CHAPTER THIRD
"The morning blush was lighted up by hope-- The hope of meeting him." --Miss LANDON.
"Unkindness, do thy office; poor heart, break."
A week had now passed away since Miss Allison's departure, and Elsie,to whom it had been a sad and lonely one, was beginning to look eagerlyfor her first letter.
"It is just a week to-day since Rose left," remarked Adelaide at thebreakfast table, "and I think we ought to hear from her soon. Shepromised to write on her journey. Ah! here comes Pomp with the lettersnow," she added, as the servant man entered the room bearing in hishand the bag in which he always brought the letters of the family fromthe office in the neighboring city, whither he was sent every morning.
"Pomp, you are late this morning," said Mrs. Dinsmore.
"Yes, missus," replied the negro, scratching his head, "de horses amberry lazy; spec dey's got de spring fever."
"Do make haste, papa, and see if there is not one from Rose," saidAdelaide coaxingly, as her father took the bag, and very deliberatelyadjusted his spectacles before opening it.
"Have patience, young lady," said he. "Yes, here is a letter for you,and one for Elsie," tossing them across the table as he spoke.
Elsie eagerly seized hers and ran away to her own room to read it. Itwas a feast to her, this first letter, and from such a dear friend,too. It gave her almost as much pleasure for the moment as Miss Rose'spresence could have afforded.
She had just finished its perusal and was beginning it again, when sheheard Adelaide's voice calling her by name, and the next moment sheentered the room, saying: "Well, Elsie, I suppose you have read yourletter; and now I have another piece of news for you. Can you guesswhat it is?" she asked, looking at her with a strange smile.
"Oh! no, Aunt Adelaide; please tell me. Is dear Miss Rose coming back?"
"O! nonsense; what a guess!" said Adelaide. "No, stranger than that. Mybrother Horace--your papa--has actually sailed for America, and iscoming directly home."
Elsie sprang up, her cheeks flushed, and her little heart beatingwildly.
"O Aunt Adelaide!" she cried, "is it really true? is he coming? andwill he be here soon?"
"He has really started at last; but how soon he will be here I don'tknow," replied her aunt, turning to leave the room. "I have told youall I know about it."
Elsie clasped her hands together, and sank down upon a sofa, MissRose's letter, prized so highly a moment before, lying unheeded at herfeet; for her thoughts were far away, following that unknown parent ashe crossed the ocean; trying to imagine how he would look, how he wouldspeak, what would be his feelings toward her.
"Oh!" she asked, with a beating heart, "_will_ he _love_ me? My ownpapa! will he let me love him? will he take me in his arms and call mehis own darling child?"
But who could answer the anxious inquiry? She must just wait until theslow wheels of time should bring the much longed-for, yet sometimeshalf-dreaded arrival.
Elsie's lessons were but indifferently recited that morning, and MissDay frowned, and said in a tone of severity that it did not agree withher to receive letters; and that, unless she wished her papa to be muchdispleased with her on his expected arrival, she must do a great dealbetter than that.
She had touched the right chord then; for Elsie, intensely anxious toplease that unknown father, and, if possible, gain his approbation andaffection, gave her whole mind to her studies with such a determinedpurpose that the governess could find no more cause for complaint.
But while the child is looking forward to the expected meeting withsuch longing affection for him, how is it with the father?
Horace Dinsmore was, like his father, an upright, moral man, who paidan outward respect to the forms of religion, but cared nothing for thevital power of godliness; trusted entirely to his morality, and lookedupon Christians as hypocrites and deceivers. He had been told that hislittle Elsie was one of these, and, though he would not haveacknowledged it even to himself, it had prejudiced him against her.Then, too, in common with all the Dinsmores, he had a great deal offamily pride; and, though old Mr. Grayson had been a man of sterlingworth, intelligent, honest, and pious, and had died very wealthy, yetbecause he was known to have begun life as a poor boy, the whole familywere accustomed to speak as though Horace had stooped very much inmarrying his heiress.
And Horace himself had come to look upon his early marriage as a pieceof boyish folly, of which he was rather ashamed; and so constantly hadMr. Dinsmore spoken in his letters of Elsie as "old Grayson'sgrandchild," that he had got into the habit of looking upon her as akind of disgrace to him; especially as she had always been described tohim as a disagreeable, troublesome child.
He had loved his wife with all the warmth of his passionate nature, andhad mourned bitterly over her untimely death; but years of study,travel and worldly pleasures had almost banished her image from hismind, and he seldom thought of her except in connection with the childfor whom he felt a secret dislike.
Scarcely anything but the expected arrival was now spoken or thought ofat Roselands, and Elsie was not the only one to whom old Time seemed tomove with an unusually laggard pace.
But at length a letter came telling them that they might look upon itas being but one day in advance of its writer; and now all was bustleand preparation.
"O mammy, mammy!" exclaimed Elsie, jumping up and down, and clappingher hands for joy, as she came in from her afternoon ride, "just think!papa, dear papa, will be here to-morrow morning."
She seemed wild with delight; but suddenly sobered down, and a look ofcare stole over the little face, as the torturing question recurred toher mind, "_Will he love me?_"
She stood quite still, with her eyes fixed thoughtfully, and almostsadly, upon the floor, while Chloe took off her riding dress and capand smoothed her hair. As she finished arranging her dress she claspedthe little form in her arms, and pressed a fond kiss on the fair brow,thinking to herself that was the sweetest and loveliest little face shehad ever looked upon.
Just at that moment an unusual bustle was heard in the house.
Elsie started, changed color, and stood listening with a throbbingheart.
Presently little feet were heard running rapidly down the hall, andWalter, throwing open the door, called out, "Elsie, he's come!" andcatching her hand, hurried her along to the parlor door.
"Stop, stop, Walter," she gasped as they reached it; and she leanedagainst the wall, her heart throbbing so wildly she could scarcelybreathe.
"What is the matter?" said he, "are you ill? come along;" and pushingthe door open, he rushed in, dragging her after him.
So over-wrought were the child's feelings that she nearly fainted;everything in the room seemed to be turning round, and for an instantshe scarcely knew where she was.
But a strange voice asked, "And who is this?" and looking up as hergrandfather pronounced her name, she saw a stranger standing beforeher--very handsome, and very youthful-looking, in spite of a heavy darkbeard and mustache--who exclaimed hastily, "What! this great girl _my_child? really it is enough to make a man feel old."
Then, taking her hand, he stooped and coldly kissed her lips.
She was trembling violently, and the very depth of her feelings kepther silent and still; her hand lay still in his, cold and clammy.
He held it an instant, at the same time gazing searchingly into herface; then dropped it, saying in a tone of displeasure, "I am not anogre, that you need be so afraid of me; but there, you may go; I willnot keep you in terror any longer."
She rushed away to her own room, and there, throwing herself upon thebed, wept long and wildly. It was the disappointment of a lifelonghope. Since her earliest recollection she had looked and longed forthis hour; and it seemed as though the little heart would break withits weight of bitter anguish.
She was all alone, for Chloe had gone down to the kitchen to talk overthe arrival, not doubting that her darling was supremely happy in thepossession of her lo
ng looked-for parent.
And so the little girl lay there with her crushed and bleeding heart,sobbing, mourning, weeping as though she would weep her very life away,without an earthly friend to speak one word of comfort.
"O papa, papa!" she sobbed, "my own papa, you do not love me; me, yourown little girl. Oh! my heart will break. O mamma, mamma! if I couldonly go to you; for there is no one here to love me, and I am solonely, oh! _so_ lonely and desolate."
And thus Chloe found her, when she came in an hour later, weeping andsobbing out such broken exclamations of grief and anguish.
She was much surprised, but comprehending at once how her child wassuffering, she raised her up in her strong arms, and laying the littlehead lovingly against her bosom, she smoothed the tangled hair, kissedthe tear-swollen eyes, and bathed the throbbing temples, saying, "Myprecious pet, my darlin' chile, your ole mammy loves you better danlife; an' did my darlin' forget de almighty Friend dat says, _I_ haveloved thee with an everlasting love,' an' 'I will never leave thee, norforsake thee'? He sticks closer dan a brudder, precious chile, andsays,'though a woman forget her sucking child, He will not forget _His_chillen.' Mothers love dere chillens better dan fathers, darlin', andso you see Jesus' love is better dan all other love; and I _knows_ youhes got dat."
"O mammy! ask Him to take me to Himself, and to mamma--for oh! I amvery lonely, and I want to die!"
"Hush, hush, darlin'; old Chloe nebber could ask dat; dis ole heartwould break for sure. Yous all de world to your old mammy, darlin'; andyou know we must all wait de Lord's time."
"Then ask Him to help me to be patient," she said, in a weary tone."And O mammy!" she added, with a burst of bitter tears, "ask Him tomake my father love me."
"I will, darlin', I will," sobbed Chloe, pressing the little formcloser to her heart; "an' don't you go for to be discouraged rightaway; for I'se sure Massa Horace must love you, fore long."
The tea-bell rang, and the family gathered about the table; but onechair remained unoccupied.
"Where is Miss Elsie?" asked Adelaide of one of the servants.
"Dunno, missus," was the reply.
"Well, then, go and see," said Adelaide; "perhaps she did not hear thebell."
The servant returned in a moment, saying that Miss Elsie had a badheadache and did not want any supper. Mr. Horace Dinsmore paused in theconversation he was carrying on with his father, to listen to theservant's announcement. "I hope she is not a sickly child," said he,addressing Adelaide; "is she subject to such attacks?"
"Not very," replied his sister dryly, for she had seen the meeting, andfelt really sorry for Elsie's evident disappointment; "I imagine cryinghas brought this on."
He colored violently, and said in a tone of great displeasure, "Truly,the return of a parent _is_ a cause for grief; yet I hardly expected mypresence to be quite so distressing to my only child. I had no ideathat she had already learned to dislike me so thoroughly."
"She doesn't," said Adelaide, "she has been looking and longing foryour return ever since I have known her."
"Then she has certainly been disappointed in me; her grief is not atall complimentary, explain it as you will."
Adelaide made no reply, for she saw that he was determined to put anunfavorable construction upon Elsie's conduct, and feared that anydefence she could offer would only increase his displeasure.
It was a weary, aching head the little girl laid upon her pillow thatnight, and the little heart was sad and sore; yet she was notaltogether comfortless, for she had turned in her sorrow to Him who hassaid, "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid themnot," and she had the sweet assurance of _His_ love and favor.
It was with a trembling heart, hoping yet fearing, longing and yetdreading to see her father, that Elsie descended to the breakfast-roomthe next morning. She glanced timidly around, but he was not there.
"Where is papa, Aunt Adelaide?" she asked.
"He is not coming down to breakfast, as he feels quite fatigued withhis journey," replied her aunt; "so you will not see him this morning,and perhaps not at all to-day, for there will be a good deal of companyhere this afternoon and evening."
Elsie sighed, and looked sadly disappointed. She found it verydifficult to attend to her lessons that morning, and every time thedoor opened she started and looked up, half hoping it might be her papa.
But he did not come; and when the dinner hour arrived, the childrenwere told that they were to dine in the nursery, on account of thelarge number of guests to be entertained in the dining-room. Thecompany remained until bedtime; she was not called down to the parlor;and so saw nothing of her father that day.
But the next morning Chloe told her the children were to breakfast withthe family, as all the visitors had left excepting one or twogentlemen. So Elsie went down to the breakfast-room, where, to hersurprise, she found her papa sitting alone, reading the morning paper.
He looked up as she entered.
"Good-morning, papa," she said, in half-trembling tones.
He started a little--for it was the first time he had ever beenaddressed by that title, and it sounded strange to his ears--gave her aglance of mingled curiosity and interest, half held out his hand, butdrawing it back again, simply said, "Good-morning, Elsie," and returnedto his paper.
Elsie stood irresolutely in the middle of the floor, wanting, yet notdaring to go to him.
But just at that instant the door opened, and Enna, looking rosy andhappy, came running in, and rushing up to her brother, climbed upon hisknee, and put her arms around his neck, saying, "Good-morning, brotherHorace. I want a kiss."
"You shall have it, little pet," said he, throwing down his paper.
Then, kissing her several times and hugging her in his arms, he said,"_You_ are not afraid of me, are you? nor sorry that I have come home?"
"No, indeed," said Enna.
He glanced at Elsie as she stood looking at them, her large soft eyesfull of tears. She could not help feeling that Enna had her place, andwas receiving the caresses that should have been lavished upon herself.
"Jealous," thought her father; "I cannot bear jealous people;" and hegave her a look of displeasure that cut her to the heart, and sheturned quickly away and left the room to hide the tears she could nolonger keep back.
"I am envious," she thought, "jealous of Enna. Oh! how wicked!" And sheprayed silently, "Dear Saviour, help me! take away these sinfulfeelings."
Young as she was, she was learning to have some control over herfeelings, and in a few moments she had so far recovered her composureas to be able to return to the breakfast-room and take her place at thetable, where the rest were already seated, her sweet little face sadindeed and bearing the traces of tears, but quite calm and peaceful.
Her father took no further notice of her, and she did not dare trustherself to look at him. The servants filled her plate, and she ate insilence, feeling it a great relief that all were too busily engaged intalking and eating to pay any attention to her. She scarcely raised hereyes from her plate, and did not know how often a strange gentleman,who sat nearly opposite, fixed his upon her.
As she left the room at the conclusion of the meal, he asked, whilefollowing her with his eyes, "Is that one of your sisters, Dinsmore?"
"No," said he, coloring slightly; "she is my daughter."
"Ah, indeed!" said his friend. "I remember to have heard that you had achild, but had forgotten it. Well, you have no reason to be ashamed ofher; she is lovely, perfectly lovely! has the sweetest little face Iever saw."
"Will you ride, Travilla?" asked Mr. Dinsmore hastily, as thoughanxious to change the subject.
"I don't care if I do," was the reply, and they went out together.
Some hours later in the day Elsie was at the piano in the music-roompractising, when a sudden feeling that some one was in the room causedher to turn and look behind her.
Mr. Travilla was standing there.
"Excuse me," said he, bowing politely, "but I heard the sound of theinstrument, a
nd, being very fond of music, I ventured to walk in."
Elsie was very modest, and rather timid, too, but also very polite; soshe said, "No excuse is necessary; but will you not take a seat, sir?though I fear my music will not afford you any pleasure, for you know Iam only a little girl, and cannot play very well yet."
"Thank you," said he, taking a seat by her side. "And now will you dome the favor to repeat the song I heard you singing a few momentssince?"
Elsie immediately complied, though her cheeks burned, and her voicetrembled at first from embarrassment; but it grew stronger as sheproceeded and in the last verse was quite steady and full. She had avery fine voice for a child of her age; its sweetness was remarkableboth in singing and speaking; and she had also a good deal of musicaltalent, which had been well cultivated, for she had had good teachers,and had practised with great patience and perseverance. Her music wassimple, as suited her years, but her performance of it was very goodindeed.
Mr. Travilla thanked her very heartily, and complimented her singing;then asked for another and another song, another and another piece,chatting with her about each, until they grew quite familiar, and Elsielost all feeling of embarrassment.
"Elsie, I think, is your name, is it not?" he asked after a little.
"Yes, sir," said she, "Elsie Dinsmore."
"And you are the daughter of my friend, Mr. Horace Dinsmore?"
"Yes, sir."
"Your papa has been absent a long time, and I suppose you must havequite forgotten him."
"No, sir, not _forgotten_, for I never had seen him."
"Indeed!" said he, in a tone of surprise; "then, since he is an entirestranger to you, I suppose you cannot have much affection for him?"
Elsie raised her large, dark eyes to his face, with an expression ofastonishment. "Not love papa, my own dear papa, who has no child butme? Oh! sir, how could you think that?"
"Ah! I see I was mistaken," said he, smiling; "I thought you couldhardly care for him at all; but do you think that he loves you?"
Elsie dropped her face into her hands, and burst into an agony of tears.
The young gentleman looked extremely vexed with himself.
"My poor little girl, my poor, dear little girl," he said, stroking herhair, "forgive me. I am very, _very_ sorry for my thoughtless question.Do be comforted, my poor child, for whether your papa loves you now ornot, I am quite sure he soon will."
Elsie now dried her tears, rose and closed the instrument. He assistedher, and then asked if she would not take a little walk with him in thegarden. She complied, and, feeling really very sorry for the wound hehad so thoughtlessly inflicted, as well as interested in his littlecompanion, he exerted all his powers to entertain her--talked with herabout the plants and flowers, described those he had seen in foreignlands, and related incidents of travel, usually choosing those in whichher father had borne a part, because he perceived that they were doublyinteresting to her.
Elsie, having been thrown very much upon her own resources foramusement, and having a natural love for books, and constant access toher grandfather's well-stocked library, had read many more, and withmuch more thought, than most children of her age, so that Mr. Travillafound her a not uninteresting companion, and was often surprised at theintelligence shown by her questions and replies.
When the dinner-bell rang he led her in, and seated her by himself, andnever was any lady more carefully waited upon than little Elsie at thismeal. Two or three other gentlemen guests were present, giving theirattention to the older ladies of the company, and thus Mr. Travillaseemed to feel quite at liberty to devote himself entirely to her,attending to all her wants, talking with her, and making her talk.
Elsie now and then stole a glance at Mrs. Dinsmore, fearing herdispleasure; but to her great relief, the lady seemed too much occupiedto notice her. Once she looked timidly at her father, and her eyes methis. He was looking at her with an expression half curious, halfamused. She was at a loss to understand the look, but, satisfied thatthere was no displeasure in it, her heart grew light, and her cheeksflushed with happiness.
"Really, Dinsmore," said Mr. Travilla, as they stood together near oneof the windows of the drawing-room soon after dinner, "your little girlis remarkably intelligent, as well as remarkably pretty; and I havediscovered that she has quite a good deal of musical talent."
"Indeed! I think it is quite a pity that she does not belong to you,Travilla, instead of me, since you seem to appreciate her so much morehighly," replied the father, laughing.
"I wish she did," said his friend. "But, seriously, Dinsmore, you oughtto love that child, for she certainly loves you devotedly."
He looked surprised. "How do you know?" he asked.
"It was evident enough from what I saw and heard this morning.Dinsmore, she would value a caress from you more than the richestjewel."
"Doubtful," replied Horace, hastily quitting the room, for Elsie hadcome out on to the portico in her riding suit, and Jim, her usualattendant, was bringing up her horse.
"Are you going to ride, Elsie?" asked her father, coming up to her.
"Yes, papa," she said, raising her eyes to his face.
He lifted her in his arms and placed her on the horse, saying to theservant as he did so, "Now, Jim, you must take good care of my littlegirl."
Tears of happiness rose in Elsie's eyes as she turned her horse's headand rode down the avenue. "He called me _his_ little girl," shemurmured to herself, "and bade Jim take good care of me. Oh! he _will_love me soon, as good, kind Mr. Travilla said he would."
Her father was still standing on the portico, looking after her.
"How well she sits her horse!" remarked Travilla, who had stepped outand stood close by his side.
"Yes, I think she does," was the reply, in an absent tone. He wasthinking of a time, some eight or nine years before, when he hadassisted another Elsie to mount her horse, and had ridden for hours ather side.
All the afternoon memories of the past came crowding thickly on hismind, and an emotion of tenderness began to spring up in his hearttoward the child of her who had once been so dear to him; and as he sawthe little girl ride up to the house on her return, he again went out,and lifting her from her horse, asked kindly, "Had you a pleasant ride,my dear?"
"Oh! yes, papa, very pleasant," she said, looking up at him with a facebeaming with delight. He stooped and kissed her, saying, "I think Ishall ride with you one of these days; should you like it?"
"Oh! so very, _very_ much, papa," she answered, eagerly.
He smiled at her earnestness, and she hastened away to her room tochange her dress and tell Chloe of her happiness.
Alas! it was but a transient gleam of sunshine that darted across herpath, to be lost again almost instantly behind the gathering clouds.
More company came, so that the drawing-room was quite full in theevening; and, though Elsie was there, her father seemed too muchoccupied with the guests to give her even a glance. She sat alone andunnoticed in a corner, her eyes following him wherever he moved, andher ear strained to catch every tone of his voice; until Mr. Travilla,disengaging himself from a group of ladies and gentlemen on theopposite side of the room, came up to her, and taking her by the hand,led her to a pleasant-looking elderly lady, who sat at a centre-tableexamining some choice engravings which Mr. Dinsmore had brought withhim from Europe.
"Mother," said Mr. Travilla, "This is my little friend Elsie."
"Ah!" said she, giving the little girl a kiss, "I am glad to see you,my dear."
Mr. Travilla set a chair for her close to his mother and then sat downon her other side, and taking up the engravings one after another, heexplained them to her in a most entertaining manner, generally havingsome anecdote to tell in connection with each.
Elsie was so much amused and delighted with what he was saying that sheat last quite forgot her father, and did not notice where he was.
Suddenly Mr. Travilla laid down the engraving he had in his hand,saying: "Come, Miss Elsie, I want my m
other to hear you play and sing;will you not do me the favor to repeat that song I admired so much thismorning?"
"Oh! Mr. Travilla!" exclaimed the little girl, blushing and trembling,"I could not play or sing before so many people. Please excuse me."
"Elsie," said her father's voice just at her side, "go _immediately,_and do as the gentleman requests."
His tone was very stern, and as she lifted her eyes to his face, shesaw that his look was still more so; and tremblingly and tearfully sherose to obey.
"Stay," said Mr. Travilla kindly, pitying her distress, "I withdraw myrequest."
"But I do _not_ withdraw my command," said her father in the same sterntone; "go at once, Elsie, and do as I bid you."
She obeyed instantly, struggling hard to overcome her emotion.
Mr. Travilla, scolding himself inwardly all the time for having broughther into such trouble, selected her music, and placing it before her asshe took her seat at the instrument, whispered encouragingly, "Now,Miss Elsie, only have confidence in yourself; that is all that isnecessary to your success."
But Elsie was not only embarrassed, but her heart was well-nigh brokenby her father's sternness, and the tears _would_ fill her eyes so thatshe could see neither notes nor words. She attempted to play theprelude, but blundered sadly, her embarrassment increasing every moment.
"Never mind," said Mr. Travilla, "never mind the prelude, but justbegin the song."
She made the attempt, but fairly broke down, and burst into tearsbefore she had got through the first verse. Her father had come upbehind her, and was standing there, looking much mortified.
"Elsie," he said, leaning down and speaking in a low, stern tone, closeto her ear, "I am ashamed of you; go to your room and to your bedimmediately."
With a heart almost bursting with grief and mortification she obeyedhim, and her pillow was wet with many bitter tears ere the weary eyesclosed in slumber.
When she came down the next morning she learned to her great grief thatMr. Travilla and his mother had returned to their own home; she wasvery sorry she had not been permitted to say good-bye to her friend,and for several days she felt very sad and lonely, for all her father'scoldness of manner had returned, and he scarcely ever spoke to her;while the younger members of the family ridiculed her for her failurein attempting to play for company; and Miss Day, who seemed unusuallycross and exacting, often taunted her with it also.
These were sad, dark days for the little girl; she tried most earnestlyto attend to all her duties, but so depressed were her spirits, sotroubled was her mind, that she failed repeatedly in her lessons, andso was in continual disgrace with Miss Day, who threatened more thanonce to tell her papa.
It was a threat which Elsie dreaded extremely to have put in execution,and Miss Day, seeing that it distressed her, used it the morefrequently, and thus kept the poor child in constant terror.
How to gain her father's love was the constant subject of her thoughts,and she tried in many ways to win his affection. She always yielded aready and cheerful obedience to his commands, and strove to anticipateand fulfil all his wishes. But he seldom noticed her, unless to give acommand or administer a rebuke, while he lavished many a caress uponhis little sister, Enna. Often Elsie would watch him fondling her,until, unable any longer to control her feelings, she would rush awayto her own room to weep and mourn in secret, and pray that her fathermight some day learn to love her. She never complained even to poor oldAunt Chloe, but the anxious nurse watched all these things with thejealous eye of affection; she saw that her child--as she delighted tocall her--was very unhappy, and was growing pale and melancholy; andher heart ached for her, and many were the tears she shed in secretover the sorrows of her nursling.
"Don't 'pear so sorrowful, darlin'," she sometimes said to her; "try tobe merry, like Miss Enna, and run and jump on Massa Horace's knee, andden I tink he will like you better."
"O mammy! I _can't_," Elsie would say; "I don't dare to do it."
And Chloe would sigh and shake her head sorrowfully.