THE RESULT.
The loud ringing of the breakfast-bell aroused ’Lena from her heavy
slumber, and with a vague consciousness of what had transpired the
night previous, she at first turned wearily upon her pillow, wishing it
were not morning; but soon remembering all, she sprang up, and after a
hasty toilet, descended to the breakfast-room, where another chair was
vacant, another face was missing. Without any suspicion of the truth,
Mrs. Livingstone spoke of Anna’s absence, saying she presumed the poor
girl was tired and sleepy, and this was admitted as an excuse for her
tardiness. But when breakfast was over and she still did not appear,
Corinda was sent to call her, returning soon with the information that
“she’d knocked and knocked, but Miss Anna would not answer, and when
she tried the door she found it locked.”
Involuntarily Mr. Livingstone glanced at ’Lena; whose face wore a
scarlet hue as she hastily quitted the table. With a presentiment of
something, he himself started for Anna’s room; followed by his wife and
Carrie, while ’Lena, half-way up the stairs, listened breathlessly for
the result. It was useless knocking for admittance, for there was no
one within to bid them enter, and with a powerful effort Mr.
Livingstone burst the lock. The window was open, the lamp was still
burning, emitting a faint, sickly odor; the bed was undisturbed, the
room in confusion, and Anna was gone. Mrs. Livingstone’s eye took in
all this at a glance, but her husband saw only the latter, and ere he
was aware of what he did, a fervent “Thank heaven,” escaped him.
“She’s gone—run away—dead, maybe,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, wringing
her hands in unfeigned distress, and instinctively drawing nearer to
her husband for comfort.
By this time ’Lena had ventured into the room, and turning toward her,
Mr. Livingstone said, very gently, “’Lena, where is our child?”
“In Ohio, I dare say, by this time, as she took the night train at
Midway for Cincinnati,” said ’Lena, thinking she might as well tell the
whole at once.
“In Ohio!” shrieked Mrs. Livingstone, fiercely grasping ’Lena’s arm.
“What has she gone to Ohio for? Speak, ingrate, for you have done the
deed—I am sure of that!”
“It was Mr. Everett’s wish to return home that way I believe,” coolly
answered ’Lena, without quailing in the least from the eyes bent so
angrily upon her.
Instantly Mrs. Livingstone’s fingers loosened their grasp, while her
face grew livid with mingled passion and fear. Her fraud was
discovered—her stratagem had failed—and she was foiled in this, her
second darling scheme. But she was yet to learn what agency ’Lena had
in the matter, and this information her husband obtained for her. There
was no anger in the tones of his voice when he asked his niece to
explain the mystery, else she might not have answered, for ’Lena could
not be driven. Now, however, she felt that he had a right to know, and
she told him all she knew; what she had done herself and why she had
done it; that General Fontaine, to whom Malcolm had gone in his
trouble, had kindly assisted him by lending both servants and carriage;
but upon the intercepted letters she could throw no light.
“’Twas a cursed act, and whoever was guilty of it is unworthy the name
of either man or woman,” said Mr. Livingstone, while his eye rested
sternly upon his wife.
She knew that he suspected her, but he had no proof, and resolving to
make the best of the matter, she, too, united with him in denouncing
the deed, wondering who could have done it, and meanly suggesting Maria
Fontaine, a pupil of Mr. Everett’s, who had, at one time, felt a slight
preference for him. But this did not deceive her husband—neither did it
help her at all in the present emergency. The bride was gone, and
already she felt the tide of scandal and gossip which she knew would be
the theme of the entire neighborhood. Still, if her own shameful act
was kept a secret she could bear it, and it must be. No one knew of it
except Captain Atherton and Cæsar, the former of whom would keep his
own counsel, while fear of a passport down the river, the negroes’
dread, would prevent the latter from telling.
Accordingly, her chagrin was concealed, and affecting to treat the
whole matter as a capital joke, worthy of being immortalized in
romance, she returned to her room, and hastily writing a few lines,
rang the bell for Cæsar who soon appeared, declaring that “as true as
he lived and breathed and drew the breath of life, he’d done gin miss
every single letter afore handin’ ’em to anybody else.”
“Shut your mouth and mind you keep it shut, or you’ll find yourself in
New Orleans,” was Mrs. Livingstone’s very lady-like response, as she
handed him the note, bidding him take it to Captain Atherton.
For some reason or other the captain this morning was exceedingly
restless, walking from room to room, watching the clock, then the sun,
and finally, in order to pass the time away, trying on his wedding
suit, to see how he was going to look! Perfectly satisfied with his
appearance, he was in imagination going through the ceremony, and had
just inclined his head in token that he would take Anna for his wife,
when Mrs. Livingstone’s note was handed him. At first he could hardly
believe the evidence of his own eyes.
Anna gone!—run away with Mr. Everett! It could not be, and sinking into
a chair, he felt, as he afterwards expressed it, “mighty queer and
shaky.”
But Mrs. Livingstone had advised him to put a bold face on it, and
this, upon second thought, he determined to do. Hastily changing his
dress, now useless, he mounted his steed, and was soon on his way
toward Maple Grove, a new idea dawning upon his mind, and ere his
arrival, settling itself into a fixed purpose. From Aunt Martha he had
heard of ’Lena’s strange visit, and he now remembered the many times
she had tried to withdraw him from Anna, appropriating him to herself
for hours. The captain’s vanity was wonderful. Sunnyside needed a
mistress—he needed a wife, ’Lena was poor—perhaps she liked him—and if
so there might be a wedding, after all. She was beautiful, and would
sustain the honors of his house with a better grace, he verily
believed, than Anna! Full of these thoughts, he reached Maple Grove,
where he found Durward, to whom Mrs. Livingstone had detailed the whole
circumstance, dwelling long upon ’Lena’s meddling propensities, and
charging the whole affair upon her.
“But she knew what she was about—she had an object in view,
undoubtedly,” she added, glad of an opportunity to give vent to her
feelings against ’Lena.
“Pray, what was her object?” asked Durward, and Mrs. Livingstone
replied, “I told you once that ’Lena was ambitious, and I have every
reason to believe she would willingly marry Captain Atherton,
notwithstanding he is so much older.”
She forgot that there was the same disparity between the captain and
Anna as between him and ’Lena, but Durward did not, and with a derisive
smile he listened, while she proceeded to give her reasons for thinking
that a desire to supplant Anna was the sole object which ’Lena had in
view, for what else could have prompted that midnight ride to
Sunnyside. Again Durward smiled, but before he could answer, the
bride-groom elect stood before them, looking rather crestfallen, but
evidently making a great effort to appear as usual.
“And so the bird has flown?” said he, “Well, it takes a Yankee, after
all, to manage a case, but how did he find it out?”
Briefly Mrs. Livingstone explained to him Lena’s agency in the matter,
omitting, this time, to impute to her the same motive which she had
done when stating the case to Durward.
“So ’Lena is at the bottom of it?” said he, rubbing his little fat, red
hands. “Well, well, where is she? I’d like to see her.”
“Corinda, tell ’Lena she is wanted in the parlor,” said Mrs.
Livingstone, while Durward, not wishing to witness the interview, arose
to go, but Mrs. Livingstone urged him so hard to stay, that he at last
resumed his seat on the sofa by the side of Carrie.
“Captain Atherton wishes to question you concerning the part you have
taken in this elopement,” said Mrs. Livingstone, sternly, as ’Lena
appeared in the doorway.
“No, I don’t,” said the captain, gallantly offering ’Lena a chair. “My
business with Miss Rivers concerns herself.”
“I am here, sir, to answer any proper question,” said ’Lena, proudly,
at the same time declining the proffered seat.
“There’s an air worthy of a queen,” thought the captain, and
determining to make his business known at once, he arose, and turning
toward Mrs. Livingstone, Durward and Carrie, whom he considered his
audience, he commenced: “What I am about to say may seem strange, but
the fact is, I want a wife. I’ve lived alone long enough. I waited for
Anna eighteen years, and now’s she gone. Everything is in readiness for
the bridal; the guests are invited; nothing wanting but the bride. Now
if I _could_ find a substitute.”
“Not in me,” muttered Carrie, drawing nearer to Durward, while with a
sarcastic leer the captain continued: “Don’t refuse before you are
asked, Miss Livingstone. I do not aspire to the honor of your hand, but
I do ask Miss Rivers to be my wife—here before you all. She shall live
like a princess—she and her grandmother both. Come, what do you say?
Many a poor girl would jump at the chance.”
The rich blood which usually dyed ’Lena’s cheek was gone, and pale as
the marble mantel against which she leaned, she answered, proudly, “I
would sooner die than link my destiny with one who could so basely
deceive my cousin, making her believe it was her betrothed husband whom
he saw in Washington instead of his uncle! Marry you? Never, if I beg
my bread from door to door!”
“Noble girl!” came involuntarily from the lips of Durward, who had held
his breath for her answer, and who now glanced triumphantly at Mrs.
Livingstone, whose surmises were thus proved incorrect.
The captain’s self-pride was touched, that a poor, humble girl should
refuse him with his half million. A sense of the ridiculous position in
which he was placed maddened him, and in a violent rage he replied,
“You won’t, hey? What under heavens have you hung around me so for,
sticking yourself in between me and Anna when you knew you were not
wanted?”
“I did it, sir, at Anna’s request, to relieve her—and for nothing
else.”
“And was it at her request that you went alone to Sunnyside on that
dark, rainy night?” chimed in Mrs. Livingstone.
“No, madam,” said ’Lena, turning toward her aunt. “I had in vain
implored of you to save her from a marriage every way irksome to her,
when in her right mind, but you would not listen, and I resolved to
appeal to the captain’s better nature. In this I failed, and then I
wrote to Mr. Everett, with the result which you see.”
In her first excitement Mrs. Livingstone had forgotten to ask who was
the bearer of ’Lena’s letter, but remembering it now, she put the
question. ’Lena would not implicate Durward without his permission, but
while she hesitated, he answered for her, “_I_ carried that letter,
Mrs. Livingstone, though I did not then know its nature. Still if I
had, I should have done the same, and the event has proved that I was
right in so doing.”
“Ah, indeed!” said the captain growing more and more nettled and
disagreeable. “Ah, indeed! Mr. Bellmont leagued with Miss Rivers
against me. Perhaps she would not so bluntly refuse an offer coming
from you, but I can tell you it won’t sound very well that the Hon.
Mrs. Bellmont once rode four miles alone in the night to visit a
bachelor. Ha! ha! Miss ’Lena; better have submitted to my terms at
once, for don’t you see I have you in my power?”
“And if you ever use that power to her disadvantage you answer for it
to me; do you understand?” exclaimed Durward, starting up and
confronting Captain Atherton, who, the veriest coward in the world,
shrank from the flashing of Durward’s eye, and meekly answered, “Yes,
yes—yes, yes, I won’t, I won’t. I don’t want to fight. I like ’Lena. I
don’t blame Anna for running away if she didn’t want me—but it’s left
me in a deuced mean scrape, which I wish you’d help me out of.”
Durward saw that the captain was in earnest, and taking his proffered
hand, promised to render him any assistance in his power, and advising
him to be present himself in the evening, as the first meeting with his
acquaintances would thus be over. Upon reflection, the captain
concluded to follow this advice, and when evening arrived and with it
those who had not heard the news, he was in attendance, together with
Durward, who managed the whole affair so skillfully that the party
passed off quite pleasantly, the disappointed guests playfully
condoling with the deserted bridegroom, who received their jokes with a
good grace, wishing himself, meantime, anywhere but there.
That night, when the company were gone and all around was silent, Mrs.
Livingstone watered her pillow with the first tears she had shed for
her youngest born, whom she well knew _she_ had driven from home, and
when her husband asked what they should do, she answered with a fresh
burst of tears, “Send for Anna to come back.”
“And Malcolm, too?” queried Mr. Livingstone, knowing it was useless to
send for one without the other.
“Yes, Malcolm too. There’s room for both,” said the weeping mother,
feeling how every hour she should miss the little girl, whose presence
had in it so much of sunlight and joy.
But Anna would not return. Away to the northward, in a fairy cottage
overhung with the wreathing honeysuckle and the twining grape-vine,
where the first summer flowers were blooming and the song-birds were
caroling all the day long, her home was henceforth to be, and though
the letter which contained her answer to her father’s earnest appeal
was stained and blotted, it told of perfect happiness with Malcolm, who
kissed away her tears as she wrote, “Tell mother I cannot come.”