LOVE AND PRIDE.
Two years have glided away since the opening of our story. During that
time the characters of Eveline and Eunice have developed themselves,
more and more, toward a fixed maturity. While the former is still as
gay and fond of dress and company as before, the latter has retired
more and more, apparently, within herself, but really into the exercise
of those purer thoughts and affections, that look to the good of
others. All who come into close contact with her, love her for the
sweetness of her temper, and the gentle spirit that utters itself in
the tones of her voice, and the mild light of her calm blue eyes.
Neither Eveline nor Eunice have yet wedded. Henry Pascal has been
home from his long European tour about six months, and, since his
return, has been constant in his attentions to Eveline, with whom
he corresponded, regularly, during the whole period of his absence.
Eveline is deeply attached to him, and, although no formal offer of
marriage has taken place, considers herself, as well as is considered
by others, his affianced bride. Twice has the hand of Eunice been
sought--once, all approved the offer but herself; and once, though
her own heart approved, the objections of her parent and friends were
so strong she yielded passively to their opposition. Passively, so
far as act was concerned, but her heart remained the same, and turned
faithfully toward the sun of its love.
The young man who had thus won the pure regard of Eunice, had recently
been elevated from the position of clerk to that of limited partner,
in a respectable mercantile house, and had, since this elevation, been
introduced into a higher social grade than the one he had been used to.
Here he met Eunice Townsend. The first time his eyes rested upon her,
and before he had heard her name, or knew her connections, her image
impressed itself upon his heart, and remained there ever after. He
could not have effaced it, even if he had made the effort. This young
man’s name was Rufus Albertson. His mother, a poor widow, had obtained
for him, when he was quite a lad, a situation in a store, and dying
shortly afterward, he was left without any relative. The owner of the
store finding him active, intelligent, and honest, took him into his
house; and raised and educated him. By his industry and devotion to
business, from his fifteenth to his twenty-first year, the young man
fully repaid the kindness he had received.
When Albertson learned to what family the sweet young creature,
toward whom his heart had instantly warmed, belonged, he felt, for
a time, unhappy. Townsend was known to be proud and aristocratic in
his feelings, and would not, he felt satisfied, countenance, for an
instant, any advances he might make toward his daughter. But, she
filled his thoughts by day, and was even present with him in his dreams
by night. At his first meeting with Eunice, he looked upon her and
worshipped in the distance. A few weeks afterward, he met her again,
and sought an introduction. The genuine simplicity of her manners
charmed him more than the beauty of her face; and when he entered into
conversation with her, spontaneously their thoughts flowed along in the
same channel; and the sentiments they uttered found in each bosom a
reciprocal response. After their third meeting, Albertson noticed that
the eyes of Eunice were frequently turned toward him, while he moved in
distant parts of the room, and drooped slowly beneath his gaze, when he
looked at her steadily. All this was food for his passion.
Thus the tender flower of love, once having taken root, fixed itself
more firmly in the ground, spread leaf after leaf, and put forth branch
after branch, until bud and blossom became distinctly visible.
Albertson felt the difficulties of his position, but his was not a mind
to be discouraged by difficulties. He loved Eunice, and it was plain
that she returned his affection. This was the most important point
gained, an advantage that would count against many disadvantages. Manly
and straight-forward in his character, he could not, for a moment,
entertain the thought of any clandestine action. So soon, therefore, as
he was satisfied of the state of the maiden’s feelings, he determined
to visit her at her father’s house, boldly, and he did so. His first
call was made about one month after the suit of a previous lover had
been declined. No notice was taken of it except by Eveline, who made
it the occasion of some sportive remarks, at the expense of the young
man. The seriousness with which this was received, first made her aware
that her sister was very far from feeling indifferent toward him, and
she herself became at once serious. She said nothing at the time, but
closely observed Eunice, and marked her conduct, particularly when they
happened to be in any company where Albertson was present. After the
young man had made his second call, she said to her sister, in order to
bring her out--
“I don’t like the familiarity with which this young man visits here.”
“Why not?” asked Eunice. “Is his right to call any less than that of
other young men who visit us?”
“I rather think it is,” replied Eveline.
“I do not know why,” returned the sister. “Is he less virtuous?”
“I know nothing of his virtues or vices; but I believe he has been only
a poor clerk until recently; and now is only the junior partner, with a
limited interest, in some obscure business house.”
“Does all that take from his worth as a man, Evie? Certainly not in my
eyes!”
“Why Eunie! You surprise me!”
“How so? Have I uttered a strange sentiment? Is it not true that
‘Worth makes the man; the want of it the fellow?’
I thought you understood, perfectly, my sentiments on this subject.”
“What do you know of Mr. Albertson’s worth as a man?” asked Eveline.
“You have not been acquainted with him for a very long time, I believe.”
“No; but the little I have seen of him has impressed me favorably.
He seems to be a man with his heart in the right place. I am free to
own that, so far, I like him as a companion exceedingly well. There
is nothing artificial or assumed about him. You see him as he is, a
plain, frank, honest-hearted man, what I cannot help valuing in an
acquaintance, for they are rare virtues among those I happen to meet.”
“I am afraid father and mother will not approve your preference in this
instance, Eunie. Indeed, I am sure they will not, especially after
your refusing to receive the attentions of Mr. Pelham, whose family
connections are among the best in the city, and whose father is worth a
million of dollars.”
A slight shade came over the maiden’s face, and there was a change in
her voice as she replied to this--
“I should like to please father and mother in every thing; though I
fear this will be impossible.”
“I am sure you will not please them if you encourage this young man’s
attentions,” said Eveline.
Eunice sighed gently, but made no answer.
Not a very long time elapsed before Albertson called again. He happened
to find Eunice alone, and took advantage of the opportunity to make
advances of a nature easily understood by the maiden. These were not
repulsed by Eunice. A month or two later, and a fair opportunity was
offered him to tell his love, and he embraced it. The declaration was
received with great frankness by Eunice, whose well-balanced mind kept
her above the betrayal of any weakness. She owned that he had awakened
in her a tenderer sentiment than she had ever felt for any one; but,
at the same time, she informed him that it would be necessary for
him to see her father, and gain his approval in the matter, without
which, with her present views and feelings, she could give him no
encouragement to hope for her hand.
More than this, Albertson had not expected. But he felt that the result
was still very doubtful. On the next day he called to see Mr. Townsend.
It happened, that the merchant had just received intelligence of a
heavy loss, and was in a very unhappy state of mind.
“Well, sir?” he said, in a quick and impatient voice to Albertson, as
the latter entered his counting-room, and disturbed him in the midst
of a pile of letters, over which he was looking. He had seen the young
man a few times before, but his youthful appearance had prevented his
noticing him very particularly. He knew nothing of him, and supposed
him to be a clerk, sent on the present occasion with some message from
his employer.
Albertson bowed, as the merchant thus rudely interrogated him, and
said, with as much composure as he could assume--the manner of Mr.
Townsend chafed him--
“I wish to say a word to you, sir, on a matter that concerns us both.”
There was something in the way this was uttered, that caused the
supercilious manner of the merchant to change. He turned full around
from his desk, saying in a more respectful voice as he did so,
“Be seated, sir. Your face is familiar to me, although I cannot this
moment call you by name.”
“My name is Rufus Albertson.”
“Albertson? Albertson?”
“I belong to the firm of Jones, Claire, & Co.”
“Ah! Yes. Very well, Mr. Albertson, what is it you wish to say to me?”
“Simply, sir, that I have come to ask the privilege of addressing your
daughter Eunice.”
Instantly the whole manner of the merchant changed. A heavy frown
settled upon his brow, and his eyes became angry in their expression.
“Mr. Albertson,” he said, in a firm, resolute voice, “your presumption
surprises me! Who are you? And what claims have you to the hand of my
daughter?”
“The claim of an honest man who loves your daughter,” replied Albertson.
“Go, sir! Go!” exclaimed Townsend, losing all patience at this cool
response, “and don’t dare to think of an alliance with my child! It
shall never take place! Go, sir! Go!”
And he waived his hand for the young man to retire.
Albertson attempted to urge some considerations upon the excited
merchant, but an order to leave the counting-room, followed by an
insulting expression, caused him instantly to depart.
An hour or two afterward, Eunice received the following brief note from
her lover:
“I have seen your father, and he has met my request with an
angry refusal. Have I nothing to hope? You said his consent was
indispensable. Are you still of that mind? Dear Eunice! shall the will
of another prevent the union of our hearts? I feel that, upon every
principle of right, this ought not to be. Write to me immediately, and
oh! do not extinguish every light of hope. Let one at least burn, even
if its rays be feeblest.”
To this, the maiden, after taking time for reflection, replied:
“I did not hope for a favorable issue to your application. My father
looks, I fear, to wealth and social standing, more than to qualities of
mind. As I said before, his consent is, for the present, indispensable.
The will of another may prevent an external union, although it cannot
prevent an union of our hearts. If your regard for me is deeply
based; if you can have patience to wait long in hope of more favoring
circumstances, then the light you speak of need not go out in your mind.
‘To patient faith, the prize is sure.’
Time works many changes. Have faith in time.”
Albertson read these precious words over twice, and then pressing them
to his lips, said,
“Yes! I will have faith in time. I would be unworthy of that true heart
were I to give way to impatience and doubt.”
Eunice was sitting alone that evening, just after the twilight shadows
had rendered all objects around her indistinct, when her father entered
the room where she was sitting. She felt his presence like a weight
upon her bosom.
“Eunice! Who is this Albertson?” he asked, abruptly and sternly.
Even from a child, Eunice had possessed great self-control and
composure under agitating circumstances. But never, in her life, had
she been so deeply disturbed as now, and it required the utmost effort
of her will to keep from bursting into tears. She, however, remained
externally calm, and said in a low, subdued voice:
“Do you not know him?”
“How should I know him, pray?”
“He has been here frequently. I thought you had met him.”
“And suppose I have! Does the mere meeting of one of your young
whipper-snappers constitute a knowledge as to who and what he is? Do
_you_ know him?”
“Yes, sir, I believe I do.”
“And what do you know of him?”
“That he is a young man of virtuous principles.”
“And I suppose you also know that he aspires to your hand.”
“I do,” calmly replied Eunice, letting her eyes fall to the floor.
“And you favor his presumption, I plainly see.”
“For that, father, I am not to blame,” returned Eunice, in the same
low, subdued voice. “I cannot help loving virtue and all manly
excellencies combined, when they offer themselves for my love.”
“Girl!” ejaculated Mr. Townsend, passionately, “I forbid, positively
and unequivocally, all alliance with this low born, presumptuous
fellow. If you disobey me, I will discard you forever!”
“I will not disobey you, father,” answered Eunice, in a tremulous
voice, “though obedience cause my heart to break.” And rising, she
retired from the room, and went up into her chamber to weep.
So unexpected a reply, as well as the manner and tone in which it was
made, a little surprised the father. The passion into which he had
worked himself was all gone, and he stood half wondering at his loss
of excitement. The even temper of Eunice, during the trying scene, and
her prompt self-denial in a matter so vital to her happiness, he could
not help feeling as a reproof upon his own harsh, hasty, and imperious
spirit.
Alone, in her chamber, Eunice wept long and bitterly, at this
frost-breath upon the tender leaves of her heart’s young hopes. But she
did not weep despairingly--she had faith in time.