CHAPTER X.
Keen are the pangs Of hapless love and passion unapproved.
--SMOLLETT'S "REGICIDE"
Hardly anything could have been more distasteful to Horace Dinsmorethan the state of affairs revealed to him by Herbert Carrington'snote. He was greatly vexed, not at the lad's manner of preferring hisrequest, but that it should have been made at all. He was not ready,yet to listen to such a proposal coming from any person, howevereligible, much less from one so sadly afflicted as poor Herbert. Hesought his wife's presence with the missive in his hand.
"What is the matter, my dear?" she asked; "I have seldom seen you sodisturbed."
"The most absurd nonsense! the most ridiculously provoking affair!Herbert Carrington asking me to give him my daughter! I don't wonderat your astonished look, Rose; a couple of silly children. I shouldhave given either of them credit for more sense."
"It has certainly taken me very much by surprise," said Rose, smiling."I cannot realize that Elsie is grown up enough to be beginning withsuch things; yet you know she has passed her fifteenth birthday,and that half the girls about here become engaged before they aresixteen."
"But Elsie shall not. I'll have no nonsense of the kind for years tocome. She shall not marry a day before she is twenty-one, I had nearlysaid twenty-five; and I don't think I'll allow it before then."
Rose laughed. "My dear, do you know what my age was when you marriedme?"
"Twenty-one, you told me."
"Don't you think my father ought then to have kept us waiting fouryears longer?"
"No," he answered, stooping to stroke her hair, and snatch a kiss fromher rich red lips.
She looked up smilingly into his face. "Ah, consistency is a jewel!and pray how old were you when you married the first time? and whatwas then the age of Elsie's mother?"
"Your arguments are not unanswerable, Mrs. Dinsmore. Your father couldspare you, having several other daughters; I have but one, and can'tspare her. Elsie's mother was not older when I married her, it istrue, than Elsie is now, but was much more mature, and had neither thehappy home nor the doting father her daughter has. And as for myself,though much too young to marry, I was a year older than this HerbertCarrington; and I was in sound and vigorous health, while he, poorfellow, is sadly crippled, and likely always to be an invalid, andvery unlikely to live to so much as see his majority. Do you think Iought for a moment to contemplate allowing Elsie to sacrifice herselfto him?"
"It would seem a terrible sacrifice; and yet after all it will dependvery much upon the state of her own feelings."
"If she were five or six years older, I should say yes to that; butgirls of her age are not fit to choose a companion for life; tasteand judgment are not matured, and the man who pleases them now may beutterly repugnant to them in after years. Is not that so?"
"Yes; and I think your decision is wise and kind. Still, I am sorryfor the poor boy, and hope you will deal very gently and kindly withhim."
"I shall certainly try to do so. I pity him, and cannot blame him forfancying my lovely daughter--I really don't see how he or any youngfellow can help it, but he can't have her, and of course I must tellhim so. I must see Elsie first however, and have already sent her anote ordering her home immediately."
"Come into my room for a little, dear," Mrs. Norris whispered toElsie as they rose from the dinner table. "Herbert must not expect tomonopolize all your time."
It turned out that all the old lady wanted was an opportunity toexpress her delight in the prospect of some day claiming Elsie as hergranddaughter, and to pet and fondle her a little. Mr. Norris did hisshare of that also, and when at length they let her go she encounteredMr. Carrington in the hall, and had to submit to some thing more ofthe same sort from him.
"We are all heartily rejoiced, little Elsie," he said, "all of us whoknow the secret; it is to be kept from the children, of course, tillyour father's consent has made all certain. But there is Lucy lookingfor you; Herbert has sent her, I daresay. No doubt he grudges everymoment that you are out of his sight."
That was true, and his glad look, as she took her accustomed place bythe side of his couch, was pleasant to see. But he was not selfish inhis happiness, and seemed well satisfied to share Elsie's society withhis sister.
The three were making very merry together, when a servant from theOaks was seen riding leisurely up the avenue. He had some small whiteobject in his hand which he began waving about his head the moment hesaw that he had attracted their attention.
"It's a letter!" exclaimed Lucy. "Han, Scip," to the two little blackswho, as usual, were tumbling over each other on the grass near by,"run, one of you and get it, quick now!"
"What--who--Miss Lucy?" they cried, jumping up.
"Yonder; don't you see Mr. Dinsmore's man with a letter? Run and getit, quick!"
"Yes'm!" and both scampered off in the direction of the horseman, who,suddenly urging on his steed, was now rapidly nearing the house.
"Hollo! dar now, you ole Jim!" shouted Scip, making a dash at thehorse, "who dat lettah fur? You gub um to me."
A contemptuous sniff was the only answer, and dashing by them, Jimdrew rein close to the veranda. "Massa he send dis for you, MissElsie," he said, holding out the letter to her.
She sprang forward, took it from his hand and hastily tore open theenvelope, the rich color coming and going in her cheek. A glance wassufficient, and turning her flushed face to the anxious, expectantHerbert: "Papa has sent for me to return home immediately," she said;"I must go."
"Oh, Elsie, must you indeed? and is there no word for me--none atall?"
"Yes, he says you shall hear from him to-day or to-morrow."
She had gone close to him and was speaking in a low tone that theservants might not hear. Herbert took both her hands in his. "Oh, I amso sorry! You were to have stayed two days longer. I fear this suddenrecall does not argue well for me. Is he angry, do you think?"
"I don't know, I can't tell. The note is simply an order for me tocome home at once and the message to you that I have given; nothingmore at all. Jim is to see me safely to the Oaks." Then turning to themessenger, "Go and saddle Glossy, and bring her round at once, Jim,"she said.
"Yes, Miss Elsie, hab her roun' in less dan no time."
"Go with Jim to the stables, Han," said Herbert, sighing as he spoke.
"Elsie, I can't bear to have you leave us so suddenly," cried Lucy;"it does seem too bad of your father, after giving you permission tostay a whole week, to go and dock off two days."
"But papa has a right, and I can't complain. I've nothing to do butobey. I'll go up and have my riding-habit put on, while Glossy isbeing saddled."
"Miss Elsie," said Jim, leisurely dismounting, "massa say de wagon behere in 'bout an hour for de trunk, an' Aunt Chloe mus' hab 'em readyby dat time; herself too."
"Very well, she shall do so," and with another whispered word toHerbert, Elsie went into the house, Lucy going with her.
"Why, my dear, this is very sudden, is it not?" exclaimed Mrs.Carrington, meeting her young guest as she came down dressed for herride. "I thought you were to stay a week, and hoped you were enjoyingyour visit as much as we were."
"Thank you, dear Mrs. Carrington; I have had a delightful time, butpapa has sent for me."
"And like a good child, you obey at once."
"My father's daughter would never dare to do otherwise," repliedElsie, smiling; "though I hope I should not, if I did dare."
"You'll come again soon--often, till I can get strength to go to you?"Herbert said entreatingly, as he held her hand in parting. "And we'llcorrespond, won't we? I should like to write and receive a note everyday when we do not meet."
"I don't know; I can promise nothing till I have asked permission ofpapa."
"But if he allows it?"
"If he allows it, yes; good-bye."
Dearly as Elsie loved her father, she more than half dreaded themeeting with him now; so entirely uncertain was she how he would feelin regard to this matte
r.
He was on the veranda, watching for her. Lifting her from her horse,he led her into his study. Then putting an arm about her waist, hisother hand under her chin so that her blushing, downcast face wasfully exposed to his gaze, "What does all this mean?" he asked. "Lookup into my face and tell me if it is really true that you want me togive you away? if it is possible that you love that boy better thanyour father?"
She lifted her eyes as he bade her, but dropped them again instantly;then as he finished his sentence, "Oh, no, no, papa! not half so well;how could you think it?" she cried, throwing her arms about his neck,and hiding her face on his breast.
"Ah, is that so?" he said, with a low, gleeful laugh, as he held herclose to his heart. "But he says you accepted him on condition thatpapa would give consent, that you owned you cared for him."
"And so I do, papa; I've always loved him as if he were my brother;and I'm so sorry for all he suffers, that I would do anything I couldto make him happy."
"Even to sacrificing yourself? It is well indeed for you that you havea father to take care of you."
"Are you going to say 'No' to him, papa?" she asked, looking up halfbeseechingly.
"Indeed I am."
"Ah, papa, he said it would kill him if you did."
"I don't believe it; people don't die so easily. And I have severalreasons for my refusal, each one of which would be quite sufficient ofitself. But you just acknowledged to me that you don't love him at allas you ought. Why, my child, when you meet the right person you willfind that your love for him is far greater than what you feel for me."
"Papa, I don't think that could be possible," she said, clingingcloser to him than before.
"But you'll be convinced when the time comes, though I hope thatwill not be for many a long year yet. Then Herbert's ill health andlameness are two insuperable objections. Lastly, you are both entirelytoo young to be thinking of such matters."
"He didn't mean to ask you to give me to him now, papa; not for a yearor two at the very least."
"But I won't have you engaging yourself while you are such a merechild. I don't approve of long engagements, or intend to let youmarry for six or seven years to come. So you may as well dismiss allthoughts on the subject; and if any other boy or man attempts to talkto you as Herbert has, just tell him that your father utterly forbidsyou to listen to anything of the kind. What! crying! I hope these arenot rebellious tears?"
"No, papa; please don't be angry. It is only that I feel so sorry forpoor Herbert; he suffers so, and is so patient and good."
"I am sorry for him too, but it cannot be helped. I must take care ofyou first, and not allow anything which I think will interfere withyour happiness or well being."
"Papa, he wants to correspond with me."
"I shall not allow it."
"May we see each other often?"
"No; not at all for some time. He must get over this foolish fancyfirst, it cannot be anything more; and there is great danger that hewill not unless you are kept entirely apart."
Elsie sighed softly, but said not a word. There was no appeal from herfather's decisions, no argument or entreaty allowed after they wereonce announced.
Little feet were heard running down the hall; then there was the soundof a tiny fist thumping on the door, and the voice of little Horacecalling, "Elsie, Elsie, tum out! me wants to see you!"
"There, you may go now," her father said, releasing her with a kiss,"and leave me to write that note. Well, what is it?" for she lingered,looking up wistfully into his face.
"Dear papa, be kind to him for my sake," she murmured softly, puttingher arm about his neck again. "He is such a sufferer, so patient andgood, and it quite makes my heart ache to think how grievously yourrefusal will pain him."
"My own sweet child! always unselfish, always concerned for thehappiness of others," thought the father as he looked down into thepleading face; but he only stroked her hair, and kissed her moretenderly than before, saying, "I shall try to be as kind ascircumstances will allow, daughter. You shall read the letter when itis done, and if you think it is not kind enough it shall not be sent."
She thanked him with a very grateful look, then hurried away, for thetiny fists were redoubling their blows upon the door, while the babyvoice called more and more clamorously for "sister Elsie."
She stooped to hug and kiss the little fellow, then was led off intriumph to "mamma," whose greeting, though less noisy, was quite asjoyous and affectionate.
"Oh, how nice it is to get home!" cried Elsie, and wondered withinherself how she had been contented to stay away so long. She hadhardly finished giving Rose an animated account of her visit,including a minute description of the birthday party, when herfather's voice summoned her to the study again.
"Does it satisfy you?" he asked when she had read the note.
"Yes, papa; I think it is as kind as a refusal could possibly bemade."
"Then I shall send it at once. And now this settles the matter, andI bid you put the whole affair out of your mind as completely aspossible, Elsie."
"I shall try, papa," she answered in a submissive and even cheerfultone.
That note, kindly worded though it was, caused great distress toHerbert Carrington. He passed an almost sleepless night, and the nextmorning, finding himself quite unable to rise from his couch, he sentan urgent entreaty that Mr. Dinsmore would call at Ashlands at hisearliest convenience.
His request was granted at once, and the lad pleaded with all theeloquence of which he was master for a more favorable reception of hissuit.
Had he been as well acquainted with Horace Dinsmore's characteras Elsie was, he would have known the utter uselessness of such aproceeding. He received a patient hearing, then a firm, though kinddenial. Elsie was entirely too young to be allowed even to think oflove or matrimony, her father said; he was extremely sorry the subjecthad been broached to her; it must not be again for years. He would notpermit any engagement, correspondence, or, for the present at least,any exchange of visits; because he wished the matter to be droppedentirely, and, if possible, forgotten. Nor would he hold out theslightest hope for the future; answering Herbert's petition for thatby a gentle hint that one in his ill health should be content toremain single.
"Yes, you are right, Mr. Dinsmore, and I don't blame you for refusingto give me your lovely daughter; I'm entirely unworthy of such atreasure," said the poor boy in a broken voice.
"Not in character, my dear boy," said Mr. Dinsmore, almost tenderly;"in that you are all I could ask or desire, and it is all that youare responsible for. And now while she is such a mere child, I shouldreject any other suitor for her hand, quite as decidedly as I do you."
"You don't blame me for loving her?"
"No; oh, no!"
"I can't help it. I've loved her ever since I first saw her, and thatwas before I was five years old."
"Well, I don't object to a brotherly affection, and when you can toneit down to that, shall not forbid occasional intercourse. And now,with the best wishes for your health and happiness, I must bid yougood-bye."
"Good-bye, sir; and thank you for your kindness in coming," the boyanswered with a quivering lip. Then, turning to his mother, as Mr.Dinsmore left the room, "I shall never get over it," he said. "I shallnot live long, and I don't want to; life without her isn't worthhaving."
Her heart ached for him, but she answered cheerily: "Why, my dearchild, don't be so despondent; I think you may take hope and couragefrom some things that Mr. Dinsmore said. It is quite in your favorthat he will not allow Elsie to receive proposals from any one atpresent, for who knows but, by the time he considers her old enough,you may be well and strong."
Mrs. Carrington's words had a very different effect from what sheintended. The next time Herbert saw his physician, he insisted sostrongly on knowing exactly what he might look forward to that therewas no evading the demand; and on learning that he was hopelesslycrippled for life, he sank into a state of utter despondency, and fromthat moment grew rapidly wors
e, failing visibly day by day.
Elsie, dutifully abstaining from holding any communication withAshlands, and giving all her thoughts as far as possible to homeduties and pleasures knew nothing of it till one day Enna came in,asking, "Have you heard the news?"
"No," said Elsie, pausing in a game of romps with her little brother;"what is it?"
"It! You should rather say they. There's more than one item ofimportance." And Enna straightened herself and smoothed out her dresswith a very consequential air. "In the first place Arthur has beenfound out in his evil courses; he's been betting and gambling tillhe's got himself over head and ears in debt. Papa was so angry, Ialmost thought he would kill him. But he seemed to cool down afterhe'd paid off the debts; and Arthur is, or pretends to be, verypenitent, promises never to do the like again, and so he's gotforgiven, and he and Walter are to start for college early next week.They've both gone to the city to-day with papa. Arthur seems to be madat you; he says that you could have saved him from being found out,but didn't choose to, and some day he'll have his revenge. Now, whatwas it you did, or didn't do?"
"He wanted money, and I refused to lend it because papa had forbiddenme."
"You're good at minding, and always were," was Enna's sneeringcomment. "No, I'll take that back; I forgot that time when you nearlydied rather than mind."
An indignant flush suffused Elsie's fair face for an instant; butthe sneer was borne in utter silence. Rose entered the room at thatmoment, and, having returned her greeting, Enna proceeded to giveanother important bit of news.
"Herbert Carrington is very ill; not confined to his bed, but failingvery fast. The doctors advised them to take him from home; becausethey said they thought he had something on his mind, and taking himinto new scenes might help him to forget it. They think he's notlikely to live long anyhow, but that is the last hope. His mother andLucy started North with him this morning."
Elsie suddenly dropped the ball she was tossing for Horace and ran outof the room.
"Why, what did she do that for?" asked Enna, in a tone of surprise,turning to Rose for an explanation. "Is she in love with him, do yousuppose?"
"No, I know she is not; but I think she has a strong sisterly regardfor him, and I am sorry the news of his increased illness was told herso abruptly."
"Such a baby, as she always was," muttered Enna, "crying her eyes outabout the least little thing."
"If she lacks sufficient control over her feelings it is almost theonly fault she has," replied Rose warmly. "And I think, Enna, you arehardly capable of appreciating her delicately sensitive nature, andwarm, loving heart, else you would not wound her as you do. Shecertainly controls her temper well, and puts up with more from youthan I should."
"Pray, what do you mean, Mrs. Dinsmore? what have I done to your pet?"asked the young lady angrily.
"She is older than you, yet you treat her as if she were much younger.Your manner toward her is often very contemptuous, and I havefrequently heard you sneer at her principles and taunt her with herwilling subjection to her father's strict rule; for which she deservesnothing but the highest praise."
"Nobody could ever rule me the way Horace does her!" cried Enna, witha toss of her head. "And as to her being older than I am, I'm sure noone would think it; she is so absurdly childish in her way; not halfso mature as I, mamma says."
"I'm glad and thankful that she is not," answered Rose, with spirit;"her sweet childish simplicity and perfect naturalness are verycharming in these days, when they are so rarely found in a girl whohas entered her teens."
Little Horace, standing by the window, uttered a joyous shout, "Oh,papa tumin'!" and rushed from the room to return the next momentclinging to his father's hand, announcing as they came in together,"Here papa is; me found him!"
Mr. Dinsmore shook hands with his sister, addressed a remark to hiswife, then, glancing about the room, asked, "Where is Elsie?"
"She left us a moment since, but did not say where she was going,"said Rose.
"I presume you'll find her crying in her boudoir or dressing room,"added Enna.
"Crying! Why, what is wrong with her?"
"Nothing that I know of, except that I told her of HerbertCarrington's being so much worse that they've taken him North as alast hope."
"Is that so?" and Mr. Dinsmore looked much concerned.
"Yes, there can be no doubt about it, for I heard it from Harryhimself this morning."
Mr. Dinsmore rose, and, putting his little son gently aside, left theroom.
Elsie was not in her own apartments; he passed through the wholesuite, looking for her; then, going on into the grounds, found her atlast in her favorite arbor. She was crying bitterly, but at the soundof his step checked her sobs, and hastily wiped away her tears. Shethought he would reprove her for indulging her grief, but instead hetook her in his arms and soothed her tenderly.
"Oh, papa," she sobbed, "I feel as if I had done it--as if I hadkilled him."
"Darling, he is not past hope; he may recover, and in any eventnot the slightest blame belongs to you. I have taken the wholeresponsibility upon my shoulders."
She gave him a somewhat relieved and very grateful look, and he wenton: "And even if I had allowed you to decide the matter for yourself,you would have done what was your duty in refusing to promise tobelong to one whom you love less than you love your father."
Some months later there came news of Herbert's death. Elsie's griefwas deep and lasting. She sorrowed as she might have done for the lossof a very dear brother; while added to that was a half-remorsefulfeeling which reason could not control or entirely relieve; and it waslong ere she was quite her own bright, gladsome sunny self again.