CHAPTER XXI.
The human heart! 'tis a thing that lives In the light of many a shrine; And the gem of its own pure feelings gives Too oft on brows that are false to shine; It has many a cloud of care and woe To shadow o'er its springs, And the One above alone may know The changing tune of its thousand strings.
--MRS. L.P. SMITH.
Mr. and Mrs. Horace Dinsmore were most anxious to promote Elsie'shappiness, and in order to that to win her to forgetfulness of herunworthy suitor. Being Christians they did not take her to theball-room, the Opera, or the theater (nor would she have consentedto go had they proposed it), but they provided for her every sort ofsuitable amusement within their reach. She was allowed to entertain asmuch company and to pay as many visits to neighbors and friends as shepleased.
But a constant round of gayety was not to her taste; she loved quiethome pleasures and intellectual pursuits far better. And of these alsoshe might take her fill, nor lack for sympathizing companionship; bothparents, but especially her father, being of like mind with herself.They enjoyed many a book together, and she chose to pursue severalstudies with him.
And thus the weeks and months glided away not unhappily, though attimes she would be possessed with a restless longing for news fromEgerton, and for the love that was denied her; then her eyes wouldoccasionally meet her father's with the old wistful, pleading lookthat he found so hard to resist.
He well understood their mute petition; yet it was one he could notgrant. But he would take her in his arms, and giving her the fondest,tenderest caresses, would say, in a moved tone, "My darling, don'tlook at me in that way; it almost breaks my heart. Ah, if you couldonly be satisfied with your father's love!"
"I will try, papa," was her usual answer, "and oh, your love is verysweet and precious!"
Such a little scene, occurring one morning in Elsie's boudoir, wasinterrupted by Chloe coming in to say that Miss Carrington had calledto see her young mistress and was waiting in the drawing-room.
"Show her in here, mammy," Elsie said, disengaging herself from herfather's arms, and smoothing out her dress. "She used to come here inthe old times without waiting for an invitation."
The Carringtons had not been able quite to forgive the rejection ofHerbert's suit, and since his death there had been a slight coolnessbetween the two families, and the girls had seen much less of eachother than in earlier days; their intercourse being confined to anoccasional exchange of formal calls, except when they met at thehouse of some common acquaintance or friend. Still they were mutuallyattached, and of late had resumed much of their old warmth of mannertoward each other.
"Ah, this seems like going back to the dear old times again," Lucysaid when their greetings were over, and sending an admiring glanceabout the luxuriously furnished apartment as she spoke. "I alwaysthought this the most charming of rooms, Elsie, but how many lovelythings,--perfect gems of art,--you have added to it since I saw itlast."
"Papa's gifts to his spoiled darling, most of them," answered Elsie,with a loving look and smile directed to him.
"Petted, but not spoiled," he said, returning the smile.
"No, indeed, I should think not," said Lucy. "Mamma says she is themost perfectly obedient, affectionate daughter she ever saw, and Ican't tell you how often I have heard her wish I was more like her."
"Ah," said Elsie, "I think Mrs. Carrington has always looked at methrough rose-colored spectacles."
After a little more chat Lucy told her errand. Her parents andherself, indeed the whole family, she said, had greatly regretted thefalling off of their former intimacy and strongly desired to renew it;and she had come to beg Elsie to go home with her and spend a week atAshlands in the old familiar way.
Elsie's eye brightened, and her cheek flushed. "Dear Lucy, how kind!"she exclaimed; then turned inquiringly to her father.
"Yes, it is very kind," he said. "Use your own pleasure, daughter. Ithink perhaps the change might do you good."
"Thanks, papa, then I shall go. Lucy, I accept your invitation withpleasure."
They were soon on their way, cantering briskly along side by side,Lucy in gay, almost wild spirits, and Elsie's depression rapidlyvanishing beneath the combined influence of the bracing air andexercise, the brilliant sunshine, and her friend's lively sallies.
Arrived at Ashlands, she found herself received and welcomed with allthe old warmth of affection. Mrs. Carrington folded her to her heartand wept over her. "My poor boy!" she whispered; "it seems almost tobring him back again to have you with us once more. But I will notmourn," she added, wiping her eyes; "for our loss has been his greatgain."
Tender memories of Herbert, associated with nearly every room in thehouse, saddened and subdued Elsie's spirit for a time, yet helped tobanish thoughts of Egerton from her mind.
But Lucy had a great deal to tell her, and in listening to thesegirlish confidences, Herbert was again half forgotten. Lucy too hadspent the past summer in the North, and had there "met her fate." Shewas engaged, the course of true love seemed to be running smoothly,and they expected to marry in a year.
Elsie listened with interest, sympathizing warmly in her friend'shappiness; but Lucy, who was watching her keenly, noticed a shade ofdeep sadness steal over her face.
"Now I have told you all my secrets," she said, "won't you treat me asgenerously, by trusting me with yours?"
"If I had as happy a tale to tell," replied Elsie, the tears fillingher eyes.
"You poor dear, what is wrong? Is it that papa refuses his consent."
Elsie nodded; her heart was too full for speech.
"What a shame!" cried Lucy. "Does he really mean to keep you singleall your life? is he quite determined to make an old maid of you?"
"No, oh, no! but he does not believe my friend to be a good man. Thereseems to be some sad mistake, and I cannot blame papa; because if Mr.Egerton really was what he thinks him, it would be folly and sin forme to have anything to do with him; and indeed I could not give eitherhand or heart to one so vile,--a profane swearer, gambler, drunkard,and rake."
"Oh, my, no!" and Lucy looked quite horrified; "but you don't believehim such a villain?"
"No; on the contrary I think him a truly converted man. I believehe was a little wild at one time; for he told me he had been; but Ibelieve, too, that he has truly repented, and therefore ought to beforgiven."
"Then I wouldn't give him up if I were you, father or no father,"remarked Lucy, with spirit.
"But, Lucy, there is the command, 'Children, obey your parents.'"
"But you are not a child."
"Hardly more, not of age for more than two years."
"Well, when you are of age, surely you will consider a lover's claimsbefore those of a father."
"No," Elsie answered low and sadly. "I shall never marry withoutpapa's consent. I love him far too dearly to grieve him so; and itwould be running too fearful a risk."
"Then you have resigned your lover entirely?"
"Unless he can some day succeed in convincing papa that he is not sounworthy."
"Well, you are a model of filial piety! and deserve to be happy, and Iam ever so sorry for you," cried Lucy, clasping her in her arms, andkissing her affectionately.
"Thank you, dear," Elsie said, "but oh, I cannot bear to have myfather blamed. Believing as he does, how could he do otherwise thanforbid all intercourse between us? And he is so very, very kind, sotenderly affectionate to me. Ah, I could never do without his dearlove!"
After this, the two had frequent talks together on the same subject,and though Lucy did not find any fault with Mr. Dinsmore, she yetpleaded Egerton's cause, urging that it seemed very unfair in Elsieto condemn him unheard, very hard not to allow him even so much as aparting word.
"I had no choice," Elsie said again and again, in a voice full oftears; "it was papa's command, and I could do nothing but obey. Oh,Lucy, it was very, very hard for me, too! and yet my father wasdoing only his duty, if his judgment of Mr. Egerton's character wascorrect."<
br />
One afternoon, when Elsie had been at Ashlands four or five days, Lucycame flying into her room; "Oh, I'm so glad to find you dressed! Yousee I'm in the midst of my toilet, and Scip has just brought up wordthat a gentleman is in the parlor asking for the young ladies--MissDinsmore and Miss Carrington. Would you mind going down alone andentertaining him till I come? do, there's a dear."
"Who is he?"
"Scip didn't seem to have quite understood the name; but it must besome one we both know, and if you don't mind going, it would be arelief to my nerves to know that he's not sitting there with nothingto do but count the minutes, and think, 'What an immense time it takesMiss Carrington to dress. She must be very anxious to make a goodimpression upon me.' For you see men are so conceited, they are alwaysimagining we're laying ourselves out to secure their admiration."
"I will go down then," Elsie answered, smiling, "and do what I can tokeep him from thinking any such unworthy thoughts of you. But pleasefollow me as soon as you can."
The caller had the drawing-room to himself, and as Elsie entered wasstanding at the centre-table with his back toward her. As she drewnear, he turned abruptly, caught her hand in his, threw his arm abouther waist, and kissed her passionately, crying in a low tone ofrapturous delight, "My darling, I have you at last! Oh, how I havesuffered from this cruel separation."
It was Egerton, and for a few moments she forgot everything else, inher glad surprise at the unexpected meeting.
He drew her to a sofa, and still keeping his arm about her, poured outa torrent of fond loverlike words, mingled with tender reproaches thatshe had given him up so easily, and protestations of his innocence ofthe vices and crimes laid to his charge.
At first Elsie flushed rosy red, and a sweet light of love and joyshone in the soft eyes, half veiled by their heavy, drooping lashes;but as he went on her cheek grew deathly pale, and she struggled tofree herself from his embrace.
"Let me go!" she cried, in an agitated tone of earnest entreaty, "Imust, indeed I must! I can't stay--I ought not; I should not have comein, or allowed you to speak to, or touch me. Papa has forbidden allintercourse between us, and he will be so angry." And she burst intotears.
"Then don't go back to him; stay with me, and give me a right toprotect you from his anger. I can't bear to see you weep, and if youwill be mine--my own little wife, you shall never have cause to shedanother tear," he said, drawing her closer to him and kissing themaway.
"No, no, I cannot, I cannot! You must let me go; indeed you must!"she cried, shrinking from the touch of his lip upon her cheek, andaverting her face, "I am doing wrong, very wrong to stay, here!"
"No, I shall hold you fast for a few blissful moments at least;" heanswered, tightening his grasp and repeating his caresses, as shestruggled the harder to be free. "You cannot be so cruel as to refuseto hear my defence."
"Oh, I cannot stay another moment--I must not hear another word, forevery instant that I linger I am guilty of a fresh act of disobedienceto papa. I shall be compelled to call for help it you do not looseyour hold."
He took his arm from her waist, but still held fast to her hand. "No,don't do that," he said; "think what a talk it would make. I shalldetain you but a moment, and surely you may as well stay that muchlonger; 'in for a penny, in for a pound,' you know. Oh, Elsie, can'tyou give me a little hope."
"If you can gain papa's approval, not otherwise."
"But when you come of age."
"I shall never marry without my father's consent."
"Surely you carry your ideas of obedience too far. You owe a duty toyourself and to me, as well as to your father. Excuse my plainness,but in the course of nature we shall both outlive him, and is itright to sacrifice the happiness of our two lives because he hasunfortunately imbibed a prejudice against me?"
"I could expect no blessing upon a union entered into in directopposition to my father's wishes and commands," she answered with sadand gentle firmness.
"That's a hard kind of obedience; and I don't think it would answer toput in practice in all cases," he said bitterly.
"Perhaps not; I do not attempt to decide for others; but I amconvinced of my own duty; and know too that I should be wretchedindeed, if I had to live under papa's frown. And oh, how I amdisobeying him now! I must go this instant! Release my hand, Mr.Egerton." And she tried with all her strength to wrench it free.
"No, no, not yet," he said entreatingly. "I have not given you halfthe proofs of my innocence that I can bring forward; do me the simplejustice to stay and hear them."
She made no reply but half yielded, ceasing her struggles for amoment. She had no strength to free her hand from his grasp, and couldnot bear to call others upon the scene. Trembling with agitation andeagerness, she waited for his promised proofs; but instead he onlypoured forth a continuous stream of protestations, expostulations andentreaties.
"Mr. Egerton, I must, I must go," she repeated; "this is nothing tothe purpose, and I cannot stay to hear it."
A step was heard approaching; he hastily drew her toward him, touchedhis lips again to her cheek, released her, and she darted from theroom by one door, as Lucy entered by another.
"Where is she? gone? what's the matter? wasn't she pleased to see you?wouldn't she stay?"
Lucy looked into the disappointed, angry, chagrined face of Egerton,and in her surprise and vexation piled question upon question withoutgiving him time to answer.
"No, the girl's a fool!" he muttered angrily, and turning hastily fromher, paced rapidly to and fro for a moment; then suddenly recollectinghimself, "I beg pardon, Miss Carrington," he said, coming back tothe sofa on which she sat regarding him with a perturbed, displeasedcountenance, "I--I forgot myself; but you will perhaps, know how toexcuse an almost distracted lover."
"Really, sir," returned Lucy coolly, "your words just now did notsound very lover-like; and would rather lead one to suspect thatpossibly Mr. Dinsmore may be in the right."
He flushed hotly. "What can you mean, Miss Carrington?"
"That your love is for her fortune rather than for herself."
"Indeed you wrong me. I adore Miss Dinsmore, and would consider myselfthe happiest of mortals could I but secure her hand, even though shecame to me penniless. But she has imbibed the most absurd, ridiculousideas of filial duty and refuses to give me the smallest encouragementunless I can gain her father's consent and approval; which, seeing hehas conceived a violent dislike to me, is a hopeless thing. Nowcan you not realize that the more ardent my love for her, the morefrantically impatient I would feel under such treatment?"
"Perhaps so; men are so different from women; but nothing could evermake me apply such an epithet to the man I loved."
"Distracted with disappointed hopes, I was hardly a sane man at themoment, Miss Carrington," he said deprecatingly.
"The coveted interview has proved entirely unsatisfactory then?" shesaid in a tone of inquiry.
"Yes; and yet I am most thankful to have had sight and speech of heronce more; truly grateful to you for bringing it about so cleverly.But--oh, Miss Carrington, could you be persuaded to assist me stillfurther, you would lay me under lasting obligations!"
"Please explain yourself, sir," she answered coldly, moving fartherfrom him, as he attempted to take her hand.
"Excuse me," he said. "I am not one inclined to take liberties withladies; but I am hardly myself to-day; my overpowering emotion--myhalf distracted state of mind--"
Breaking off his sentence abruptly, and putting his hand to his head,"I believe I shall go mad if I have to resign all hope of winning thesweet, lovely Elsie," he exclaimed excitedly, "and I see only one wayof doing it. If I could carry her off, and get her quite out of herfather's reach, so that no fear of him need deter her from followingthe promptings of her own heart, I am sure I could induce her toconsent to marry me at once. Miss Carrington, will you help me?"
"Never! If Elsie chooses to run away with you, and wants anyassistance from me, she shall have it; but I will have nothing to dowi
th kidnapping."
He urged, entreated, used every argument he could think of, but withno other effect than rousing Lucy's anger and indignation; "underhanddealings were not in her line," she told him, and finally--upon hisintimating that what she had already done might be thought to comeunder that head--almost ordered him out of the house.
He went, and hurrying to her friend's room, she found her walkingabout it in a state of great agitation, and weeping bitterly.
"Oh, Lucy, how could you? how could you?" she cried, wringing herhands and sobbing in pitiable distress. "I had no thought of him whenI went down; I did not know you knew him, or that he was in this partof the country at all. I was completely taken by surprise, and havedisobeyed papa's most express commands, and he will never forgive me,never! No, not that either, but he will be very, very angry. Oh, whatshall I do!"
"Oh, Elsie, dear, don't be so troubled! I am as sorry as I can be,"said Lucy, with tears in her eyes. "I meant to do you a kindness;indeed I did; I thought it would be a joyful surprise to you.
"I met him last summer at Saratoga. He came there immediately fromLansdale, and somehow we found out directly that we both knew you, andthat I was a near neighbor and very old friend of yours; and he toldme the whole story of your love-affair, and quite enlisted me in hiscause; he seemed so depressed and melancholy at your loss, and grievedso over the hasty way in which your father had separated you,--noteven allowing a word of farewell.
"He told me he hoped and believed you were still faithful to him inyour heart, but he could not get to see or speak to you, or hold anycorrespondence with you. And so I arranged this way of bringing youtogether."
"It was kindly meant, I have no doubt, Lucy, but oh, you don't knowwhat you have done! I tremble at the very thought of papa's anger whenhe hears it; for I have done and permitted things he said he would notallow for thousands of dollars."
"Well, dear, I don't think you could help it; and I'm so sorry for myshare in it," said Lucy, putting her arms round her, and kissing herwet cheek. "But perhaps your father will not be so very angry withyou after all; and at any rate you are too old to be whipped, so ascolding will be the worst you will be likely to get."
"He never did whip me, never struck me a blow in his life; but I wouldprefer the pain of a dozen whippings to what I expect," said Elsie,with a fresh burst of tears.
"What is that, you poor dear?" asked Lucy. "I can't imagine what hecould do worse than beat you."
"He may put me away from his arms for weeks or months, and be cold,and stern, and distant to me, never giving me a caress or even so muchas a kind word or look. Oh, if he should do that, how can I bear it!"
"Well, don't tell him anything about it. I wouldn't, and I don't seeany reason why you should."
Elsie shook her head sorrowfully. "I must; I never concealanything--any secret of my own--from him; and I should feel like aguilty thing, acting a lie, and could not look him in the face; and hewould know from my very look and manner that something was wrong, andwould question me, and make me tell him all. Lucy, I must go home atonce."
"No, indeed, you must not. Why, you were to stay a week--two dayslonger than this; and if you were ready to start this minute, it wouldbe quite dark before you could possibly reach the Oaks."
Elsie looked at her watch, and perceiving that her friend was right,gave up the idea of going that day, but said she must leave the nextmorning. To that Lucy again objected. "I can't bear to lose those twodays of your promised visit," she said, "for if you are determined totell your papa all about this, there's no knowing when he will allowyou to come here again."
"Never, I fear," sighed Elsie.
"I haven't been able to help feeling a little hard to him on poorHerbert's account," Lucy went on, "and I believe that had somethingto do with my readiness to help Egerton to outwit him in obtaining aninterview with you. But I'll never do anything of the kind again; sohe needn't be afraid to let you come to see us."
She then told Elsie what had passed in the drawing-room betweenEgerton and herself--his request and her indignant refusal.
It helped to shake Elsie's confidence in the man, and made her stillmore remorseful in view of that day's disobedience; for she couldnot deceive herself into the belief that she had been altogetherblameless. "As I said before, I can't bear the idea of losing you sosoon," continued Lucy, "but there is still another reason why I mustbeg of you to stay till the set time of your leaving. Mamma knowsnothing about this affair, and would be exceedingly displeased withme, if she should find it out; as of course she must, if you goto-morrow; as that would naturally call out an explanation. So, dear,do promise me that you will give up the idea."
Elsie hesitated, but not liking to bring Lucy into trouble, finallyyielded to her urgent entreaties, and consented to stay.
All the enjoyment of her visit, however, was over; she felt itimpossible to rest till her father knew all, shed many tears insecret, and had much ado to conceal the traces of them, and appearcheerful in the presence of the family.
But the two wretched days were over at last, and declining the urgentinvitations of her friends to linger with them a little longer, shebade them an affectionate farewell, and set out for home.
Jim had been sent to escort her, another servant with the wagon forChloe and the luggage. Struck with a sudden fear that she might meetor be overtaken by Egerton, Elsie ordered Jim to keep up close in therear, then touching the whip to her horse, started off at a briskcanter. Her thoughts were full of the coming interview with herfather, which she dreaded exceedingly, while at the same time shelonged to have it over. She drew rein at the great gates leading intothe grounds, and the servant dismounted and opened them.
"Jim," she asked, "is your master at home?"
"Dunno, Miss Elsie, but the missus am gone ober to Ion to spend theday, an lef' little Marse Horace at Roselands."
"Why, what's the matter, Jim?"
"De missus at Ion little bit sick, I b'lieve, Miss Elsie."
"And papa didn't go with them?"
"Yes, miss; but he comed right back again, and I 'spect he's in dehouse now."
"Dear papa! he came back to receive me," murmured Elsie to herself, asshe rode on, and a scalding tear fell at the thought of how the lovinglook and fond caress with which he was sure to greet her, would bequickly exchanged for dark frowns, and stern, cold reproofs.
"Oh, if I were a child again, I believe I should hope he would justwhip me at once, and then forgive me, and it would be all over; butnow--oh, dear! how long will his displeasure last?"
It was just as she had expected; he was on the veranda, watching forher coming--hastened forward, assisted her to alight, embraced hertenderly, then pushing aside her veil, looked searchingly into herface.
"What is the matter?" he asked, as her eyes met his for an instantwith a beseeching, imploring glance, then fell beneath his gaze whileher face flushed crimson.
She tried to answer him, but her tongue refused to do its office,there was a choking sensation in her throat and her lips quivered.
He led her into his private study, took off her hat and threw itaside, and seating her on a sofa, still keeping his arm about her--forshe was trembling very much--asked again, "What is the matter? whathas gone wrong with you, my daughter?"
His tone, his look, his manner were very gentle and tender; but thatonly increased her remorse and self-reproach.
"Papa, don't be so kind," she faltered; "I--I don't deserve it, for Ihave--disobeyed you."
"Is it possible! when? where? and how? Can it be that you have seenand spoken with that--scoundrel, Elsie?"
"Yes, papa." Her voice was very low and tremulous, her heart throbbedalmost to suffocation, her bosom heaved tumultuously, and her colorcame and went with every breath.
He rose and paced hurriedly across the room two or three times,then coming back to her side, "Tell me all about it," he saidsternly--"every action, every word spoken by either, as far as you canrecall it."
She obeyed in the same low, t
remulous tones in which she had answeredhim before, her voice now and then broken by a half-smothered sob, andher eyes never once meeting his, which she felt were fixed so severelyupon her tearful, downcast face.
He cross-questioned her till he knew all that had passed nearly aswell as if he had been present through the whole interview, his tonesgrowing more and more stern and angry.
"And you dared to permit all that, Elsie?" he exclaimed when she hadfinished; "to allow that vile wretch to put his arm around you, holdyour hand in his, for half an hour probably, and even to press hislips again and again to yours or to your cheek; and that after I hadtold you I would not have him take such a liberty with you for half Iam worth; and--"
"Not to my lips, papa."
"Then it is not quite so bad as I thought, but bad enough certainly;and all this after I had positively forbidden you to even so much asexchange the slightest salutation with him. What am I to think of suchhigh-handed rebellion?"
"Papa," she said beseechingly, "is not that too hard a word? I did notdisobey deliberately--I don't think anything could have induced me togo into that room knowing that he was there. I was taken by surprise,and when he had got hold of my hand I tried in vain to get it free."
"Don't attempt to excuse yourself, Elsie. You could have escaped fromhim at once, by simply raising your voice and calling for assistance.I do not believe it would have been impossible to avoid even thatfirst embrace; and it fairly makes my blood boil to think he succeededin giving it to you. How dared you so disobey me as to submit to it?"
"Papa, at the moment I forgot everything but--but just that he wasthere."
The last words were spoken in a voice scarcely raised above a whisper,while her head drooped lower and lower and her cheek grew hot withshame.
"Did I ever take forgetfulness of my orders as any excuse ofdisobedience?" he asked in as stern a tone as he had ever used to her.
"No, papa; but oh, don't be very angry with me!"
"I am exceedingly displeased with you, Elsie! so much so that nothingbut your sex saves you from a severe chastisement. And I cannot allowyou to escape punishment. You must be taught that though no longer amere child, you are not yet old enough to disobey me with impunity.Hush!" as she seemed about to speak, "I will not have a word of reply.Go to your own apartments and consider yourself confined to them tillyou hear further from me. Stay!" he added as she rose to obey, "whendid all this occur?"
She told him in her low, tearful tones, her utterance half choked withsobs.
"Two days ago, and yet your confession has been delayed till now. Doesthat look like penitence for your fault?"
She explained why she had not returned home at once; but he refused toaccept the excuse, and ordered her away as sternly as before.
She obeyed in silence, controlling her feelings by a great effort,until she had gained the privacy of her own apartments, then givingway to a fit of almost hysterical weeping. It was years since herfather had been seriously displeased with her, and loving him withsuch intense affection, his anger and sternness nearly broke herheart.
Her tender conscience pricked her sorely too, adding greatly to herdistress by its reproaches on account of her disobedience and herdelay in confessing it.
It came to her mind at length that her heavenly Father might be moretender and forbearing with her, more ready to forgive and restore tofavor, than her earthly one. She remembered the sweet words, "There isforgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be feared." "If any man sin,we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." Shewent to Him with her sin and sorrow, asking pardon for the past andhelp for the future. She asked, too, that the anger of her earthlyparent might be turned away; that the Lord would dispose him toforgive and love her as before.
She rose from her knees with a heart, though still sad and sorrowful,yet lightened of more than half its load.
But the day was a very long one; with a mind so disturbed she couldnot settle to any employment, or find amusement in anything. Shepassed the time in wandering restlessly from room to room, startingand trembling as now and then she thought she heard her father's stepor voice, then weeping afresh as she found that he did not come nearher.
When the dinner-bell rang she hoped he would send, or come to her; butinstead he sent her meal to her; such an one as was usual upon theirtable--both luxurious and abundant,--which comforted her with the hopethat he was less displeased with her than at other times when he hadallowed her little more than prison fare. But excitement and mentaldistress had brought on a severe headache; she had no appetite, andsent the food away almost untasted.
It was mild, beautiful weather in the early spring; such weather asmakes one feel it a trial to be compelled to stay within doors, andElsie longed for her favorite retreat in the grounds.
In the afternoon some ladies called; Mr. Dinsmore was out, and shedared not go to the drawing room without permission; but her headachefurnished sufficient excuse for declining to see them, and they wentaway.
Shortly after, she heard her father's return. He had not been off theestate, or out of sight of the house; he was keeping guard over her,but still did not come near her.
Just at tea-time she again heard the sound of wheels; then herfather's, mother's, and little brother's voices.
"Mamma and Horace have come home," she thought with a longing desireto run out and embrace them.
"Oh, papa, has sister come home?" she heard the child's voice ask ineager tones.
"Yes."
"Oh, then I must run into her room and kiss her!"
"No, you must not; stay here."
"But why mustn't I go to sister, papa?"
"Because I forbid it."
Every word of the short colloquy reached Elsie's ear, adding to hergrief and dismay. Was she, then, to be separated from all the rest ofthe family? did her father fear that she would exert a bad influenceover Horace, teaching him to be disobedient and wilful? How deeplyhumbled and ashamed she felt at the thought.
Rose gave her husband a look of surprised, anxious inquiry. "Is Elsiesick, dear?" she asked.
"No, Rose, but she is in disgrace with me," he answered in anundertone, as he led the way into the house.
"Horace, you astonish me! what can she have done to displease you?"
"Come in here; and I will tell you," he said, throwing open the doorof his study.
Rose listened in silence, while he repeated to her the substance ofElsie's confession, mingled with expressions of his own anger andindignation.
"Poor child!" murmured Rose, as he concluded; "Horace, don't be hardwith her; she must have suffered a great deal in these last threedays."
"Yes," he answered in a moved tone; "when I think of that, I canscarcely refrain from going to her, taking her in my arms, andlavishing caresses and endearments upon her; but then comes thethought of her allowing that scoundrel to do the same, and I am readyalmost to whip her for it." His face flushed hotly, and his dark eyesflashed as he spoke.
"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Rose, half frightened at his vehemence, "youcannot mean it?"
"Rose," he said, pacing to and fro in increasing excitement, "thefellow is a vile wretch, whose very touch I esteem pollution to asweet, fair, innocent young creature like my daughter. I told her so,and positively forbade her to so much as look at him, or permit himto see her face, if it could be avoided, or to recognize, or hold theslightest communication with him in any way. Yet in defiance of allthis, she allows him to take her hand and hold it for, I don't knowhow long, put his arm around her waist and kiss her a number of times.Now what does such disobedience deserve?"
"Had she no excuse to offer?"
"Excuse? Yes, she did not disobey deliberately--was taken bysurprise--forgot everything but that he was there."
"Well, my dear," and Rose's hand was laid affectionately on his arm,while a tender smile played about her mouth, and her sweet blue eyeslooked fondly into his. "You know how it is with lovers, if you willonly look back a very few years. I think there were t
imes when you andI forgot that there was anybody in the wide world but just our twoselves."
A smile, a tender caress, a few very lover-like words, and resuminghis gravity and seriousness, Mr. Dinsmore went on: "But you forgetthe odious character of the man. If I had objected to him from mereprejudice or whim, it would have been a very different thing."
"But you know Elsie does not believe--"
"She ought to believe what her father tells her," he interruptedhotly; "but believe or not, she must and shall obey me; and if shedoes not I shall punish her."
"And to do that, you need only look coldly on her, and refrain fromgiving her caresses and endearing words. Such treatment from herdearly loved father would of itself be sufficient, very soon, to crushher tender, sensitive spirit."
His face softened, the frown left his brow, and the angry fire hiseye. "My poor darling!" he murmured, with a sigh, his thoughts goingback to a time of estrangement between them long years ago. "Yes,Rose, you are right; she is a very tender, delicate, sensitive plant,and it behooves her father to be exceeding gentle and forbearing withher."
"Then you will forgive her, and take her to your heart again?"
"Yes--if she is penitent;--and tell her that she owes it to hermother's intercession; for I had intended to make her feel herself indisgrace for days or weeks."
Chloe was at that moment carrying a large silver waiter, filled withdelicacies, into the apartments of her young mistress. "Now, darlin',do try to eat to please your ole mammy," she said coaxingly, as sheset it down before her. "I'se taken lots ob pains to fix up dese tingsdat my pet chile so fond ob."
Elsie's only answer was a sad sort of smile; but for the sake of theloving heart that had prompted the careful preparation of the temptingmeal--the loving eyes that watched her as she ate, she tried to do herbest.
Only half satisfied with the result, Chloe bore the waiter away again,while Elsie seated herself in a large easy-chair that was drawn upclose to the glass doors opening upon the lawn and laying her headback upon its cushions, turned her eyes toward the outer world,looking longingly upon the shaded alleys and gay parterres, the lawnwith its velvet carpet of emerald green, where a fountain cast upits cool showers of spray, and long shadows slept, alternating withbrilliant patches of ruddy light from the slowly sinking sun.
She sighed deeply, and her eyes filled with tears. "How long shouldshe be forbidden to wander there at her own sweet will?"
A soft, cool hand was gently laid upon her aching brow, and lookingup she saw her father standing by her side. She had not heard hisapproach, for his slippered feet made no noise in passing over therich velvet carpet.
His face was grave, but no longer stern or angry. "Does your headache, daughter?" he asked almost tenderly.
"Yes, papa; but not half so badly as my heart does," she answered,a tear rolling quickly down her cheek. "I am so sorry for mydisobedience. Oh, papa, will you forgive me?" And her eyes soughthis with the imploring look he ever found it well-nigh impossible toresist.
"Yes, I will--I do," he said, stooping to press a kiss upon thequivering lips. "I had thought I ought to keep you in disgrace sometime longer, but your mamma has pleaded for you, and for her sake--andfor the sake of a time, long ago, when I caused my little girl muchundeserved suffering," he added, his tones growing tremulous withemotion, "I forgive and receive you back into favor at once."
She threw her arm about his neck, and as he drew her to his breast,laid her head down there, weeping tears of joy and thankfulness."Dear, kind mamma! and you too, best and dearest of fathers! I don'tdeserve it," she sobbed. "I am afraid I ought to be punished for suchdisobedience."
"I think you have been," he said pityingly, "the last three days canhardly have been very happy ones to you."
"No, papa; very, very wretched."
"My poor child! Ah, I must take better care of my precious one infuture. I shall allow you to go nowhere without either your mother ormyself to guard and protect you. Also, I shall break off your intimacywith Lucy Carrington; she is henceforth to be to you a mere speakingacquaintance; come, now we will take a little stroll through thegrounds. The cool air will, I hope, do your head good."