It was rather late when Hervey Leslie threw the remains of a cigar from
the car window, and staggered through the jumping, jerking Pullman to
his berth.
The curtains were all drawn, giving to the car a funereal aspect, and
lights were turned down for the night.
Jerk, jerk, jolt and jump went the train around the mountain curves,
till the various hats and wraps suspended from the hooks seemed about to
tumble together. Suddenly something dropped through the curtains of the
upper berth opposite and lodged there. Involuntarily extending his arm
to catch it if it fell, our young traveler's eyes were riveted upon an
object which he now felt inclined to catch, whether it fell or not.
It was a small white shapely hand--a woman's hand; and the midnight
tresspasser would have been less than human if he had not risen to a
better view. There it was, just peeping between the heavy curtains,
white and blue-veined, with tapering fingers and shell-like nails. How
he longed to touch it! How tempting the rounded curve of the small wrist.
A prolonged lunge threw him violently forward, when grasping the rod to
save himself, his lips went plump against the coveted object. It was
only momentary, but it thrilled him as with an electric shock. When he
recovered his equilibrium the fair sleeper had withdrawn entirely out of
sight, and her involuntary assailant addressed himself to the duty of
disrobing. Long he pondered upon the "touch of a vanished hand," and at
last fell into uneasy dreams wherein the world had come to an end, and
he found himself at the gates of heaven, with five soft white fingers
turning the key on the other side.
"Last call for breakfast," shouted the porter next morning, and the
confusion of voices mingled with the noisy folding of vacated berths.
Parting his curtains, Hervey Leslie peered out, possibly to catch a
morning view of the pretty hand.
"By Jove! better still!" was his smothered comment, as he hastily turned
away.
What he had seen was the perfection of a French boot, buttoned high, and
protruding modestly below the curtains. Then a soft voice called--"Porter,
I should like to get down."
The steps were adjusted, and as she gently fluttered down, the listener
thought--
"What a shame I didn't have a chance to exchange berths with her! To
think of her being perched up there!"
An hour later Leslie returned from his cigar to find the Pullman in
order, and the refreshed occupants enjoying the books and papers
scattered about. It was not possible to mistake the owner of the hand
and foot, whom a glance revealed in her corner, looking quietly upon the
hurrying villages and farms. A coquettish hat rested lightly upon a
fluffy mass of golden brown hair, a dainty tailored suit fitted closely
the rounded figure, and the face that looked out of the window was sweet
and bright even in repose. The coveted hand, in spotless kid, shielded
the earnest eyes from the glare of the morning sun, and all in all, the
picture was one to tempt any looker-on.
Just as Hervey Leslie was puzzling his brain for a pretext, however
flimsy, to introduce himself, a lady came from the dressing-room and sat
down beside the beautiful unknown--a lady still young and handsome, and
so closely resembling the girl as to leave no doubt that they were
mother and daughter.
"What has Charlie done with himself?" was the pleasant question, met
with a smile so bewitching that the watcher was hopelessly ensnared.
"So, there's a party of them," he mused. "And who the deuce is Charlie?"
But when that youth appeared he proved to be only a brother, and not a
very big brother, at that.
Settling himself back in a corner from whence he could use his eyes and
ears as he dared, young Leslie drew forth a letter which he perused with
interest; in fact, he already knew it by heart. It ran thus:
"MY DEAR SON,
"Congratulate me. The all-important day is fixed for the 24th inst.
Come at once. Mrs. Dana is anxious to cultivate you, and my own
impatience is an old story.
"Your affectionate father,
"H.J. LESLIE."
"Confound Mrs, Dana!" was the son's comment, for upon the subject of his
father's second marriage he was distinctly undutiful.
For a while he lost himself in pictures of the new home, and mentally
resolved to absent himself as much as possible. He knew how his
opposition was grieving his father, who thought him most unreasonable:
but he persisted in refusing to see the lady until after the ceremony.
Suddenly with a terrific lurch the train was derailed and plunged down
an embankment, not steep but rocky. The heavy Pullman toppled over, then
planted itself firmly in a bed of fresh earth, and was still. There were
wild cries of fear and pain, a loud crashing of glass lamps, and some
wrenching of seats. Leslie fell into a pile of great-coats, and flung
out his right arm just as the two ladies were dashed against him, and
a sudden sharp twinge made him oblivious of everything.
When he recovered consciousness he found himself being pulled out of
his corner, and realized by the agony of the motion, that something
was broken somewhere. With one mighty protest against such vigorous
handling, he relapsed into a dead faint. When he next opened his eyes he
was lying between cool sheets in a pleasant room, and bending over him
was the elder lady of the Pullman. The first bewildered look was rapidly
merged into a frown of pain, as a sense of discomfort made itself felt.
"He is coming round, doctor;" said the lady.
Then to him she said;--"you must be very quiet. Your shoulder has been
set. It is all right now. Heaven be praised that we did not kill you as
we fell!" she added aside, and her sweet motherly face showed the
sympathy he was in need of.
Then a voice at the door said timidly, yet eagerly,--"Mamma,
come--Charlie wants you."
The ladies vanished, leaving the doctor in charge.
Hervey soon gathered that they were at a farm-house near Columbus, Ohio;
that Charlie had a broken leg, that his mother and sister, along with
the others who had escaped injury, were stopping over to render service
to the wounded.
"Who are they?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of his pain.
"I think the name is Raynor," said the doctor; "Mrs. Raynor, Miss
Eloise, and the youth, whose leg we set this morning. But say, young
man, where are your people? Don't you want some telegrams sent? You are
not likely to get away from here very soon."
Young Leslie groaned as he gave his father's address at Cincinnati, then
exclamed;--"See here, doctor, can't you stop this confounded pain? What
the deuce is the matter, anyway? Do get me out of this."
The doctor gave him a soothing potion and bade him be quiet. He promised
to send a nurse, then went to look after the more slightly injured
patients.
Three weeks later found Hervey Leslie in dressing-gown and slippers,
setting beside Miss Eloise Raynor under a large shade tree, the young
lady reading aloud from Tennyson's tender rhymes. At an open window in
full view lay Charlie, still a prisoner, with his mother in close
attendance.
Mr. Leslie had paid several visits, and assured his son that the only
way in which he could repay him for postponing the wedding till he
should be well enough to witness it, was by becoming reconciled to his
new mother. At which the son smiled, for something had of late come over
the spirit of his dream that predisposed him singularly in favor of
weddings. A sort of low fever hung about him, which made it prudent
for him to remain in the country; and he rather fixed the time of his
departure when Charlie's leg should justify the whole party's leaving.
The young girl and her mother blamed themselves for his hurt and had
paid him every kindly attention. He had gathered the story of the petted
daughter, and in his enfeebled state their acquaintance made rapid
progress. Even now it required no acute observer to surmise the ravages
of the little god. No one interfered, and for once the course of true
love seemed to glide smoothly on.
He had confessed his aversion to to the prospective mother, and
endeavored to elicit sympathy by picturing to young Eloise what it would
be to have another fill her dear father's place. At such times her face
was impenetrable, and he intuitively grew to avoid the topic.
Ere Charlie was able to get about, young Leslie had fallen in love with
the whole family; and when he had sought and obtained the dimpled hand
he had so coveted in the Pullman car, laughingly told the mother he was
not so sure but that after all she was the one he loved best. A smile
passed over the regular features as she said meaningly:
"Only love me as a son, my boy, and I think we can be happy in each
other. But remember, a mother-in-law is a dangerous animal!"
Mr. Leslie was so happy in his son's good fortune,--for so he evidently
considered it--that he declared there must be a double wedding.
"You shall have your way," he added, with some pique; "and not see Mrs.
Dana till we meet at the church. Afterward, I'll risk the meeting!"
Some two months after the accident the programme was carried out. But
the Raynors had remained at the farm-house till the appointed day, the
young people growing all the while so distractingly fond of each other,
that the really short time seemed to drag with leaden wings.
Quietly one morning, in the presence of intimate friends, and quite in
the old-fashioned way, the two pairs of lovers walked up the church
aisle to the minister in waiting. The ladies wore rich traveling-suits,
and carriages waited to convey the immediate members of the family
to the wedding breakfast. The younger bridegroom saw nothing but the
sweet face at his side, though he started perceptibly when the service
revealed that his father's bride and his own bore the same musical name
of Eloise.
When the first carriage closed with a snap, there was a relaxing of
ceremony, and an interchange of congratulations, earnest, though
somewhat amusing. For when Hervey raised his eyes to the despised
mother's face, he saw there the soft features of Mrs. Raynor, while his
father smiled in contented expectancy. His own face was a study!
"Raynor?" he stammered. "Why I thought--I understood--"
"You said Raynor," was the teasing reply; "we never did."
"And whom have I married?" was his next question, with a grotesque
grimace at the demure young person beside him.
"Eloise Dana, an' it please your lordship. Do you mean to get a
divorce?"
"It's all right, my boy;" cheerily said his father, while all three
heartily enjoyed the denouement. "It was only a little harmless plot,
you know, to bring you to your senses! Besides, you were in too delicate
a state of health to bear the truth!" This with decided relish.
"Bring me to my senses!" echoed the other. "You have about run me crazy!
Here I've gone and married my wife's brother to his sister, and the
fathers and mothers are all fathers-in-law and mothers-in-law. But, my
dear mamma," he added, with an 'Et-tu-Brute' look at the amused lady,
"I did not think you would play me false!"
"The temptation was too great," she confessed, "after I saw your name on
the tell-tale suit case; own the truth now, that as Mrs. Dana, you would
never have fallen in love with me!"
"Ah, well," he gave in, "let's kiss and make friends. As for you, young
lady," he exclaimed with mock fierceness, "I shall exact the most
implicit obedience. I must get even somehow."
"No--no--I did not promise to obey--brides never do nowadays," and the
little gloved hand went up to his lips in protest.
Catching it fast, he threatened to proclaim the first time her hand had
ever touched his lips, all unconscious though she was, and amid blushes
and happiness all around, they arrived at the house, where the whole
story had to be rehearsed to delighted friends, beginning with midnight
vision in a Pullman car.