A FATHER’S LOVE.
When it was known at Maple Grove that ’Lena was taking lessons of Du
Pont, it was naturally supposed that Mabel, as she had first proposed,
paid the bills.
“Mighty kind in her, and no mistake,” said John Jr., throwing aside the
stump of a cigar which he had been smoking, and thinking to himself
that “Mabel was a nice girl, after all.”
The next day, finding the time hang heavily upon his hands, he suddenly
wondered why he had never thought to call upon ’Lena. “To be sure, I’ll
feel awfully to go where Nellie used to be, and know she is not there,
but it’s lonesomer than a graveyard here, and I’m bound to do
something.”
So saying, he mounted Firelock and started off, followed by no regrets
from his mother or sisters, for since Nellie went away he had been
intolerably cross and fault-finding. He found a servant in the door, so
he was saved the trouble of ringing, and entering unannounced, walked
noiselessly to the parlor-door, which was ajar. ’Lena, as usual, sat at
the piano, wholly absorbed, while over her bent Mabel, who was
assisting her in the lesson, speaking encouragingly, and patiently
helping her through all the difficult places. Mabel’s health was
improved since first we saw her, and though she was still plain—ugly,
many would say—there was something pleasing in her face, and in the
expression of her black, eyes, which looked down so kindly upon ’Lena.
John Jr. noticed it, and never before had Mabel appeared to so good
advantage to him as she did at that moment, as he watched her through
the open door.
At last the lesson was finished, and rising up, ’Lena said, “I know I
should never learn if it were not for you,” at the same time winding
her arm about Mabel’s neck and kissing her glowing cheek.
“Let me have a share of that,” exclaimed John Jr., stepping forward and
clasping both the girls in his arms ere they were aware of his
presence.
With a gay laugh they shook him off, and ’Lena, leading him to the
sofa, sat down beside him, asking numerous questions about home and her
grandmother. John answered them all, and then, oh how he longed to ask
if there had come any tidings of the absent one; but he would not—she
had left him of her own accord, and he had sworn never to inquire for
her. So he sat gazing dreamily upon her piano, the chair she used to
occupy and the books she used to read, until ’Lena, either divining his
thoughts, or fancying he would wish to know, said, “We’ve not heard
from Nellie since she left us.”
“You didn’t expect to, so soon, I suppose,” was John’s indifferent
reply.
“Why, no, not unless they chanced to speak a ship. I wish they’d taken
a steamer instead of a sailing vessel,” said ’Lena.
“I suppose Mr. Wilbur had an eye upon the long, cosy chats he could
have with Nellie, looking out upon the sea,” was John’s answer, while
Mabel quickly rejoined, that “he had chosen a sailing vessel solely on
Mary’s account.”
In the midst of their conversation, the door-bell rang; and a moment
after, Durward was ushered into the parlor. “He was in town on
business,” he said, “and thought he would call.”
Scarcely had he taken his seat, when again the door opened, this time
admitting Mr. Graham, who was returning from Louisville, and had also
found it convenient to call. Involuntarily Durward glanced toward
’Lena, but her face was as calm and unruffled as if the visitor had
been her uncle.
“All right there,” thought he, and withdrawing his eyes from her, he
fixed them upon his father, who he fancied seemed somewhat disconcerted
when he saw him there. Mentally blaming himself for the distrust which
he felt rising within him, he still determined to watch, and judge for
himself how far his mother’s suspicions were correct. Taking up a book
which lay near, he pretended to be reading, while all the time his
thoughts were elsewhere. It was ’Lena’s lesson-day, and erelong Du Pont
came in, appearing both pleased and surprised when he saw Mr. Graham.
“I hope you don’t expect me to expose my ignorance before all these
people,” said ’Lena, as Du Pont motioned her to the stool.
“Suppose we adjourn to another room,” said Mabel, leading the way and
followed by John Jr. only.
Durward at first thought of leaving also, and arose to do so, but on
observing that his father showed no intention of going, he resumed his
seat and book, poring over the latter as intently as if it had not been
wrong side up!
“Does monsieur incline to stay,” asked Du Pont, as Mr. Graham took his
station at the end of the piano.
“Certainly,” answered Mr. Graham, “unless Miss Rivers insists upon my
leaving, which I am sure she would not do if she knew how much interest
I take in her progress.”
So, during the entire lesson, Mr. Graham stood there, his eyes fixed
upon ’Lena with a look which puzzled Durward, who from behind his book
was watching him. Admiration, affection, pity and remorse, all seemed
mingled in the expression of his face, and as Durward watched, he felt
that there was a something which he could not fathom.
“I never knew he was so fond of music,” thought he—“I mean to put him
to the test.”
Accordingly, when Du Pont was gone, he asked Mabel, who he knew was an
excellent pianist, to favor him with one of her very best
pieces—“something lively and new which will wake us up,” said he.
Mabel would greatly have preferred remaining with John Jr., but she was
habitually polite, always playing when invited, and now taking her seat
at the piano, she brought out sounds far different from those of a new
performer. But Mr. Graham, if he heard it, did not heed it, his eyes
and ears being alone for ’Lena. Seating himself near her, he commenced
talking to her in an undertone, apparently oblivious to everything else
around him, and it was not until Durward twice asked how he liked
Mabel’s playing, that he heard a note. Then, starting up and going
toward the instrument, he said, “Ah, yes, that was a fine march, (’twas
the ‘Rainbow Schottish,’ then new,) please repeat it, or something just
like it!”
Durward bit his lip, while Mabel, in perfect good humor, dashed off
into a spirited quickstep, receiving but little attention from Mr.
Graham, who seemed in a strange mood to-day, scribbling upon a piece of
white paper which lay upon the piano, and of which Durward managed to
get possession, finding thereon the name, “Helena Nichols,” to which
was added that of “Rivers,” the Nichols being crossed out. It would
seem as if both father and son were determined each to outstay the
other, for hour after hour went by and neither spoke of leaving,
although John Jr. had been gone some time. At last, as the sun was
setting, Durward arose to go, asking if his father contemplated
spending the night; “and if so,” said he, with a meaning in his manner,
“where shall I tell my mother I left you?”
This roused Mr. Graham, who said he was only waiting for his son to
start, adding, that “he could not find it in his heart to tear him away
from two so agreeable ladies, for he well remembered the weakness of
his own youth.”
“In your second youth, now, I fancy,” thought Durward, watching him as
he bade ’Lena and Mabel goodbye, and not failing to see how much longer
he held the hand of the former than he did of the latter.
“Does she see as I do, or not?” thought he, as he took the hand his
father dropped, and looked earnestly into the clear, brown eyes, which
returned his inquiring glance with one open and innocent as a little
child.
“All right here,” again thought Durward, slightly pressing the soft,
warm hand he held in his own, and smiling down upon her when he saw how
quickly that pressure brought the tell-tale blood to her cheek.
* * * * *
“Durward,” said Mr. Graham, after they were out of the city, “I have a
request to make of you.”
“Well.”
The answer was very short and it was several minutes ere Mr. Graham
again spoke.
“You know your mother as well as I do——”
“Well.”
Another silence, and Mr. Graham continued; “You know how groundlessly
jealous she is of me—and it may be just as well for her not to know
that——”
Here he paused, and Durward finished the sentence for him.
“Just as well for her not to know that you’ve spent the afternoon with
’Lena Rivers; is that it?”
“That’s it—yes—yes”—answered Mr. Graham, adding, ere Durward had time
to utter the angry words which he felt rising within him, “I wish you’d
marry ’Lena.”
This was so sudden—so different from anything which Durward had
expected, that he was taken quite by surprise, and it was some little
time ere he answered,
“Perhaps I shall.”
“I wish you would,” continued Mr. Graham, “I’d willingly give every
dollar I’m worth for the privilege of calling her my daughter.”
Durward was confounded, and knew not what to think. If his father had
an undue regard for ’Lena, why should he wish to see her the wife of
another, and that other his son? Was it his better and nobler nature
struggling to save her from evil, which prompted the wish? Durward
hoped so—he believed so; and the confidence which had so recently been
shaken was fully restored, when, by the light of the hall lamp at home,
he saw how white and almost ghostly was the face which, ere they
entered the drawing-room, turned imploringly upon him, asking him “to
be careful.”
Mrs. Graham had been in a fit of the sulks ever since the morning of
Mrs. Livingstone’s call, and now, though she had not seen her husband
for several days, she merely held out her hand, turning her head,
meantime, and replying to his questions in a low, quiet kind of a
much-injured-woman way, as provoking as it was uncalled for.
* * * * *
“Father’s suggestion was a good one,” thought Durward, when he had
retired to rest. “’Lena is too beautiful to be alone in the world. I
will propose to her at once, and she will thus be out of danger.”
But what should he do with her? Should he bring her there to Woodlawn,
where scarcely a day passed without some domestic storm? No, his home
should be full of sunlight, of music and flowers, where no angry word
or darkening frown could ever find entrance; and thus dreaming of a
blissful future, when ’Lena should be his bride, he fell asleep.