HEAVEN'S LAST BEST GIFT.
"My dear Alfred, I am glad to see you. You may kiss me--carefully,
carefully!"
Mr. Alfred Dinks therewith kissed lips upon his return from Boston.
"Sit down, Alfred, my dear, I wish to speak to you," said Fanny Newt,
with even more than her usual decision. The eyes were extremely round and
black. Alfred seated himself with vague trepidation.
"My dear, we must be married immediately," remarked Fanny, quietly.
The eyes of the lover shone with pleasure.
"Dear Fanny!" said he, "have you told mother?"
"No," answered she, calmly.
"Well, but then you know--" rejoined Alfred. He would have said more,
but he was afraid. He wanted to inquire whether Fanny thought that her
father would supply the sinews of matrimony. Alfred's theory was that he
undoubtedly would. He was sure that a young woman of Fanny's calmness,
intrepidity, and profound knowledge of the world would not propose
immediate matrimony without seeing how the commissariat was to be
supplied. She has all her plans laid, of course, thought he--she is so
talented and cool that 'tis all right, I dare say. Of course she knows
that I have nothing, and hope for nothing except from old Burt, and he's
not sure for me, by any means. But Boniface Newt is rich enough.
And Alfred consoled himself by thinking of the style in which that worthy
commission merchant lived, and especially of his son Abel's expense and
splendor.
"Alfred, dear--just try not to be trying, you know, but think what you
are about. Your mother has found out that something has gone wrong--that
you are not engaged to Hope Wayne."
"Yes--yes, I know," burst in Alfred; "she treated me like a porcupine
this morning--or ant-eater, which is it, Fanny--the thing with quills,
you know?"
Miss Fanny Newt patted the floor with her foot. Alfred continued:
"Yes, and Hope sent down, and she wanted to see me alone some time
to-day."
Fanny's foot stopped.
"Alfred, dear," said she, "you are a good fellow, but you are too
amiable. You must do just as I want you to, dearest, or something awful
will happen."
"Pooh! Fanny; nothing shall happen. I love you like any thing."
Smack! smack!
"Well, then, listen, Alfred! Your mother doesn't like me. She would do
any thing to prevent your marrying me. The reasons I will tell you at
another time. If you go home and talk with her and Hope Wayne, you can
not help betraying that you are engaged to me; and--you know your mother,
Alfred--she would openly oppose the marriage, and I don't know what she
might not say to my father."
Fanny spoke clearly and rapidly, but calmly. Alfred looked utterly
bewildered.
"It's a great pity, isn't it?" said he, feebly. "What do you think we had
better do?"
"We must be married, Alfred, dear!"
"Yes; but when, Fanny?"
"To-day," said Fanny, firmly, and putting out her hand to her beloved.
He seized it mechanically.
"To-day, Fanny?" asked he, after a pause of amazement.
"Certainly, dear--to-day. I am as ready now as I shall be a year hence."
"But what will my mother say?" inquired Alfred, in alarm.
"It will be too late for her to say any thing. Don't you see, Alfred,
dear!" continued Fanny, in a most assuring tone, "that if we go to your
mother and say, 'Here we are, married!' she has sense enough to perceive
that nothing can be done; and after a little while all will be smooth
again?"
Her lover was comforted by this view. He was even pleased by the audacity
of the project.
"I swear, Fanny," said he, at length, in a more cheerful and composed
voice, "I think it's rather a good idea!"
"Of course it is, dear. Are you ready?"
Alfred gasped a little at the prompt question, despite his confidence.
"Why, Fanny, you don't mean actually now--this very day? Gracious!"
"Why not now? Since we think best to be married immediately and in
private, why should we put it off until to-night, or next week, when
we are both as ready now as we can be then?" asked Fanny, quietly;
"especially as something may happen to make it impossible then."
Alfred Dinks shut his eyes.
"What will your father say?" he inquired, at length, without raising his
eyelids.
"Do you not see he will have to make up his mind to it, just as your
mother will?" replied Fanny.
"And my father!" said Alfred, in a state of temporary blindness
continued.
"Yes, and your father too," answered Fanny, both she and Alfred treating
the Honorable Budlong Dinks as a mere tender to that woman-of-war his
wife, in a way that would have been incredible to a statesman who
considered his wife a mere domestic luxury.
There was a silence of several minutes. Then Mr. Dinks opened his eyes,
and said,
"Well, Fanny, dear!"
"Well, Alfred, dear!" and Fanny leaned toward him, with her head poised
like that of a black snake. Alfred was fascinated. Perhaps he was sorry
he was so; perhaps he wanted to struggle. But he did not. He was under
the spell.
There was still a lingering silence. Fanny waited patiently. At length
she asked again, putting her hand in her lover's:
"Are you ready?"
"Yes!" said Alfred, in a crisp, resolute tone.
Fanny raised her hand and rang the bell. The waiter appeared.
"John, I want a carriage immediately."
"Yes, Miss."
"And, John, tell Mary to bring me my things. I am going out."
"Yes, Miss." And hearing nothing farther, John disappeared.
It was perhaps a judicious instinct which taught Fanny not to leave
Alfred alone by going up to array herself in her own chamber. The
intervals of delay between the coming of the maid and the coming of the
carriage the young woman employed in conversing dexterously about Boston,
and the friends he had seen there, and in describing to him the great
Kingfisher ball.
Presently she was bonneted and cloaked, and the carriage was at the door.
Her home had not been a Paradise to Fanny Newt--nor were Aunt Dagon,
Papa and Mamma Newt, and brother Abel altogether angels. She had no
superfluous emotions of any kind at any time; but as she passed
through the hall she saw her sister May--the youngest child--a girl of
sixteen--Uncle Lawrence's favorite--standing upon the stairs.
She said nothing; the hall was quite dim, and as the girl stood in the
half light her childlike, delicate beauty seemed to Fanny more striking
than ever. If Uncle Lawrence had seen her at the moment he would have
thought of Jacob's ladder and the angels ascending and descending.
"Good-by, May!" said Fanny, going up to her sister, taking her face
between her hands and kissing her lips.
The sisters looked at each other, each inexplicably conscious that it was
not an ordinary farewell.
"Good-by, darling!" said Fanny, kissing her again, and still holding her
young, lovely face.
Touched and surprised by the unwonted tenderness of her sister's manner,
May threw her arms around her neck and burst into tears.
"Oh! Fanny."
Fanny did not disengage the arms that clung about her, nor raise the
young head that rested upon her shoulder. Perhaps she felt that somehow
it was a benediction.
May raised her head at length, kissed Fanny gently upon the lips,
smoothed her black hair for a moment with her delicate hand, half smiled
through her tears as she thought that after this indication of affection
she should have such a pleasant intercourse with her sister, and then
pushed her softly away, saying,
"Mr. Dinks is waiting for you, Fanny."
Fanny said nothing, but drew her veil over her face, and Mr. Dinks handed
her into the carriage.