+THE STEPFATHER+
IN order that our readers may comprehend the motives by which some of
the actors in this our drama of real life were actuated, we must cast a
retrospective glance at the past and view our heroine in her infancy, as
the only and beloved child of a doting father. Mr. Travers married late
in life a pretty, penniless girl, and found himself in failing health
with a young wife and infant daughter to provide for. Had this child
been a son, he would have been heir to landed estates entailed in the
male line, but to a girl Mr. Travers could only leave a sum of money he
possessed in the funds, and of this, he settled the half on his widow
for life with reversion to Evelyn at her mother’s death; the remainder
was left as a marriage portion to the former, or, if unmarried, she was
to come into the full control of her property on attaining the age of
eighteen, Mrs. Travers acting as sole guardian of her daughter. A
codicil to the will, with pardonable family pride, expressed the wish
that Evelyn might marry the son of the testator’s half brother, Edward,
who must eventually become the possessor of the whole entailed family
property. Thus having, as he thought, secured the welfare and happiness
of his unconscious babe, the noble father and loyal husband was called
to a better and a happier world, where we trust he may hereafter hold
sweet communion with his child when the trials and troubles of her
mortal life shall be at an end.
Let us now return to our present hero and the lady of his dreams. In
consequence of the state of affairs Captain Edward Travers prolonged his
stay at the Vicarage another ten days, during which time the youthful
pair took daily walks about the grounds we have already described. In
the evening they sat indefatigably together, and to judge by the absence
of conversation when in the house, I should say they must have exhausted
all topics of interest during their morning strolls, for they literally
appeared to have nothing to say to each other. I confess to quite a
feeling of relief, as I watched the phaeton drive through the large
front gates of the Vicarage, _en route_ for the railway station, bearing
the young officer away. I hoped that absence would _not_ in this case,
“make the heart grow fonder,” but that Evelyn would permit her better
judgment to influence her, and perceive she was on the eve of committing
an irretrievable folly. I was confirmed in this opinion, on observing
the blank look of surprise, even mortification, on her mobile
countenance, as she perused her first love letter, an event usually so
delightful to a young girl, and then, without a word, placed the
interesting missive in the hands of her mother. That lady, it appeared,
was decidedly a friend to the absent. She glanced over the letter,
exclaiming, as she read it:—
“Dear fellow; how he loves you, Evelyn. See how his hand trembled from
excitement; the writing is almost illegible.”
And so, in very truth, was it, and horribly ill-spelled, if that too, be
a symptom of the tender passion. The letter, however, commenced, “My
darling Evelyn,” and ended, “Yours for life.”
Now, let me ask you young ladies of sweet sixteen, would not your pretty
little heads have been slightly turned, if you had for the first time in
your lives, been thus addressed by a good-looking, rich young officer,
with real moustaches? And this too, even though the orthography of the
epistle might have been somewhat defective. My heroine, though full of
intelligence, somewhat lacked that invaluable quality—plain, common
sense. Nor was she in any way above the faults and weaknesses of her age
and sex. Let not my readers then be surprised if she permitted her own
charity, and the writer’s evident attachment, to “cover a multitude of
(_grammatical_) sins.” One thing was self-evident from the tone of the
gallant captain’s correspondence, namely: that he considered Evelyn as
his _fiancée_, and wrote as an accepted suitor.
The letter was duly answered, and shortly after another made its
appearance, which, to judge by its defective style, argued no diminution
of the tender passion, for the lover’s head and hand evidently partook
of the agitated state of his heart, always interpreting these signs as
favorably as did our lovely heroine and her amiable mother. On handing
the second of these interesting documents to his stepdaughter, the Rev.
Mr. Dale expressed the wish for a few moments’ conversation with her in
his study. So, immediately, after breakfast we bent our steps thither,
for Evelyn, who dreaded above all things a _tête-à-tête_ with the Vicar,
had insisted on my accompanying her.
I was with some difficulty admitted into the sanctum. We seated
ourselves and prepared for a sermon. Meanwhile I was secretly rejoicing
in the idea that the captain’s attentions would surely be put an end to,
on the plea of his being one of the “children of this world.”
“My dear Evelyn,” solemnly began the reverend gentleman, “I wish to know
your exact position as regards your cousin.”
“I thought, sir, mama had informed you.”
“Yes, my dear, your mother mentioned to me very properly, that Travers
had asked your hand, but she also added that no definite reply had been
given to the young man. Has anything since occurred to alter your
sentiments?”
“No sir; they are the same as before, or, rather, perhaps I ought to
say”—turning very red and trembling visibly—“I—I——”
“Well, child,” said the Vicar, smiling, “you like him rather better,
eh?”
“Oh, no sir,” said poor Evelyn, almost in tears. “Since I have read his
letters I fear—indeed—I—”
“Evelyn,” said Mr. Dale, severely, “I am surprised at your conduct; you
have gone farther than a modest girl ought, with any man who is not to
be her husband. Your reputation—if you do not now marry—is lost. You
will acquire the name of flirt and jilt, and no honorable man will ever
again look at you.”
“But, sir, how could I know whether I should like him?”
“I tell you, young lady,” said her stepfather, “as one who knows the
world, and can speak with authority, you have been too much together,
and I will add, that as in your unconverted state, you could never hope
to marry a Christian, you should consider yourself _most fortunate_ in
having attached to you so amiable a worldling. Now, say no more, foolish
child,” (kissing her brow with some show of affection. “Go to your
mother, talk all this over with her, and may God bless you.”
We were leaving the room, when Mr. Dale called Evelyn back, and I heard
him tell her, that she must, now that she was going to be married,
prepare also to become a woman of business; adding, “but your mother
will explain all”—then, in a louder voice, “Mind, child, _I_ have
nothing to do with it.”
Evelyn joined Mrs. Dale, who usually sat working in her morning room.
The result of their conference (to which I was not admitted,) was, that
a letter was dispatched from his future _belle-mère_, to Captain
Travers, giving her formal consent to his projected union with her
daughter; and, two days later, I was sent to Paris, on a visit to the
dear old school, with full and ample instructions as to the _Corbeille
de mariage_, which the fair _fiancée_ was to provide for herself. Nor
was the little business affair alluded to by the Rev. Mr. Dale
forgotten. A letter of instructions was written by Evelyn, under her
mother’s dictation, to her solicitors, Messrs. Takeall & Co., the result
of which was highly advantageous to the reverend gentleman.
Let us charitably hope, that in thus sacrificing a young, beautiful, and
talented daughter, to a man she did not love, Mrs. Dale was in a measure
actuated by her desire to fulfil the dying wish of Evelyn’s father. We
fear, however, that another less praiseworthy motive had some influence
on her decision.
By no means so saint-like as her spouse, this lady had a great hankering
after forbidden pleasure, and she doubtless thought in her inmost heart,
that a yearly visit to a gay and worldly house, she might, in fact, term
her second home, would be a most agreeable change from the rather
monotonous society of the elect. If such were her idea, she was doomed
to disappointment.
Early in the morning of the eventful day, Evelyn was summoned to the
sitting room of her mother. She was there introduced to the very
respectable legal adviser of the family, Mr. Takeall, a gentleman of
some fifty summers, with a pair of uncomfortable, restless eyes, whose
expression was somewhat concealed by a pair of spectacles.
“Well, well, young lady,” said the man of law, very blandly; “so we are
going to be married, are we?—and we wish to be quite a woman of
business, do we? That’s right—that’s right. Now, here’s just a _little_
paper, to which we must put our name—of course, with mama’s
sanction—quite so?” looking at Mrs. Dale, who made a signal in the
affirmative.
The worthy attorney then proceeded to business. He emptied his large
blue bag of various parchments, sealed with large red seals, and tied
with red tape. Among these, (as I afterwards learned,) was a deed by
which Evelyn signed away in favor of her stepfather and his children,
her interest in the reversion of her mother’s fortune. This small sum of
£15,000 had long been coveted by the Vicar. The manner of obtaining it,
worldlings would be apt to call swindling; the reverend gentleman,
probably, termed it, “ministering to the necessities of the saints.” Be
this as it may, it was none the less an illegal transaction, and caused,
eventually, a complete break between the Travers and Dale families.
The signatures duly affixed, the wily attorney took hold of both the
young girl’s hands. “And now, my fair client,” said he, “you have been
generous—very generous—a good daughter, very. Allow me, my good young
lady, to wish you every happiness; and pray remember, Messrs. Takeall &
Co. will be only too happy to serve you in any way in their power.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied the poor victim, struggling to free her hands,
which the bland lawyer kept shaking; “but you forget that a bride must
dress.”
“Quite so—quite so,” said Mr. Takeall, releasing her. And as she left
the room, he continued, in his most caressing tones, “That’s a good
girl, my dear Mrs. Dale—a _very_ good girl. You have reason to be proud
of your daughter, madam—quite so, quite so,” as he rolled up parchments
and papers, and stowed them away in his capacious bag.
[Illustration]
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