CHAPTER VII
NEW FRIENDS
As tall tyrannous weeds and rank unshorn grass close over and crush outslender, pure, odorous flowerets on a hill-side, so the defects of Irene'scharacter swiftly strengthened and developed in the new atmosphere in whichshe found herself. The school was on an extensive scale, thoroughlyfashionable, and thither pupils were sent from every section of the UnitedStates. As regarded educational advantages, the institution wasunexceptionable; the professors were considered unsurpassed in theirseveral departments, and every provision was made for thorough tuition. Butwhat a Babel reigned outside of the recitation room! One hundred and fortygirls to spend their recesses in envy, ridicule, malice, and detraction.Anxious to shake off the loneliness which so heavily oppressed her, Ireneat first mingled freely among her companions; but she soon became disgustedwith the conduct and opinions of the majority, and endeavoured to findquiet in her own room. Early in winter a new pupil, a "day scholar," joinedher class; she resided in New York, and very soon a strong friendshipsprang up between them. Louisa Young was about Irene's age, very pretty,very gentle, and winning in her manners. She was the daughter of anaffluent merchant, and was blessed in the possession of parents who stroveto rear their children as Christian parents should. Louisa's attachment wasvery warm and lasting, and ere long she insisted that her friend shouldvisit her. Weary of the school, the latter gladly availed herself of theinvitation, and one Friday afternoon she accompanied Louisa home. Themansion was almost palatial, and as Irene entered the splendidly-furnishedparlours her own Southern home rose vividly before her.
"Mother, this is Miss Huntingdon."
Mrs. Young received her cordially, and as she held the gloved hand, andkindly expressed her pleasure at meeting her daughter's friend, the girl'sheart gave a quick bound of joy.
"Come upstairs and put away your bonnet."
In Louisa's beautiful room the two sat talking of various things till thetea-bell rang. Mr. Young's greeting was scarcely less friendly than hiswife's, and as they seated themselves at the table, the stranger felt athome for the first time in New York.
"Where is brother?" asked Louisa, glancing at the vacant seat opposite herown.
"He has not come home yet; I wonder what keeps him? There he is now, in thehall," answered the mother.
A moment after, he entered and took his seat. He was tall, rather handsome,and looked about thirty. His sister presented her friend, and with a hastybow he fastened his eyes on her face. Probably he was unconscious of thesteadiness of his gaze, but Irene became restless under his fixed, earnesteye, and perceiving her embarrassment, Mrs. Young said--
"Harvey, where have you been? Dr. Melville called here for you at fouro'clock; said you had made some engagement with him."
"Yes, mother; we have been visiting together this afternoon."
Withdrawing his eyes, he seemed to fall into a reverie and took no part inthe conversation that ensued. As the party adjourned to the sitting-room,he paused on the rug, and leaned his elbow on the mantel. Louisa lingeredand drew near. He passed his arm around her shoulders, and lookedaffectionately down at her.
"Go to your friend, and when you are at a loss for conversation, bring herto my study to see those sketches of Palmyra and Baalbec."
He passed on to his work, and she to the sitting-room. He readindustriously for some time, occasionally pausing to annotate; and once ortwice he raised his head and listened. A light tap at the door was followedby the entrance of the two girls. Irene came very reluctantly, fearful ofintruding; but he rose, and placed a chair for her close to his own,assuring her that he was glad to see her there. Louisa found the portfolio,and, bringing it to the table, began to exhibit its treasures. The twoleaned over it, and as Irene sat resting her cheek on her hand, the beautyof her face and figure was clearly revealed. Harvey remained silent,watching the changing expression of the visitor's countenance; and once heput out his hand to touch the hair floating over the back and arms of herchair. Gradually his still heart stirred, his brow flushed, and a new lightburned in the deep clear eyes.
He told her of his visit to the old world, of its mournful ruins, itsdecaying glories; of the lessons he learned there; the sad but preciousmemories he brought back, and as he talked time passed unheeded--she forgother embarrassment, they were strangers no longer. The clock struck ten;Louisa rose at once.
"Thank you, Harvey, for giving us so much of your time. Father and motherwill be waiting for you."
"Yes, I will join you at once."
She led the way back to the sitting-room, and a few moments after, toIrene's great surprise, the student came in, and sitting down before thetable, opened the Bible and read a chapter. Then all knelt and he prayed.There was a strange spell on the visitor; in all this there was somethingso unexpected. It was the first time she had ever knelt around the familyaltar, and, as she rose, that sitting-room seemed suddenly converted into atemple of worship. Mutual "good nights" were exchanged, and as Irene turnedtoward the young minister, he held out his hand. She gave him hers, and hepressed it gently, saying--
"I trust this is the first of many pleasant evenings which we shall spendtogether."
"Thank you, sir. I hope so too, for I have not been so happy since I lefthome."
He smiled, and she walked on.
"Louisa, how came your brother to be a minister?" asked Irene, when theyhad reached their apartment.
"When he was a boy he said he intended to preach, and father neverdissuaded him. Harvey is a singular man--so silent, so equable, so cold inhis manner, and yet he has a warm heart. He has declined two calls sincehis ordination; Dr. Melville's health is very poor, and Harvey frequentlyfills his pulpit. I know you will like him when you know him well;everybody loves Harvey."
The inclemency of the weather confined the girls to the house the followingday. Harvey was absent at breakfast, and at dinner the chair oppositeIrene's was still vacant. The afternoon wore away, and at dusk Louisaopened the piano and began to play Thalberg's "Home, Sweet Home."
Somebody took a seat near Irene, and though the room was dim, she knew thetall form and the touch of his hand.
"Good evening, Miss Irene; we have had a gloomy day. How have you andLouisa spent it?"
"Not very profitably, I dare say, though it has not appeared at all gloomyto me. Have you been out in the snow?"
"Yes, my work has been sad. I buried a mother and child this afternoon, andhave just come from a house of orphanage and grief. It is a difficultmatter to realize how many aching hearts there are in this great city. Ourmahogany doors shut out the wail that hourly goes up to God from thethousand sufferers in our midst."
As he talked she lifted her beautiful eyes and looked steadily at him, andhe thought that, of all the lovely things he had ever seen, that face wasthe most peerless. She drew closer to him, and said earnestly--
"You do not seem to me a very happy man."
"There you mistake me. I presume there are few happier persons."
"Countenance is not a faithful index, then; you look so exceedingly grave."
"Do you suppose that gravity of face is incompatible with sunshine in theheart?"
He smiled encouragingly as he spoke, and without a moment's thought shelaid her delicate hand in his.
"Mr. Young, I want somebody to advise me. Very often I am at a loss aboutmy duty, and, having no one to consult, either do nothing at all or thatwhich I should not. If it will not trouble you too much, I should like tobring my difficulties to you sometimes, and get you to direct me. If youwill only talk frankly to me, as you do to Louisa, oh, I will be verygrateful!"
"Have you no brother?"
"I am an only child."
"You would like a brother, however?"
"Yes, sir, above all things."
"Take care; you express yourself strongly. If you can fancy me for abrother, consider me such."
When Monday morning came, and she was obliged to return to school, Irenereluctantly bade farewell to the new friends. Sh
e knew that, in conformityto the unalterable regulations of Crim Tartary, she could only leave theinstitution once a month, and the prospect of this long interval betweenher visits was by no means cheering. Harvey assisted her into the carriage.
"I shall send some books in a day or two, and, if you are troubled aboutanything before I see you again write me a note by Louisa. I would call tosee you occasionally if you were boarding anywhere else. Good morning, MissIrene. Do not forget that I am your brother so long as you stay in NewYork, or need one."
The books were not forgotten; they arrived the ensuing week, and hisselection satisfied her that he perfectly understood what kind of aid sherequired. At the close of the next month, instead of accompanying Louisahome, Irene was suffering with severe cold, and too much indisposed to quitthe house. This was a grievous disappointment, but she bore it bravely, andwent on with her studies. What a dreary isolation in the midst of numbersof her own age! It was a thraldom that galled her, and more than once sheimplored her father's permission to return home. His replies were positivedenials, and after a time she ceased to expect release, until theprescribed course should be ended. Thus another month dragged itself away.On Friday morning Louisa was absent. Irene felt anxious and distressed.Perhaps she was ill; something must have happened. As the day pupils weredismissed she started back to her own room, heart-sick because of thissecond disappointment. A few minutes after a servant knocked at the doorand informed her that a gentleman wished to see her in the parlour.