NELLIE AND MABEL.
Nellie Douglass sat alone in her chamber, which was filled with
articles of elegance and luxury, for her father, though far from being
wealthy, still loved to surround his only daughter with everything
which could increase her comfort. So the best, the fairest, and the
most Costly was always for her, his “darling Nellie,” as he called her,
when with bounding footsteps she flew to greet him on his return at
night, ministering to his wants in a thousand ways, and shedding over
his home such a halo of sunshine that ofttimes he forgot that he was a
lonely widower, while in the features of his precious child he saw
again the wife of his bosom, who years before had passed from his side
forever.
But not on him were Nellie’s thoughts resting, as she sat there alone
that afternoon. She was thinking of the past—of John Livingstone, and
the many marked attentions, which needed not the expression of words to
tell her she was beloved. And freely did her heart respond. That John
Jr. was not perfect, she knew, but he was noble and generous, and so
easily influenced by those he loved, that she knew it would be an easy
task to soften down some of the rougher shades of his character. Three
times during her absence had he called, expressing so much
disappointment, that with woman’s ready instinct she more than half
divined his intentions, and regretted that she was gone. But Mabel was
coming to-day, and he was to accompany her, for so had ’Lena written,
and Nellie’s cheeks glowed and her heart beat high, as she thought of
what might occur. She knew well that in point of wealth she was not his
equal, for though mingling with the first in the city, her father was
poor—but one of John Jr.’s nature would never take that into
consideration. They had known each other from childhood, and he had
always evinced for her the same preference which he now manifested.
Several weeks had elapsed since she had seen him, and now, rather
impatiently, she awaited his arrival,
“If you please, ma’am, Mrs. Livingstone and Miss Mabel are in the
parlor,” said a servant, suddenly appearing and interrupting her
reverie.
“Mrs. Livingstone!” she repeated, as she glanced at herself in a
mirror, and rearranged one side of her shining hair, “Mrs.
Livingstone!—and so _he_ has not come. I wonder what’s the matter!” and
with a less joyous face she descended to the back parlor, where, with
rich furs wrapped closely about her, as if half frozen, sat Mrs.
Livingstone, her quick eye taking an inventory of every article of
furniture, and her proud spirit whispering to herself, “Poverty,
poverty.”
With a cry of joy, Mabel flew to meet Nellie, who, while welcoming her
back, congratulated her upon her improved health and looks, saying,
“the _air_ of Maple Grove must have agreed with her;” then turning
toward Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in her remark other meaning than the
one she intended, she asked her to remove her wrappings, apologizing at
the same time for the fire being so low.
“Father is absent most of the day,” said she; “and as I am much in my
chamber, we seldom keep a fire in the front parlor.”
“Just as well,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, removing her heavy furs.
“One fire is _cheaper_ than two, and in these times I suppose it is
necessary for some people to economize.”
Nellie colored, not so much at the words as at the manner of her
visitor. After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone again spoke, looking straight
in Nellie’s face.
“My son was very anxious to ride over with Mabel, but a bad cold
prevented him, so she rather unwillingly took me as a substitute.”
Here not only Nellie, but Mabel, also colored, and the latter left the
room. When she was gone, Nellie remarked upon the visible improvement
in her health.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself a little more easily in
her chair, “Yes, Mabel isn’t the same creature she was when she came to
us, but then it’s no wonder, for love, you know, will work miracles.”
No answer from Nellie, who almost instinctively felt what was coming
next.
“Upon my word, Miss Douglass, you’ve no curiosity whatever. Why don’t
you ask with whom Mabel is in love?”
“Who is it?” laughingly asked Nellie, nervously playing with the tassel
of her blue silk apron.
After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone replied, “It may seem out of place for
me to speak of it, but I know you, Miss Douglass, for a girl of
excellent sense, and feel sure you will not betray me to either party.”
“Certainly not,” answered Nellie, rather haughtily, while her tormentor
continued: “Well, then, it is my son, and I assure you, both myself and
husband are well pleased that it should be so. From the moment I first
saw Mabel, I felt for her a motherly affection for which I could not
account, and if I were now to select my future daughter-in-law, I
should prefer her to all others.”
Here ensued a pause which Nellie felt no inclination to break, and
again Mrs. Livingstone spoke: “It may be a weakness, but I have always
felt anxious that John should make a match every way worthy of him,
both as to wealth and station. Indeed, I would hardly be willing for
him to marry one whose fortune is less than Mabel’s. But I need have no
fears, for John has his own views on that subject, and though he may
sometimes be attentive to girls far beneath him, he is pretty sure in
the end to do as I think best!”
Poor Nellie! How every word sank into her soul, torturing her almost to
madness. She did not stop to consider the improbability of what she
heard. Naturally impulsive and excitable, she believed it all, for if
John Jr. really loved her, as once she had fondly believed, had there
not been a thousand opportunities for him to tell her so? At this
moment Mabel reentered the parlor, and Nellie, on the plea of seeing to
the dinner, left the room, going she scarce knew whither, until she
found herself in a little arbor at the foot of the garden, where many
and many a time John Jr. had sat with her, and where he would never sit
again—so she thought, so she believed—and throwing herself upon one of
the seats, she struggled hard to school herself to meet the worst—to
conquer the bitter resentment which she felt rising within her toward
Mabel, who had supplanted her in the affections of the only one she had
ever loved.
Nellie had a noble, generous nature, and after a few moments of calmer
reflection, she rose up, strengthened in her purpose of never suffering
Mabel to know how deeply she had wronged her. “She is an orphan—a
lonely orphan,” thought she, “and God forbid that through me one drop
of bitterness should mingle in her cup of joy.”
With a firm step she walked to the kitchen, gave some additional orders
concerning the dinner, and then returned to the parlor, half shuddering
when Mabel came near her, and then with a strong effort pressing the
little blue-veined hand laid so confidingly upon her own. Dinner being
over, Mrs. Livingstone, who had some other calls to make, took her
leave, bidding a most affectionate adieu to Mabel, who clung to her as
if she had indeed been her mother.
“Good-bye, darling Meb,” said she. “I shall come for you to visit us
erelong.” Turning to Nellie, she said, “Do take care of her health,
which you know is now precious to more than one;” then in a whisper she
added, “Remember that what I have told you is sacred.”
The next moment she was gone, and mechanically, Nellie returned to the
parlor, together with Mabel, whose unusual buoyancy of spirits
contrasted painfully with the silence and sadness which lay around her
heart. That night, Mr. Douglass had some business in the city, and the
two girls were left alone. The lamps were unlighted, for the full
golden moonlight, which streamed through the window-panes, suited
better the mood of Nellie, who leaning upon the arm of the sofa, looked
listlessly out upon the deep beauty of the night. Upon a little stool
at her feet sat Mabel, her head resting on Nellie’s lap, and her hand
searching in vain for another, which involuntarily moved farther and
farther away, as hers advanced.
At length she spoke: “Nellie, dear Nellie—there is something I want so
much to tell you—if you will hear it, and not think me foolish.”
With a strong effort, the hand which had crept away under the
sofa-cushion, came back from its hiding-place, and rested upon Mabel’s
brow, while Nellie’s voice answered, softly and slow, “What is it,
Mabel? I will hear you.”
Briefly, then, Mabel told the story of her short life, beginning at the
time when a frowning nurse tore her away from her dead mother, chiding
her for her tears, and threatening her with punishment if she did not
desist. “Since then,” said she, “I have been so lonely—how lonely, none
but a friendless orphan can know. No one has ever loved me, or if for a
time they seemed to, they soon grew weary of me, and left me ten times
more wretched than before. I never once dreamed that—that Mr.
Livingstone could care aught for one so ugly as I know I am. I thought
him better suited for you, Nellie. (How cold your hand is, but don’t
take it away, for it cools my forehead.”)
The icy hand was not withdrawn, and Mabel continued: “Yes, I think him
better suited to you, and when his mother told me that he loved me, and
that he would, undoubtedly, one day make me his wife, it was almost too
much for me to believe, but it makes me so happy—oh, so happy.”
“And he—he, too, told you that he loved you?” said Nellie, very low,
holding her breath for the answer.
“Oh, no—_he_ never told me in _words_. ’Twas his mother that told me—he
only _acted_!”
“And what did he do?” asked Nellie, smiling in spite of herself, at the
simplicity of Mabel, who, without any intention of exaggerating,
proceeded to tell what John Jr. had said and done, magnifying every
attention, until Nellie, blinded as she was by what his mother had
said, was convinced that, at all events, he was not true to herself. To
be sure, he had never told her he loved her in words; but in actions he
had said it many a time, and if he could do the same with Mabel, he
must be false either to one or the other. Always frank and open-hearted
herself, Nellie despised anything like deception in others, and the
high opinion she had once entertained for John Jr., was now greatly
changed.
Still, reason as she would, Nellie could not forget so easily, and the
hour of midnight found her restless and wakeful. At length, rising up
and leaning upon her elbow, she looked down upon the face of Mabel, who
lay sleeping sweetly at her side. Many and bitter were her thoughts,
and as she looked upon her rival, marking her plain features and sallow
skin, an expression of scorn flitted for an instant across her face.
“And _she_ is preferred to me!” said she. “Well, let it be so, and God
grant I may not hate her.”
Erelong, better feelings came to her aid, and with her arms wound round
Mabel’s neck, as if to ask forgiveness for her unkind thoughts, she
fell asleep.