he went away, evidently very angry.
Lottie spent the evening with her friend, and when a fitting
opportunity offered gave her an account of this interview with
Egerton, Elsie telling her in return something of what had passed
between her father and herself in regard to the note.
That Egerton had desired to tempt her to disobedience and deception
did not tend to increase Elsie's esteem and admiration for him, but
quite the reverse.
"I think he'll not prevent me from getting sight of her to-day,"
muttered Egerton, stationing himself at the front window the next
morning, as the hour for church drew near.
He had not been there long, when he saw Miss Stanhope and Mr.
Travilla, then Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie, come out of the house and cross
the lawn. He made a hasty exit and was in the act of opening Mrs.
Schilling's front gate as the latter couple reached the one opposite.
"Put down your veil, Elsie; take my arm; and don't look toward that
man at all," commanded her father, and she obeyed.
Egerton kept opposite to them all the way to the church, but without
accomplishing his object. He followed them in and placed himself in a
pew on the other side of the aisle, and a little nearer the front than
Miss Stanhope's, so that, by turning half way round, he could look
into the faces of its occupants. But Elsie kept hers partly concealed
by her veil, and never once turned her eyes in his direction.
She was seated next her father, who seemed to watch her almost
constantly--not with the air of a jailer, but with a sort of tender,
protecting care, as one keeping guard over something belonging to him,
and which he esteemed very sweet and precious,--while now and then
her soft eyes were lifted to his for an instant with a look of loving
reverence.
"Poor Elsie was well watched to-day," remarked Nettie King to her
sister as they walked home together; "her father scarcely took his
eyes off her for five consecutive minutes, I should think; and Mr.
Egerton stared at her from the time he came in till the benediction
was pronounced."
"Yes, I thought he was decidedly rude."
"Isn't Mr. Dinsmore excessively strict and exacting?"
"Yes, I think so; yet he dotes on her, and she on him. I never saw a
father and daughter so completely wrapped up in each other."
They were now within sight of their own home, and Miss Stanhope's.
"Just look!" cried Nettie, "I do believe Egerton means to force
himself upon their notice and compel Elsie to speak to him."
He was crossing the street so as to meet them face to face, just at
the gate, giving them no chance to avoid the rencontre.
"Good-morning, Miss Dinsmore," he said in a loud, cordial tone of
greeting, as they neared each other.
Elsie started and tightened her grasp of her father's arm, but neither
looked up nor spoke.
"My daughter acknowledges no acquaintance with you, sir," answered Mr.
Dinsmore, haughtily, and Egerton turned and strode angrily away.
"There, Elsie, you see what he is; his behavior is anything but
gentlemanly," remarked her father, opening the gate for her to pass
in. "But you need not tremble so, child; there is nothing to fear."