THE FALSE AND THE TRUE LOVE.
Did woman's charms thy youth beguile,
And did the fair one faithless prove?
Hath she betrayed thee with a smile
And sold thy love?
Live! 'Twas a false, bewildering fire:
Too often love's insidious dart
Thrills the fond soul with wild desire,
But kills the heart.
A nobler love shall warm thy breast,
A brighter maiden faithful prove,
And thy ripe manhood shall be blest
In woman's love.
--MONTGOMERY.
Emma Cavendish, with her cheeks blooming and eyes beaming with pleasure,
ran out to meet her friends.
Alden and Laura Lytton, just admitted by the footman, stood within the
hall.
Miss Cavendish welcomed Laura with a kiss and Alden with a cordial grasp
of the hand.
"I am so delighted to see you, dear Laura; and you also, Mr. Lytton,"
she said, leading the way into the parlor.
"Well as I like my kind relatives at Lytton Lodge, I am very glad to get
back to you, Emma, dear, and that is the truth," answered Laura, as she
sank into an arm-chair and began to draw off her gloves.
Alden said nothing. He had bowed deeply in response to Miss Cavendish's
words of welcome, and now he was thinking what a bright and beautiful
creature she was, how full of healthful, joyous life she seemed, and
wondering that he had never noticed all this before.
But he had noticed it before. When he first saw Emma Cavendish in her
father's house in the city he had thought her the most heavenly vision
of loveliness that had ever beamed upon mortal eyes; and he would have
continued to think so had not the baleful beauty of Mary Grey glided
before him and beguiled his sight and his soul.
But Mary Grey was gone with all her magic arts, and the very atmosphere
seemed clearer and brighter for her absence.
"As soon as you have rested a little come up to your room, Laura, and
lay on your wraps. Tea will be ready by the time we come down again.
And, Mrs. Lytton, your old attendant, Jerome, will show you to your
apartment," said the young hostess, as she arose, with a smile, to
conduct her guest.
They left the drawing-room together.
And while Laura Lytton was arranging her toilet in the chamber above
stairs, Emma Cavendish told her the particulars of Mary Grey's
departure, and also of the letter she had received from her
long-estranged relative, Mrs. Fanning.
They went down to tea, where they were joined by Electra and the Rev.
Dr. Jones.
Miss Cavendish presented Mr. Lytton to Dr. Jones. And then they sat down
to the table.
Alden Lytton's eyes and thoughts were naturally enough occupied and
interested in Emma Cavendish. He had not exactly fallen in love with
her, but he was certainly filled with admiration for the loveliest girl
he had ever seen. And he could but draw involuntary comparisons between
the fair, frank, bright maiden and the beautiful, alluring widow.
Both were brilliant, but with this difference: the one with the pure
life-giving light of Heaven, and the other with the fatal fire of
Tartarus.
After tea they went into the drawing-room, where they spent a long
evening talking over old times--_their_ "old times" being something less
than one year of age.
And every hour confirmed Alden Lytton's admiration of Emma Cavendish.
The next day Alden Lytton was invited upstairs to the old lady's room
and presented to Madam Cavendish, who received him with much cordiality,
telling him that his grandfather had been a lifelong personal friend of
hers, and that she had known his father from his infancy up to the time
that he had left the neighborhood to practice law in the city.
And after a short interview the ancient gentlewoman and the young law
student parted mutually well pleased with each other.
"A fine young man--a very fine young man indeed; but more like his
grandfather, as I remember him in his youth, than like his father, whom
I could not always well approve," said the old lady to her confidential
attendant, Aunt Moll, who had closed the chamber door after the
departing visitor.
"Dunno nuffin 'tall 'bout dat, ole mist'ess, but he monsus hansume,
dough--umph-um; a'n't he dough? And a'n't he got eyes--umph-um!"
Alden went down-stairs.
"The most interesting old lady I have ever seen in my life, with the
balsamic aroma of history and antiquity about her and all her
surroundings," he said, as he joined the young ladies in the
drawing-room.
"Balsamic aroma of _what_?" inquired Electra, who had no taste for
poetry and no reverence for antiquity. "Young man, it was the dried
'yarbs' she keeps in her closet that you smelled. Besides, antiquity has
no other odor than that of mold and must."
Alden blushed, laughed and looked at Emma Cavendish.
"You must not mind my cousin Electra, Mr. Lytton. She is a privileged
person among us. By the way, Laura has told you, I presume, of our
relationship," said Emma, pleasantly.
"Oh, yes!" returned young Lytton, with a smile and a bow. "And I am
happy to have this opportunity of congratulating you both."
"Thanks," said Miss Cavendish, with a vivid blush.
"I believe there was some talk about a picnic party to the top of
Porcupine Mountain, was there not?" inquired Electra, to cut short all
sentiment.
"Yes, my dear, and the horses are ordered for eleven o'clock. It is
half-past ten now, and we will go and put on our hats and habits,"
replied Miss Cavendish, playfully rising and breaking up the conference.
The party of young friends remained one week longer at Blue Cliffs,
every day deepening and confirming the admiration and respect with which
the beauty and the excellence of Emma Cavendish inspired Alden Lytton.
But yet he was not in love with her.
Every morning was spent by the young people in riding or driving about
through the sublime and beautiful mountain and valley scenery of the
neighborhood.
And every evening was passed in fancy work, music, reading or
conversation in the drawing-room.
And so the pleasant days of the Easter holidays passed away, and the
time for study and for work commenced.
Laura and Electra went away from Blue Cliffs on the same day--Laura
escorted by her brother Alden, and Electra by her grandfather, the Rev.
Dr. Jones.
As the party were assembled in the front hall to take leave of their
fair young hostess before entering the large traveling carriage that
was to take them to the Wendover railway station, Emma Cavendish went up
to Alden Lytton and placed a letter in his hand, saying, with a frank
smile:
"As you are going direct to Charlottesville, Mr. Lytton, I will trouble
you to take charge of this letter to our mutual friend, Mrs. Grey, who,
you know, is now staying in that town. Will you do so?"
"Certainly--with great pleasure," stammered Alden in extreme confusion,
which he could scarcely conceal, and without the slightest consciousness
that he was telling an enormous falsehood, but with full assurance that
he should like to oblige Miss Cavendish.
"I hope it will not inconvenience you to deliver this in person, Mr.
Lytton," added Emma.
"Certainly not, Miss Cavendish," replied Alden, telling unconscious fib
the second.
"For, you see, I am rather anxious about our friend. She left in ill
health. She is almost a stranger in Charlottesville. And--this is the
point--I have not heard from her, by letter or otherwise, since she left
us; so I fear she may be too ill to write, and may have no friend near
to write for her. This is why I tax your kindness to deliver the letter
in person and find out how she is; and--write and let us know. I am
asking a great deal of you, Mr. Lytton," added Emma, with a deprecating
smile.
"Not at all. It is a very small service that you require. And I hope you
know that I should be exceedingly happy to have the opportunity of doing
any very great service for you, Miss Cavendish," replied Alden,
truthfully and earnestly.
For in itself it was a very small service that Miss Cavendish had
required of him, and he would have liked and even preferred another and
a greater, and, in fact, a different service.
"Many thanks," said Miss Cavendish, with a frank smile, as she left the
letter in his hands.
Then the adieus were all said, and promises of frequent correspondence
and future visits exchanged among the young ladies. And the travelers
departed, and the young hostess re-entered her lonely home and resumed
her usual routine of domestic duties.
She was anxious upon more than one account.
More than a week had passed since the departure of Mary Grey, and yet,
as she had told Alden Lytton, she had never heard even of her safe
arrival at Charlottesville, and she feared that her _protegee_ might be
suffering from nervous illness among strangers.
More than a week had also passed since she had telegraphed and written
to her Aunt Fanning in New York. But no answer had yet come from that
unhappy woman. And she feared that the poor relative whom she wished to
succor might have met with some new misfortune.
However, Emma had hoped, from day to day, that each morning's mail might
bring her good news from Charlottesville or New York, or both.
And even to-day she waited with impatience for the return of Jerome, who
had driven the traveling-carriage containing the departing visitors to
Wendover, and who might find letters for Blue Cliffs waiting at the
post-office.
Emma could not be at rest all that day, partly because she missed her
young companions, whose society had made the lonely house so cheerful,
and partly because she half expected news with the return of Jerome.
She wandered up and down the deserted drawing-room, and then went
upstairs to the chambers just vacated by her young friends, where she
found Sarah, the chamber-maid, engaged in dismantling beds and
dressing-tables preparatory to shutting up the "spare rooms" for the
rest of the season.
All this was very dreary and dispiriting.
She left these apartments and would have gone into the old lady's room,
only that she knew her grandmother was at this hour taking the first of
her two daily naps.
As she turned to go down-stairs she glanced through the front hall
window and caught a glimpse of the traveling-carriage, with Jerome
perched upon the box, slowly winding its way around the circular avenue
that led to the house.