MAKING UP HIS MIND.
For more than an hour there had been unbroken silence in the dingy old
law office of Mr. Worthington, where Henry Lincoln and William Bender
still remained, the one as a practising lawyer and junior partner of
the firm, and the other as a student still, for he had not yet dared
to offer himself for examination. Study was something which Henry
particularly disliked; and as his mother had trained him with the
idea, that labor for him was wholly unnecessary, he had never bestowed
a thought on the future, or made an exertion of any kind.
Now, however, a different phase of affairs was appearing. His father's
fortune was threatened with ruin; and as, on a morning several weeks
subsequent to Mrs. Russell's party, he sat in the office with his
heels upon the window sill, and his arms folded over his head, he
debated the all-important question, whether it were better to marry
Ella Campbell, for the money which would save him from poverty, or to
rouse himself to action for the sake of Mary Howard, whom he really
fancied he loved!
Frequently since the party had he met her, each time becoming more and
more convinced of her superiority over the other young ladies of his
acquaintance. He was undoubtedly greatly assisted in this decision by
the manner with which she was received by the fashionables of Boston,
but aside from that, as far as he was capable of doing so, he liked
her, and was now making up his mind whether to tell her so or not.
At last, breaking the silence, he exclaimed, "Hang me if I don't
believe she's bewitched me, or else I'm in love.--Bender, how does a
chap feel when he's in love?"
"Very foolish, judging from yourself," returned William; and Henry
replied, "I hope you mean nothing personal, for I'm bound to avenge my
honor, and t'would be a deuced scrape for you and me to fight about
'your sister,' as you call her, for 'tis she who has inspired me, or
made a fool of me, one or the other."
"You've changed your mind, haven't you?" asked William, a little
sarcastically.
"Hanged if I have," said Henry. "I was interested in her years ago,
when she was the ugliest little vixen a man ever looked upon, and
that's why I teazed her so,--I don't believe she's handsome now, but
she's something, and that something has raised the mischief with me.
Come, Bender, you are better acquainted with her than I am, so tell me
honestly if you think I'd better marry her."
The expression of William's face was a sufficient answer, and with
something of his old insolence, Henry continued, "You needn't feel
jealous, for I tell you Mary Howard looks higher than you. Why, she'd
wear the crown of England, as a matter of course, any day."
With a haughty frown, William replied, "You have my permission, sir,
to propose as soon as you please. I rather wish you would," then
taking his hat, he left the office, while Henry continued his
soliloquy, as follows:--"I wonder what the old folks would say to a
penniless bride. Wouldn't mother and Rose raise a row? I'd soon quiet
the old woman, though, by threatening to tell that she was once a
factory girl,--yes, a factory girl. But if dad smashes up I'll have
to work, for I haven't brains enough to earn my living by my wit. I
guess on the whole, I'll go and call on Ella, she's handsome, and
besides that, has the rhino too, but, Lord, how shallow!" and the
young man broke the blade of his knife as he struck it into the hard
wood table, by way of emphasizing his last words.
Ella chanced to be out, and as Henry was returning, he overtook Ida
Selden and Mary Howard, who were taking their accustomed walk. Since
her conversation with William a weight seemed lifted from Mary's
spirits, and she now was happier far than she ever remembered of
having been before. She was a general favorite in Boston, where all of
her acquaintances vied with each other in making her stay among them
as agreeable as possible. Her facilities for improvement, too, were
great, and what was better than all the rest, George Moreland was to
return much sooner than he at first intended. While she was so happy
herself, Mary could not find it in her heart to be uncourteous to
Henry, and her manner towards him that morning was so kind and affable
that it completely upset him; and when he parted with her at Mr.
Selden's gate, his mind was quite made up to offer her his heart and
hand.
"I shall have to work," thought he, as he entered his room to decide
upon the best means by which to make his intentions known. "I shall
have to work, I know, but for her sake I'd do any thing."
There was a bottle of Madeira standing upon the table and as he
announced his determination of "doing any thing for the sake of Mary
Howard," his eye fell upon his favorite beverage. A deep blush mounted
to his brow, and a fierce struggle between his love for Mary and his
love for the wine-cup ensued. The former conquered, and seizing the
bottle he hurled it against the marble fire jamb, exclaiming, "I'll
be a _man_, a sober man, and never shall the light of Mary's eyes grow
dim with tears wept for a drunken husband!"
Henry was growing eloquent, and lest the inspiration should leave him,
he sat down and wrote to Mary, on paper what he could not tell her
face to face. Had there been a lingering doubt of her acceptance, he
would undoubtedly have wasted at least a dozen sheets of the tiny
gilt-edged paper, but as it was, one would suffice, for _she_ would
not scrutinize his handwriting,--_she_ would not count the blots, or
mark the omission of punctuating pauses. She would almost say _yes_
before she read it. So the letter, which contained a sincere apology
for his uncivil treatment of her in former years, and an ardent
declaration of love for her now, was written sealed, and directed, and
then there was a gentle rap upon the door. Jenny wished to come in for
a book which was lying upon the table.
Henry had resolved to keep his family ignorant of his intentions, but
at the sight of Jenny he changed his mind,--Jenny loved Mary, too.
Jenny would be delighted at the prospect of having her for a sister,
and would help him brave the storm of his mother's displeasure.
"Jenny," said he, grasping at her dress, as she passed him on her way
from the room, "Jenny, sit down here. I want to tell you something."
Jenny glanced at the fragments of the wine bottle, then at her
brother's flushed face, and instantly conjecturing that he had been
drinking, said reproachfully, as she laid her soft, white hand on his
brow "Oh, brother, brother!"
He understood her meaning, and drawing her so closely to him that his
warm breath floated over her cheek, replied, "I'm not drunk, for see,
there is no scent of alcohol in my breath, for I have sworn to
reform,--sworn that no drop of ardent spirits shall ever again pass my
lips."
The sudden exclamation of joy, the arms thrown so affectionately
around his neck, the hot tears upon his cheek, and the kisses that
warm-hearted sister imprinted upon his lips should have helped him to
ratify that vow. But not for her sake had it been made, and shaking
her off, he said, "Don't make a fool of yourself, Jenny, I wasn't in
any danger of disgracing you, for I was only a moderate drinker. But
really, I do want to talk with you on a very important subject. I want
to ask who of all your acquaintances you would prefer to have for a
sister, for I am going to be married."
"To Ella?" asked Jenny, and Henry replied scornfully, "No, ma'am! my
wife must have a soul, a heart, and a mind, to make up for my
deficiency on those points. To be plain, how would you like to have me
marry Mary Howard?"
"Not at all--Not at all," was Jenny's quick reply, while her brother
said angrily, "And why not? Are you, too, proud as Lucifer, like the
rest of us? I could tell you something, Miss, that would bring your
pride down a peg or two. But answer me, why are you unwilling for me
to marry Mary?"
Jenny's spirit was roused too, and looking her brother fully in his
face, she unhesitatingly replied, "You are not worthy of her; neither
would she have you."
"And this from my own sister?" said Henry, hardly able to control his
wrath. "Leave the room, instantly,--But stay," he added, "and let me
hear the reasons for what you have asserted."
"You know as well as I," answered Jenny, "that one as pure and gentle
as Mary Howard, should never be associated with you, who would
trample upon a woman's better nature and feelings, for the sake of
gratifying your own wishes. Whenever it suits your purpose, you
flatter and caress Ella Campbell, to whom your slightest wish is a
law, and then when your mood changes, you treat her with neglect; and
think you, that knowing all this, Mary Howard would look favorably
upon you, even if there were no stronger reason why she should refuse
you?"
"If you mean the brandy bottle," said Henry, growing more and more
excited, "have I not sworn to quit it, and is it for you to goad me on
to madness, until I break that vow?"
"Forgive me if I have been too harsh," said Jenny, taking Henry's
hand. "You are my brother, and Mary my dearest friend, and when I say
I would not see her wedded to you, 'tis not because I love you less,
but her the more. You are wholly unlike, and would not be happy
together. But oh, if her love would win you back to virtue, I would
almost beg her, on my bended knees, not to turn away from you."
"And I tell you her love _can_ win me back, when nothing else in the
kingdom will," said Henry, snatching up the note and hurrying away.
For a time after he left the room, Jenny sat in a kind of stupefied
maze. That Mary would refuse her brother, she was certain, and she
trembled for the effect that refusal would produce upon him. Other
thoughts, too, crowded upon the young girl's mind, and made her tears
flow fast. Henry had hinted of something which he could tell her if he
would, and her heart too well foreboded what that something was. The
heavy sound of her father's footsteps, which sometimes kept her awake
the livelong night, his pale haggard face in the morning, and her
mother's nervous, anxious manner, told her that ruin was hanging over
them.
In the midst of her reverie, Henry returned. He had delivered the
letter, and now, restless and unquiet, he sat down to await its
answer. It came at last,--his rejection, yet couched in language so
kind and conciliatory, that he could not feel angry. Twice,--three
times he read it over, hoping to find some intimation that possibly
she might relent; but no, it was firm and decided, and while she
thanked him for the honor he conferred upon her, she respectfully
declined accepting it, assuring him that his secret should be kept
inviolate.
"There's some comfort in that," thought he, "for I wouldn't like to
have it known that I had been refused by a poor unknown girl," and
then, as the conviction came over him that she would never he his, he
laid his head upon the table, and wept such tears as a spoiled child
might weep when refused a toy, too costly and delicate to be trusted
in its rude grasp.
Erelong, there was another knock at the door, and, hastily wiping away
all traces of his emotion, Henry admitted his father, who had come to
talk of their future prospects, which were even worse than he had
feared. But he did not reproach his wayward son, nor hint that his
reckless extravagance had hastened the calamity which otherwise might
possibly have been avoided. Calmly he stated the extent to which they
were involved, adding that though an entire failure might be prevented
a short time, it would come at last; and that an honorable payment of
his debts would leave them beggars.
"For myself I do not care," said the wretched man, pressing hard his
aching temples, where the gray hairs had thickened within a few short
weeks. "For myself I do not care but for my wife and children,--for
Rose, and that she must miss her accustomed comforts, is the keenest
pang of all."
All this time, Henry had not spoken, but thought was busily at work.
He could not bestir himself; he had no energy for that now; but he
could marry Ella Campbell, whose wealth would keep him in the position
he now occupied, besides supplying many of Rose's wants.
Cursing the fate which had reduced him to such an extremity, towards
the dusk of evening, Henry started again for Mrs. Campbell's. Lights
were burning in the parlor and as the curtains were drawn back, he
could see through the partially opened shutter, that Ella was alone.
Reclining in a large sofa chair, she sat, leaning upon her elbow, the
soft curls of her brown hair falling over her white arm, which the
full blue cashmere sleeve exposed to view. She seemed deeply engaged
in thought, and never before had she looked so lovely to Henry, who,
as he gazed upon her, felt a glow of pride, in thinking that fair
young girl could be his for the asking.
"I wish she was not so confounded flat," thought he, hastily ringing
the door-bell.
Instantly divining who it was, Ella sprang up, and when Henry entered
the parlor, he found her standing in the centre of the room, where the
full blaze of the chandelier fell upon her childish features, lighting
them up with radiant beauty.
"And so my little pet is alone," said he, coming forward, and raising
to his lips the dainty fingers which Ella extended towards him. "I
hope the old aunty is out," he continued, "for I want to see you on
special business."
Ella noticed how excited he appeared, and always on the alert for
something when he was with her, she began to tremble, and without
knowing what she said, asked him "what he wanted of her?"
"Zounds!" thought Henry, "she meets me more than half-way;" and then,
lest his resolution should fail, he reseated her in the chair she had
left, and drawing an ottoman to her side, hastily told her of his
love, ending his declaration, by saying that from the first time he
ever saw her, he had determined that she should be his wife! And Ella,
wholly deceived, allowed her head to droop upon his shoulder, while
she whispered to him her answer. Thus they were betrothed,--Henry
Lincoln and Ella Campbell.
"Glad am I to be out of that atmosphere," thought the newly engaged
young man, as he reached the open air, and began to breathe more
freely. "Goodness me, won't I lead a glorious life, with that jar of
tomato sweetmeats! Now, if she'd only hung back a little,--but no, she
said yes before I fairly got the words out; but money covereth a
multitude of sins,--I beg your pardon, ma'am," said he quickly, as he
became conscious of having rudely jostled a young lady, who was
turning the corner.
Looking up, he met Mary Howard's large, dark eyes fixed rather
inquiringly upon him. She was accompanied by one of Mr. Selden's
servants, and he felt sure she was going to visit her sister. Of
course, Ella would tell her all, and what must Mary think of one who
could so soon repeat his vows of love to another? In all the world
there was not an individual for whose good opinion Henry Lincoln cared
one half so much as for Mary Howard's; and the thought that he should
now surely lose it maddened him. The resolution of the morning was
forgotten, and that night a fond father watched and wept over his
inebriate son, for never before had Henry Lincoln been so beastly
intoxicated.