'Twas the doubt that thou wert false,
That wrung my heart with pain;
But now I know thy perfidy,
I shall be well again.
--BRYANT.
Elsie submitted without a murmur to her father's requirements and
restrictions; but though there was nothing else to remind her that she
had been for one sad day in disgrace with him--his manner toward her
having again all the old tender fondness--she did not fully recover
her spirits, but, spite of her struggles to be cheerful and hopeful,
seemed often depressed, and grew pale and thin day by day.
Her father noticed it with deep concern and anxiety. "Something
must be done," he said one day to his wife; "the child is drooping
strangely, and I fear will lose her health. I must try what change
will do for her. What do you say to a year in Europe?"
"For all of us?"
"Yes, for you and me and our two children."
"It might be very pleasant, and Elsie has never been."
"No; I have always meant to take her, but found home so enjoyable that
I have put it off from year to year."
Elsie entered the room as he spoke.
"Come here, daughter," he said, making room for her on the sofa by his
side. "I was just saying to mamma that I think of taking you all to
Europe for a year. How should you like that?"
"Oh, very much, papa!" she answered, looking up brightly; "I should so
enjoy seeing all the places you have told me of,--all the scenes of
your adventures when you travelled there before."
"Then I think we will go. Shall we not, mamma?"
"Yes; but I must pay a visit home first, and do some preparatory
shopping in Philadelphia. Can we go on in time to spend some weeks
there before sailing?"
"You might, my dear; but I shall have to stay behind to arrange
matters here; which will take some time, in contemplation of so
lengthened an absence from the estate."
"Then I suppose we must have a temporary separation," said Rose, in a
jesting tone; "I had better take the children and go home at once, so
that Elsie and I can be getting through our shopping, etc., while you
are busy here."
"No, Rose; you may go, and take Horace with you, if you like; but
Elsie must stay with me. I cannot trust her even with you!"
"Oh, papa!" And the sweet face flushed crimson, the soft eyes filled
with tears.
"I think you misunderstand me, daughter," he said kindly; "I do not
mean that I fear you would fail in obedience to my commands or my
wishes; but that I must keep you under my protection. Besides, I
cannot possibly spare all my treasures--wife, son, and daughter--at
once. Would you wish to go and leave me quite alone?"
"Oh no, no, indeed, you dear, dearest father!" she cried, putting her
arm round his neck, and gazing in his face with eyes beaming with joy
and love.
"Yours is the better plan, I believe, my dear," said Rose. "I would
rather not have you left alone, and I think I could do what is
necessary for Elsie, in the way of shopping and ordering dresses made,
if she likes to trust me."
So it was arranged; three days after this conversation Mrs. Dinsmore
left for Philadelphia, taking little Horace with her, and a fortnight
later Mr. Dinsmore followed with Elsie.
Dearly as the young girl loved Rose and her little brother, it had yet
been an intense pleasure to her to have her father all to herself, and
be everything to him for those two weeks; and she was almost sorry to
have them come to an end.
It was late at night when they reached the City of Brotherly Love. Mr.
Allison's residence was several miles distant from the depot, but his
carriage was there in waiting for them.
"Are the family all well, Davis?" inquired Mr. Dinsmore, addressing
the coachman, as he placed Elsie in the vehicle.
"All well, sir; Mrs. Dinsmore and the little boy too."
"Ah, I am thankful for that. You may drive on at once. My man John
will call a hack and follow us with Aunt Chloe and the baggage."
"Did you give John the checks, papa?" asked Elsie as he took his seat
by her side, and Davis shut the carriage door.
"Yes. How weary you look, my poor child! There, lean on me," and he
put his arm about her and made her lay her head on his shoulder.
They drove on rapidly, passing through several comparatively silent
and deserted streets, then suddenly the horses slackened their pace,
a bright light shone in at the carriage window and the hum of
many voices and sound of many feet attracted the attention of the
travellers.
Elsie started and raised her head, asking, "What is it, papa?"
"We are passing a theatre, and it seems the play is just over, judging
by the crowds that are pouring from its doors."
Davis reined in his horses to avoid running over those who were
crossing the street, and Elsie, glancing from the window, caught sight
of a face she knew only too well. Its owner was in the act of stepping
from the door of the theatre, and staggered as he did so--would have
fallen to the ground had he not been held up by his companion, a
gaudily dressed, brazen-faced woman, whose character there was no
mistaking.
"Ha, ha, Tom!" she cried, with a loud and boisterous laugh, "I saved
you from a downfall that time; which I'll be bound is more than that
Southern heiress of yours would have done."
"Now don't be throwing her up to me again, Bet," he answered thickly,
reeling along so close to our travellers that they caught the scent of
his breath; "I tell you again she can't hold a candle to you, and I
never cared for her; it was the money I was after."
Mr. Dinsmore saw a deadly pallor suddenly overspread his daughter's
face; for a single instant her eyes sought his with an expression of
mute despairing agony that wrung his heart; then all was darkness as
again the carriage rolled rapidly onward.
"My poor, poor darling!" he murmured, drawing her close to him and
folding his arms about her as if he would shield her from every danger
and evil, while hers crept around his neck and her head dropped upon
his breast.
The carriage rattled on over the rough stones. Elsie clung with
death-like grasp to her father, shudder after shudder shaking her
whole frame, in utter silence at first, but at length, as they came
upon a smoother road and moved with less noise and jolting, "Papa,"
she whispered, "oh, what a fearful, fearful fate you have saved me
from! Thank God for a father's protecting love and care!"
"Thank Him that I have my darling safe." he responded in a deeply
moved tone, and caressing her with exceeding tenderness.
In another moment they had stopped before Mr. Allison's door, which
was thrown wide open almost on the instant; for Rose and Edward were
up, waiting and listening for their coming.
"Come at last! glad to see you!" cried the latter, springing down
the steps to greet his brother-in-law as he alighted. Then, as Mr.
Dinsmore turned, lifted his daughter from the carriage, and half
carried her into the house, "But what's the matter? Elsie ill? hurt?
have you had an accident?"
Rose stood waiting in the hall. "My dear husband!" she exclaimed in a
tone of mingled affection, surprise, and alarm. "What is it? what is
wrong with our darling? Come this way, into the sitting-room, and lay
her on the sofa."
"She has received a heavy blow, Rose, but I think--I hope it will turn
out for her good in the end," he said low and tremulously, as he laid
her down.
She seemed in a half-fainting condition, and Edward rushed away in
search of restoratives.
Rose asked no more questions at the time, nor did her husband give any
further information, but in silence, broken only now and then by
a subdued whisper, they both devoted their energies to Elsie's
restoration.
"Shall I go for a doctor?" asked Edward.
"No, thank you. I think she will be better presently," answered Mr.
Dinsmore.
"I am better now," murmured Elsie feebly. "Papa, if you will help me
up to bed, I shall do very well."
"Can't you eat something first?" asked Rose, "I have a nice little
supper set out in the next room for papa and you."
Elsie shook her head, and sighed, "I don't think I could, mamma; I am
not at all hungry."
"I want you to try, though," said her father; "it is some hours now
since you tasted food, and I think you need it," and lifting her
tenderly in his arms he carried her into the supper-room, where he
seated her at the table in an easy-chair which Edward hastily wheeled
up for her use.
To please her father she made a determined effort, and succeeded in
swallowing a few mouthfuls. After that he helped her to her room and
left her in the care of Rose and Chloe.
Having seen with her own eyes, and heard with her own ears, Elsie
could no longer doubt the utter unworthiness of Egerton, or his
identity with Tom Jackson; of whose vices and crimes she had heard
from both her father and Walter, with whom she still kept up a
correspondence. She loved him no longer; nay, she had never loved him;
her affection had been bestowed upon the man she believed him to be,
not the man that he was. But now the scales had fallen from her eyes,
she saw him in all his hideous moral deformity, and shrank with horror
and loathing from the recollection that his arm had once encircled
her waist, his lip touched her cheek. She could now appreciate her
father's feelings of anger and indignation on learning that she had
permitted such liberties, and felt more deeply humbled and penitent on
account of it than ever before.
She slept little that night, and did not leave her room for several
days. The sudden shock had quite unnerved her; but the cause of her
illness remained a secret between herself and her parents, who watched
over her with the tenderest solicitude, and spared no effort to
cheer and comfort her. She seemed at this time to shrink from all
companionship but theirs, although she and her mamma's younger
brothers and sisters had always entertained a warm friendship for each
other.
On the fourth day after their arrival her father took her out for
a drive, and returning left her resting on the sofa in her
dressing-room, while he and Rose went for a short walk.
The door-bell rang, and presently Chloe came up with a very smiling
face to ask if "Marse Walter" might come in.
"Walter?" cried Elsie, starting up. "Yes, indeed!"
She had scarcely spoken the words before he was there beside her,
shaking hands, and kissing her, saying with a gay boyish laugh, "I
suppose your uncle has a right?"
"Yes, certainly; though I don't know when, he ever claimed it before.
But oh, how glad I am to gee you! and how you've grown and improved.
Sit down, do. There's an easy-chair.
"Excuse my not getting up; papa bade me lie and rest for an hour."
"Thanks, yes; and I know you always obey orders. And so you're on the
sick list? what's the matter?"
An expression of pain crossed her features and the color faded from
her cheek. "I have been ailing a little," she said, "but am better
now. How is Arthur?"
"H'm! well enough physically, but--in horrible disgrace with papa.
You've no idea, Elsie, to what an extent that Tom Jackson has fleeced
him. He's over head and ears in debt, and my father's furious. He has
put the whole matter into Horace's hands for settlement. Did he tell
you about it?"
"No, he only said he expected to go to Princeton to-morrow to attend
to some business. He would have gone sooner, but didn't like to leave
me."
"Careful of you as ever! that's right. I say, Elsie, I think Horace
has very sensible ideas about matters and things."
"Do you? I own I think so myself," she answered with a quiet smile.
"Yes; you see Arthur is in debt some thousands, a good share of it
what they call debts of honor. Papa had some doubt as to whether they
ought to be paid, and asked Horace what was his opinion. Adelaide
wrote me the whole story, you see. Here, I'll give it to you in his
exact words, as she reports them," he added, taking a letter from his
pocket and reading aloud, "'Father, don't think of such a thing! Why,
surely it would be encouraging gambling, which is a ruinous vice; and
paying a man for robbing and cheating. I would, if necessary, part
with the last cent to pay an honest debt; but a so-called debt of
honor (of dishonor would be more correct) I would not pay if I had
more money than I could find other uses for.' And I think he was
right. Don't you?" concluded Walter.
"I think papa is always right."
"Yes? Well, I was afraid you didn't think he was in regard to
that--fellow you met out in Lansdale; I've been wanting to see you to
tell you what I know of the scoundrelism of Tom Jackson, and the proof
that they are one and the same."
"Yes, I know, I--I believe it now, Walter, and--But don't let us speak
of it again," she faltered, turning deathly pale and almost gasping
for breath.
"I won't; I didn't know you'd mind; I--I'm very sorry," he stammered,
looking anxious, and vexed with himself.
"Never mind; I shall soon learn not to care. Now tell me about Arthur.
Will he stay and finish his course?"
"No; papa says his patience is worn out, and his purse can stand no
more such drains as Arthur has put upon it two or three times already.
So he is to leave and go home as soon as Horace has settled up his
affairs."
"And you?"
"I hope to go on and to graduate in another year."
"Oh, Wal, I'm so glad! so thankful you have'nt followed in poor
Arthur's footsteps."
"He wouldn't let me, Elsie; he actually wouldn't. I know I'm lacking
in self-reliance and firmness, and if Art had chosen to lead me wrong,
I'm afraid he'd have succeeded. But he says, poor fellow! that it's
enough for one to be a disgrace to the family, and has tried to keep
me out of temptation. And you can't think how much my correspondence
with you has helped to keep me straight. Your letters always did me so
much good."
"Oh, thank you for telling me that!" she cried, with bright, glad
tears glistening in her eyes.
"No, 'tis I that owe thanks to you," he said, looking down
meditatively at the carpet and twirling his watch-key between his
finger and thumb.
"Poor Art! this ought to have been his last year, and doubtless would
if he had only kept out of bad company."
"Ah, Wal, I hope that you will never forget that 'evil communications
corrupt good manners.'"
"I hope not, Elsie. I wish you could stay and attend our commencement.
What do you say? Can't you? It comes off in about a fortnight."
"No, Wal. I'm longing to get away, and papa has engaged our passage
in the next steamer. But perhaps we may return in time to see you
graduate next year."
"What, in such haste to leave America! I'm afraid you're losing your
patriotism," he said playfully.
"Ah, it is no want of love for my dear native land that makes me
impatient to be gone!" she answered half sadly.
"And are you really to be gone a year?"
"So papa intends, but of course everything in this world is
uncertain."
"I shall look anxiously for my European letters, and expect them to be
very interesting."
"I'll do my best, Wal," she said languidly, "but I don't feel, just
now, as if I could ever write anything worth reading."
"I think I never saw you so blue," he said in a lively, jesting tone.
"I must tell you of the fun we fellows have, and if it doesn't make
you wish yourself one of us--Well," and he launched out into an
animated description of various practical jokes played off by the
students upon their professors or on each other.
He succeeded at length in coaxing some of the old brightness into the
sweet face, and Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, mounting the stairs on their
return from their walk, exchanged glances of delighted surprise at the
sound of a silvery laugh which had not greeted their ears for days.
Walter received a hearty welcome from both. His visit, though
necessarily short, was of real service to Elsie, doing much to rouse
her out of herself and her grief; thus beginning the cure which
time and change of scene--dulling the keen edge of sorrow and
disappointment, and giving pleasant occupation to her thoughts--would
at length carry on to completion.