"A gentle heritage is mine,A life of quiet pleasure;My heaviest cares are but to twineFresh votive garlands for the shrineWhere 'bides my bosom's treasure.I am not merry, nor yet sad,My thoughts are more serene than glad."
"A gentle heritage is mine,A life of quiet pleasure;My heaviest cares are but to twineFresh votive garlands for the shrineWhere 'bides my bosom's treasure.I am not merry, nor yet sad,My thoughts are more serene than glad."
"A gentle heritage is mine,
A life of quiet pleasure;
My heaviest cares are but to twine
Fresh votive garlands for the shrine
Where 'bides my bosom's treasure.
I am not merry, nor yet sad,
My thoughts are more serene than glad."
It was a lovely spot, that peaceful vicarage. Tall elms shaded the sloping roof, and roses and jessamines poured their rich perfume on the morning and evening air. Here two years of calm, tranquil enjoyment glided over Annie Evalyn, as she, with unremitting assiduity, pursued the path of science under the guidance of the good parson. Each day fresh joys were opening before her, in the forms of newly-discovered truths. Her faculties developed so rapidly as to astonish her tutor, wise as he was in experience, and well-taught in ancient and modern lore.
"Annie," said he, one evening, as they sat together in the family parlor, "what do you intend to do with all this store of knowledge you are treasuring up with such eager application?"
She looked up quickly in his face, and a flush for a moment passed over her usually pale features.
"I know what you would say," he added; "that you think no one can havetoo muchknowledge—is it not?"
"Do you think one can?" she asked.
"Perhaps not too much well-regulated knowledge; knowledge adapted to an efficient end and purpose."
Again Annie turned her dark blue, expressive eye full upon his face.
"I mean to put my little store of learning to good use," she said, thoughtfully.
"Well, so I supposed, Annie. What do you intend to do?"
"Something great and good," she answered, her eye kindling with the lofty thought within.
"And could you accomplish but one, which should it be?"
"Will not a great thing be a good one also?" she inquired.
He shook his head.
"That does not necessarily follow," he said; "that which is great may not be good, but remember, Annie, what isgoodwill surely begreat."
"I shall consider your words, dear sir," said Annie. "I am much indebted to you for the privileges your kindness has afforded me, and hope some day to be able to make a grateful recompense."
"What I do is done freely, my child, and from a sense of duty. Do not speak of recompense. Has not the companionship you have afforded my little Netta, to say nothing of myself and sister Rachel, amply repaid the small trouble your instruction has caused?"
"But you forget in all this I am as much or more the recipient as the giver. If Netta has found me a tolerable companion, I have found her a charming one; and all yours and aunt Rachel's teachings—ah! I fear I'm much the debtor after all," she said, shaking her head, doubtfully, and smiling in her listener's face with artless simplicity and gratitude.
"No, no, not a debtor, Annie," he said, stroking her bright curls; "I cannot admit that. Let the benefits be mutual, if you will, nothing more. I see Netta in the garden gathering flowers. She is a good little girl, and loves you dearly, though she has none of the brilliancies that characterize your mind. I do not intend to flatter; go now and join your friend. I expect a party of western people to visit me to-morrow, and have some preparations to make for their reception."
Annie bowed, and glided down the gravelled path of the garden. In a shady bower she found Netta, arranging a bouquet of laurel leaves and snow-white jessamines.
"O!" she exclaimed, looking up as Annie approached; "there you are, sis. Now I'll twine you a wreath of these fragrant flowers."
"And I'll twine one for you, Netta," said Annie. "Of what shall it be?"
"Simple primroses or violets; these will best adorn my lowly brow; but Annie, bright Annie Evalyn, shall wear naught but the proud laurel and queenly jessamine;" and, giving a twirl to her pretty wreath, she tossed it over her friend's high, marble-like brow, bestowing a playful kiss on either cheek as she did so.
"Does it sit lightly, Annie?" she asked.
"Yes, Netta, and now bend in turn to receive my wreath of innocence, not more pure and lovely than the brow on which it rests."
Netta knelt, and the garland was thrown over her flaxen curls. Thus adorned, the lovely maidens strolled up the avenue, arm in arm, and made their way to the study-room, as it was called; a large, airy chamber fronting the east, situated in a retired portion of the house, to be removed from noise and intrusion.
"Now you shan't study or write to-night, for who knows when we may have another quiet evening together? These western friends of father's are coming to-morrow, and our time and attention will be occupied with them. I want to hear you talk to-night, Annie. Tell me some of your eloquent thoughts, your glowing fancies. I'm your poor, little, foolish Netta, you know."
"You are my dear, dear friend," said Annie, throwing her arms impulsively round the slender, graceful neck, and kissing the soft young cheek. "I'm feeling sad and gloomy this evening, and fear I cannot entertain you with conversation or lively chit-chat."
"Tell me what makes you sad."
"I don't know. Are you never sad without knowing the cause of your gloomy feelings?"
"No, I think not."
"Well, I am. Often a shadow seems thrown across my spirit's heaven, but I cannot tell whence it comes; the substance which casts the shade is invisible. Who are these friends of your father's that are to visit us?"
"O, they are a wealthy family with whom father became acquainted in the circuit of his travels last season."
"Their name?"
"Prague, Dr. Prague, wife and daughter; also two young children, for whom they are seeking a governess here in the east, as good teachers are obtained with difficulty in their section of the country."
"Ah!" said Annie, in a tone of voice so peculiar that Netta turned involuntarily toward her.
"O, Annie, Annie!" she exclaimed, and threw her arms round her friend's neck.
"What has so suddenly alarmed you?" asked Annie, endeavoring to soothe her.
"You won't go off with these strangers and leave us, will you, dear Annie?"
"Why, who is a visionary now, Netta?" she asked, laughing merrily; "what put the thought of my going away into this pretty head, lying here all feverish with excited visions? Pshaw, Netta, you are a whimsie!"
"Then you won't go?" she said, her face brightening. "No thought of becoming the governess this western family are seeking, and going away with them, has entered your brain?"
"Why should there, Netta?"
"But would you say nay should you receive the offer?"
"I can tell better when the moment arrives. But there, Netta, don't cloud that fair brow again. I feel well assured no such moment will come."
"I'm not so sure, Annie."
"Well, well, let us kiss, and retire to be ready to receive the visitors on the morrow."
And with a sisterly embrace they sought their private apartments.
CHAPTER V.
"O, show me a place like the wild-wood home,Where the air is fragrant and free,And the first pure breathings of morning comeIn a gush of melody.When day steals away, with a young bride's blush,To the soft green couch of night,And the moon throws o'er, with a holy hush,Her curtain of gossamer light."
"O, show me a place like the wild-wood home,Where the air is fragrant and free,And the first pure breathings of morning comeIn a gush of melody.When day steals away, with a young bride's blush,To the soft green couch of night,And the moon throws o'er, with a holy hush,Her curtain of gossamer light."
"O, show me a place like the wild-wood home,
Where the air is fragrant and free,
And the first pure breathings of morning come
In a gush of melody.
When day steals away, with a young bride's blush,
To the soft green couch of night,
And the moon throws o'er, with a holy hush,
Her curtain of gossamer light."
Alone Annie Evalyn was walking in the summer twilight over the rough road toward Scraggiewood.
Near two months had elapsed since she last visited her Aunt Patty at the rock-built cottage, and she pictured in her mind, as she walked on, the surprise and good-natured chiding which would mark her old aunt's reception. She gazed upward at the tall forest trees swaying to and fro in the light evening breeze, and far into its dim, mazy depths, where gray rocks lay clad in soft, green moss, and gnarled, uprooted trunks overgrown with clinging vines, and pale, delicate flowers springing beautiful from their decay. She listened to the murmuring of the brook in its rocky bed, and a thousand memories of other years rushed on her soul. The strange, fast-coming fancies that thronged her brain when she in early childhood roamed those dark, solemn woods, or sat at night on the lowly cottage stile, gazing on the wild, grotesque shadows cast by the moonbeams from the huge, forest trees; or how she listened to the solemn hootings of the lonesome owl, the monotonous cuckoo, and sudden whippoorwill; or laughed at the glowworm's light in the dark swamps, and asked her aunty if they were not a group of stars come down to play bo-peep in the meadows.
And then she thought of George Wild, her early playfellow. He was away now, in a distant part of the country, whither he had been sent by his father to learn the carpenter's trade. He had come to bid her good-by with tears in his eyes, not so much at parting fromher, she fancied, as from dread of the active life before him. It would be hard to tell whether Annie felt most pity or contempt for his weakness. He was the only friend of her early childhood, and,assuch, she had still a warm, tender feeling at her heart for him; and, had he possessed a becoming energy and manliness of character, this childish feeling might have deepened into strong, enduring affection as years advanced. But Annie Evalyn could never love George Wild as hewas; and thus she thought as she brushed away a tear that had unconsciously started during her meditations, and found herself at the door of her aunt's cottage. She bounded over the threshold and into the old lady's arms, bestowing a shower of kisses ere poor Aunt Patty could sufficiently collect herself and recover from the surprise to return her darling's lavish caresses.
"Ah, yes, you naughty little witch! here you are at last, pretending to be mighty glad to see your old aunty, though for two long months you've never come near her. But, bless it, how pretty it grows! and how red its cheeks are, and how bright its eyes!" she exclaimed, brushing away the curling locks and gazing into her darling's face.
"But you'll forgive me, aunty, won't you?" said Annie, coaxingly. "Indeed, I meant to have come long before; but if you only knew how much I have had to occupy my time,—so many things to learn, and such hard, hard lessons."
"O, yes! always at your books, studying life away."
"Why, aunty! you just exclaimed how fresh and blooming I was grown, and I've something so nice to tell you. There are some wealthy people from the west visiting at Parson Grey's, and they were in search of a governess for their little children. Would you think it, aunty, their choice has fallen upon me? and I am to accompany them on their return home. They have a daughter about my own age, sweet Kate Prague. She will be a fine companion—I love her so dearly now."
Aunt Patty dropped her arms by her side, and remained silent after Annie had ceased speaking.
"What is the matter, aunty?" asked she, eagerly.
"And so you, young, silly thing, are going to leave your friends and go off with these strangers, that will treat you nobody knows how. Annie! Annie! does Parson Grey approve of this?"
"Yes, aunty; he thinks it will be a fine opportunity for me to see something of the world, and learn the arts and graces of polite society."
"Ah! but these great, rich folks are often unkind and overbearing, and oppress and treat with slight and scorn their dependents."
"O, Mr. Grey knows this family well, and recommends them in the highest terms."
"Well, for all that, I can't bear the thought of losing you. So young and ignorant."
"Ignorant, aunty? Why, Dr. Prague himself says I know twice as much as his daughter Kate."
"Ah! book-learnin' enough; but I will tell you, Annie, a little experience is better than all your books."
"Well, how am I to obtain experience but by mingling in the world, and learning its manners and customs?"
"Ah, dear! I fear you will find this world, you are so anxious to see and know, is a hard, rough place."
"Well, aunty, don't dishearten me at the outset. See what a nice box of honey I've brought you from Aunt Rachel Grey. Some of it will be delightful on your light batter cakes, with a slice of old Crummie's yellow butter. I must go out and bid the dear old creature good-by. How I used to love to drive her to the brook for water!"
"Ah, those were happy days for me, Annie!" said the old woman, sorrowfully. "I shall never see the like again."
"Don't say so, aunty," said Annie, her own heart experiencing a thrill of anguish at the prospect of leaving her old forest-home, and kind, loving protector. "I shall return some day, may be rich and famous, andgood, too, I hope; for Parson Grey says 'tis better to be good than great."
"God grant all your bright visions may be realized, Annie!" said the aunt fervently.
"Now, while you prepare our evening meal, I'll run out and look at some of my old haunts," said Annie, forcing back a tear, and trying to assume a cheerful countenance.
So she wandered forth, while the grief-stricken woman spread the simple board; but she could not relish the clear, dripping honey-comb sent by the kind Aunt Rachel, and long after Annie slept in her little cot-bed, did the old lady kneel over her sleeping form, weeping and praying for her darling child. Annie spent the ensuing day with her aunt at the cottage, and toward evening took a tearful leave, and bade adieu to Scraggiewood.
CHAPTER VI.
"And there was envy in her look,And envy in her tone,As if her spirit might not brook,A rival near the throne."
"And there was envy in her look,And envy in her tone,As if her spirit might not brook,A rival near the throne."
"And there was envy in her look,
And envy in her tone,
As if her spirit might not brook,
A rival near the throne."
"But don't you see, Dr. Prague, it won't do at all to admit her into society on the same footing with our Catherine? For my part I don't see how you could, for a moment, harbor so low an idea."
In a far away period of time, the present honorable Mrs. Dr. Prague had—shall we write it?—cut shoe-strings in her father's shop, and why should not she be a competent judge of the low and common, since experience is regarded as the "best teacher" inalmostall matters beneath the sun?
"I say," she reiterated, finding her remark elicited no response from her worthy husband, "Annie Evalyn is not to be compared to our Catherine."
"I'm aware of that," was the answer in a dry tone.
"And don't you notice how the minx tries to put on the lady?"
"Not at all, madam; why should she strive to assume what is her natural garb?"
"Now really, Hippe, you are getting incorrigible."
"Hippe" was a term of endearment, Mrs. Dr. Prague was accustomed to apply to her husband when she wished to be very killing and condescending, his Christian name being Hippocrates.
To this winning speech, however, the insensate Dr. vouchsafed no reply; so his lovely wife tacked about and said, "Well, Dr., to come to the point, this governess is a dangerous rival for your daughter."
"I know it," responded the good man, cutting up an orange, and passing a silver plate containing several slices to his fair lady; "here, Mrs. Prague, do regale yourself on this luscious fruit. It is the finest I have tasted this season."
"Dr. Prague, when I am discussing matters of importance, I do not wish to be insulted by such frivolities."
"Indeed, madam," said the doctor, withdrawing the plate, and proceeding leisurely to the gratification of his own palate.
There was a silence of some minutes, and then the lady, after fidgeting and arranging the folds of her brocade silk, resumed the conversation by saying, in a huffy tone, "May I inquire what you intend to do about it, sir?"
"Begging your pardon, madam," said the doctor, looking up from his orange, "of what were you speaking?"
The lady frowned frightfully at this fresh instance of his inattention to her discourse.
"I only wished to know if you thought of marrying Frank Sheldon to Annie Evalyn, in preference to your own daughter," she exclaimed, in a biting, sarcastic tone. Thematterbut not themannerof this speech seemed to rouse the doctor's attention.
"Frank Sheldon! Frank Sheldon!" he said quickly; "has he arrived from his travels then?"
"No, but hewillarrive some time."
"O, yes, I trust so! But speaking of Annie,—ourAnnie you know, for I'm proud that we have such a treasure beneath our roof——"
"Dr. Prague! are you mad? A paltry governess a treasure! I consider it a shame and disgrace to our house, that a poor, low, dependent, is allowed an equality in the family, and admitted through our influence to the first classes in society. And I'm not the only one that marks the shocking impropriety. My son-in-law, Lawrence Hardin, is possessed of a discerning eye. He sees Kate loses wherever that girl is admitted."
This speech was accompanied by immoderate vehemence, and energetic gestures, but it failed to produce the slightest effect upon the phlegmatic doctor, who, having finished his orange, settled himself comfortably in his easy-chair, and took a cigar and the morning paper to assist his digestion.
"Thirteen increase from last week. I declare, our city is growing sickly," he said, as his wife closed her oratorical harangue; "but, speaking of Annie again, she has a poetical gem in one of our popular magazines this week, which I find accompanied by a complimentary note from the editor. She writes under anom de plume, but I discovered her. Have you read any of her writings, Mrs. Prague?"
"Herwritings! the bold, impertinent hussy! No, nor do I wish to. But if I'm to be entertained with this sort of conversation, I'll go down to my son-in-law, Esq. Hardin's; and there I'm sure to pass an agreeable day. Nothing low ever tarnishes his discourse."
"Do so, madam," said the imperturbable husband; "undoubtedly they will appreciate the honor of your presence."
And with a disdainful toss the lady flouted out of the room, leaving the good doctor to the undisturbed enjoyment of his cigar and papers.
Annie Evalyn had been nine months an inmate of Dr. Prague's mansion, when the preceding scene was enacted. Some of that experience which Aunt Patty had pronounced "better than book learnin'," had fallen to her share. So far from her beauty and accomplishments winning friends and good-will, they had only seemed to provoke the sneers and invidious remarks of those who envied her superior attractions. She had seen the contemptuous curl of the lip, and heard the epithet, "low-born creature." She had bitterly learned that genius and beauty are not the current coins of society; and she sometimes thought the old adage, "Knowledge is power," would read truer, "Money is power." But though she had dark hours, her young heart's courage had not failed. Still the unalterable purpose was firm, to be active, to be striving for fame, honor and good repute. Latterly she had turned her attention to literary subjects, and produced several pieces that received warm commendation from the press.
Annie had been but a few weeks in her new residence, ere her quick eye discerned that Mrs. Prague looked upon her with envy and jealousy, and she endeavored to conciliate the lady's esteem by gentleness and condescension; but all efforts were vain. She persisted in her coldness and perversity. This was so unpleasant to Annie that she several times signified her readiness to leave when her presence was no longer desired; but the old doctor, who was her most zealous advocate, declared he should go distracted if she left them. Kate cried and the children howled in terror at the prospect of such a calamity. Mrs. Prague looked lofty and said, "Miss Evalyn was a trusty governess, and they might increase her salary if she thought it insufficient."
"Double it, if she says so," said the doctor; "but money can't reward services like hers. How could you pay the sun for illuminating your drawing-rooms, Mrs. Prague?"
And Mrs. Prague darted an angry glance, and said she would go down to her son-in-law's.
CHAPTER VII.
"To love's sweet tones my heart shall never thrill;Nor, as the tardy years their circles roll,Shall they the ardor of its pulses chill."
"To love's sweet tones my heart shall never thrill;Nor, as the tardy years their circles roll,Shall they the ardor of its pulses chill."
"To love's sweet tones my heart shall never thrill;
Nor, as the tardy years their circles roll,
Shall they the ardor of its pulses chill."
Reclining on a silken sofa, in a luxurious apartment, was a lady in the prime of youth and beauty. She was robed in a white, wrought-muslin gown, and her glossy ringlets lay in dark relief on its snowy folds. She was reading at intervals from a small gilt volume, but with a wandering listlessness of manner, as though it were a weary effort to fix her attention upon its contents.
This was the wife of Lawrence Hardin, Esq., one of the most wealthy, influential men in that part of the country. He arrived there from the east a few years before, bringing a large fortune, which he came in possession of by the sudden death of his parents. He embarked largely in speculations, and was very successful; in consequence of which, the mercantile class in their most critical junctures looked up to him as a superior and safeguard. He soon grew to be a man of great power and influence, and in the full tide of prosperity bore away the beautiful Marion Prague, the reigning belle of the city, as his bride. There was a rumor afloat that the match afforded the fair lady but meagre satisfaction, and that her taste and wishes were not much consulted in the matter; but the angry importunities of her proud, self-willed mother at length induced her to marry a man she did not love. But this idle report was hushed after their marriage, and the devotion of the young couple loudly descanted on in fashionable circles throughout the city; for was not Hardin all attention, and how could she avoid loving so fine a fellow? So the world called it a nice match, and passed on. Let us pause for a glance behind the scenes.
A slight tap at the door of that elegant boudoir, and then it swung softly on its gilded hinges, and a gentleman, richly dressed, with shining hat, dark broadcloth over-coat, and a light bamboo stick in his neatly-gloved hand, entered and approached the couch on which the lady reclined. He was rather above the medium height, of commanding figure, with jetty hair and mustaches and deep-set, piercing black eyes. Laying aside hat and gloves, he sat down by the sofa, and commenced playfully poking the long, wavy ringlets that lay on the crimson damask pillow with the gold tip of his tiny walking-cane. She had resumed her book on his first appearance, and continued to peruse its pages. She did not look toward him, or speak, and it was evident, from a slightly-clouded brow, that his presence rather annoyed than pleased her.
This was Lawrence Hardin and lady in the privacy of their own apartment.
"Why don't you speak to me, Marion?" he asked, at length.
No answer, and the brow grew darker. He bent over her, and endeavored to take the book from her hand. She tightened her grasp for a moment to resist his efforts, and then, suddenly relaxing her hold, turned toward the wall.
He gazed on her several moments with a mingled expression of anger and wounded tenderness, and then turned away.
Half an hour later the young wife met her husband in the breakfast-room, and presided with benign and gracious dignity over his well-laid table; inquired "if Esq. Hardin found the chocolate and sardines to his relish;" and he extolled Mrs. Hardin's excellent superintendence of domestic affairs; said business in his office would detain him from her till the dinner hour, and, expressing a hope that she might pass the morning agreeably, bowed himself out of the presence of his lovely wife, who replied to his civilities courteously, and even smiled brightly at his parting nod at the hall door. And the servants in attendance saw and listened; and reported, and enlarged on the "wonderful love" and happiness of their young master and mistress. So thisnice matchwas noised abroad over the whole city, and a hundred families envied the domestic felicity of Esq. Hardin and wife. O, the endless masquerade of life!
Several weeks later the unloved husband entered his young lady's apartment. She stood before the dressing-table, arranging her hair for the evening. She cast a brief glance toward him, and then proceeded quietly with her toilet. The chilling indifference wounded him acutely, and he addressed her rather hastily: "Marion, do you think I shall always have patience?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," she answered, carelessly; "but of what do you complain? Do I not perform the duties of your mansion in a manner to satisfy your fastidious tastes?"
"Don't mock or trifle," he said, bitterly. "I'm not a machine, or an automaton, and I want something more than my servants, my drawing-room and table well attended, to satisfy my heart."
"You knew I did not love you when you married me."
"Yes, but I didnotknow that you hated me."
"Nor did I."
"And what have I done since to incur your detestation?"
"Nothing."
"Well, then, will you treat me with a little less of this freezing coldness and scorn when we are alone together?"
Tears started in those beautiful eyes, and he advanced to embrace her, but she motioned him away. No, they were not there for him. She struggled a few moments, and then, uncovering her face, said calmly:
"Sit down, Lawrence; I will endeavor to comply with your wishes."
He drew a damask fauteuil opposite the one on which she was reclining, and sank among its downy cushions. The rays of the setting sun streamed into the richly-furnished apartment and fell upon the two occupants.
"What news in the city, to-day?" inquired Marion, at length.
"Nothing particularly interesting, I believe," he answered. "I was at your father's to-night; they are making preparations for a large party next week, given in honor of Frank Sheldon's arrival."
Some noise in the street at this moment attracted his attention, and he rose to look forth. When he turned again, he beheld his wife lying on the carpet pale and cold as marble.
CHAPTER VIII.
"Strange scenes will often follow on abrupt surprise."
Annie Evalyn was alone in her apartment. A servant had just left a small package, and she was now occupied with its contents. First was a letter from the good parson, full of fatherly advice and admonition; then one from Netta, a sheet written full, in a neat, delicate hand, describing a visit to Aunt Patty's cottage, and a score of messages enumerated which the old lady had desired transmitted to her "dear hinny," as she still called Annie. "Tell her I don't tell fortunes now, for I know she will like to hear that; because once I remember she said, 'I wouldn't tell fortunes, aunty, for I don't think it is respectable.' So tell her I earn a good living by spinning on my little wheel, and try to be happy thinking she is so. But, sometimes, when the wind howls through the deep woods, I can't help feeling lonesome, and think, if Annie were only here to sing some of her pretty songs, how cheery the old walls would look! And tell her, if she should ever grow tired and heart-sick in the midst of the world's fashions and splendors, the old thatched roof in Scraggiewood will joy to shelter her; and the old heart here will warm and love her into life and happiness again."
Annie felt the tears come as she read, for she had often of late experienced a longing wish for a gentle friend in whom to confide and trust.
Now Netta spoke of their home at the vicarage. "It was lonesome yet," she said, "and the old study had never worn a cheerful aspect since its good genius departed. Father and Aunt Rachel spoke of bright-faced Annie every day; but most of allshemissed the dear, loving companion when she retired to her chamber at night." And then she wrote, "Your old friend George Wild, has returned quite a changed being, I assure you. I think you must have infused some of your energy and action into his nature, for he has become an active business man. He works at his trade in the village, and I see him frequently. We have long, cosey chats about you, Annie." Annie laughed as she read.
"Dear little Netta!" she exclaimed, "I see through it all; it is clear as day. But I'm willing you should use my name, darling, to subserve your timidity. I'll answer this sweet letter this morning. I'm alone, and now is a good time."
She looked about for her writing-materials, and suddenly remembered she had left them in the school-room the evening previous. As she lightly descended the stairs, the bell rang, and the hall door being open, she came in full view of a gentleman standing on the marble steps e'er she was aware, and in another moment he was at her side, exclaiming,
"Astonishing! Is it possible? Can this be Kate Prague?"
Annie blushed as she perceived his mistake, and hastened to rectify it.
"I am not Miss Prague," she said, "but a member of the family at present. I think I have the honor of addressing Mr. Sheldon." He bowed gracefully.
"The ladies are gone out for a short drive this morning. Will you be pleased to wait their return in the drawing-room?"
He accepted the invitation and entered the apartment, offering, as he did so, an apology for his mistake, which she acknowledged with another rising blush.
"I think Dr. Prague received intelligence last evening that you would not arrive till next week," she remarked, as they were seated in the parlor. "Had they expected you sooner, I'm sure they would have been at home to receive you."
"I did send a letter to that effect," he said; "but the improved facilities of travelling have enabled me to reach the city sooner than I anticipated."
A silence ensued. Annie felt ill at ease. She had received many hints of the lofty, aristocratic notions of Frank Sheldon. She knew him to be wealthy, and the prospective lover of Kate Prague; that is, Kate had informed her that "Marion had been first designed for him; but by some means that plan failed, and then mother married her to Hardin, and Sheldon was left for her. She supposed she should marry him some time, though she did not care a fig for him, he was so grave, and always talking on literary subjects which she could not understand and therefore mortally abhorred."
All this passed quickly through Annie's mind, and, rising, she said she "thought the ladies would soon return; perhaps he could amuse himself with the contents of the centre-table a brief while."
"O, yes!" he said politely. "I can ever pass time agreeably with books and paintings." She courtesied and retired to her own apartment. "What a vision of loveliness!" he mentally exclaimed when left alone. "I wonder if Kate Prague is half so beautiful. Who can this lady be?"
A carriage now rattled up to the door, and the ladies came bundling into the apartment. He suddenly recollected he was there unannounced, but what could he do?
"Bless me! Mercy! Why, Mr. Sheldon here, and nobody to receive him! What must he think?" exclaimed Mrs. Prague, in a tone of astonishment.
"I'm most concerned, my good madam," said he, advancing, for what you must think to find me so unceremoniously ensconced in your drawing-room."
"Don't say a word about that," was the answer. "Was not this once your home? I hope you will still regard it in that light. Kate, come forward; here is Mr. Sheldon. I declare, what a delightful surprise!" The old doctor now entered, and burst into a torrent of welcome on beholding Sheldon.
"How did you get here, my boy," he asked, "to steal upon us so slyly, when I received a letter only yesterday saying you would not reach us before next week?"
Sheldon explained briefly. When he mentioned that a young lady had escorted him to the parlor, and invited him to await the family's return, a visible frown lowered over Mrs. Prague's before smiling countenance, and she and Catherine soon excused themselves to prepare for dinner.
CHAPTER IX.
"But, ah! if thou hadst loved me—had I beenAll to thy dreams that to mine own thou art."
"But, ah! if thou hadst loved me—had I beenAll to thy dreams that to mine own thou art."
"But, ah! if thou hadst loved me—had I been
All to thy dreams that to mine own thou art."
On a dim, gray morning in early winter, Lawrence Hardin sat by the couch of his wife, her thin, wasted hand lying unconsciously in his, and her quick, heavy breathings moving the dark locks of his hair, as he bent low over her sleeping form. Three months had passed since that fainting scene, and the young wife had encountered a long, severe stroke of illness. The husband watched incessantly by her bed-side, for he would not suffer her wild, fevered ravings to be heard by other ears than his own.
It was all revealed to him. He knew he had married a woman whose heart was another's, and that she had been compelled to the step by the threats and vehemence of her mother.
O, how the strong man writhed in his agony! To know Marion did not love him, was enough to endure; but to know she loved another, ah! that was madness. His passions were roused to fury, yet not onhershould they wreak their vengeance. No; on the man that had stolen her love from him, or rather the man on whom she had bestowed her love, Frank Sheldon. On his devoted head should the vengeance fall.
Thus he resolved, but kept his fell design buried in his own breast, and, by an engaging exterior, sought to lure his victim into his toils.
Sheldon was a brave, generous fellow. Left early an orphan, he had been reared in the family of Dr. Prague, who was instituted guardian of the large fortune left by his parents. He was endowed by nature with fine intellectual abilities, and an exquisite taste for the grand and beautiful in nature and art, and, during three years' travel in foreign parts, had so improved upon these natural advantages, as to stand acknowledged one of the most elegant and accomplished young men of his country. But it often happens that such high-wrought natures are but poorly versed in the plodding concerns of this nether world. And thus it was with him. Alive to every lofty feeling and generous impulse, he fancied others like himself. Low cunning and artifice were unknown to his bosom, and consequently he would fall the easier victim to Hardin's scheme of revenge.
And now there came another fact to this base man's knowledge. Sheldon had not only robbed him of Marion's affections, but had won and slighted Kate Prague, to fall in love with Annie Evalyn. Worse still, the passion was mutual. Thathesaw and knew long before the parties themselves had acknowledged the growing love in the still depths of their own beating hearts, much more given voice to the feeling in words.
Love is so blind, and shy, and unbelieving, the poets tell us. Had Sheldon's love met no response, then Hardin's revenge had been in part gratified; but now it was only whetted to a keener edge, for he saw, or fancied he saw, not only his rival's happiness, but the sister of the woman he loved pining from an unrequited affection.
As he revolved these dark thoughts in his vile breast, the hand he held moved suddenly, and the sleeper murmured in her dreams. He bent his ear eagerly to catch the sound, but it was gone. He smoothed the damp, dark locks away from the pale brow, and gazed on her thin, attenuated features—yet more beautiful, they seemed to him, than in the ruddy glow of health. O that she would open her eyes and gaze up tenderly into his! And when she was able to sit in a soft-cushioned chair, robed in a snowy dressing-gown, and propped with pillows, receiving his attentions with such a pretty shyness and distrust; or a few weeks later, when, still more recovered, leaning so coyly on his arm to wander over her splendid mansion again, and looking so timidly in his face, as if, now her secret was known, she had no right to claim or expect tenderness from him;—all this reserve made her so much dearer, and he thought, if she would but give him one little look of love, he would even forget his meditated revenge on Sheldon.
But, ah! he looked in vain for lurking love in those cold, beautiful eyes. There was submission,—there was gratitude; but what were those?
Again the fashionable world said, "Esq. Hardin and lady are more devoted than ever;" and they congratulated Mrs. Dr. Prague on thenice matchshe had secured for her daughter Marion. And the haughty, vain mother exulted, for she was a superficial observer of human nature, and could not, orwouldnot, see the wasting woe that was preying on her daughter's health and beauty.
It was a gay season at the doctor's mansion. Sheldon's arrival was the signal for a round of entertainments among the élite of the city; for, be it known, there were others than good Mrs. Prague anxious to secure so eligible a match for their daughters, as the handsome, rich and gifted Frank Sheldon. A manœuvring mother! reader, hast ever seen one? And if so, dost know of another so contemptible thing in the whole broad realm of the low, sordid and despicable?
The good old doctor, with his usual obstinacy, insisted that Annie Evalyn should make one of all the parties of amusement; and, in truth, Sheldon was quite as anxious to secure her society as was the doctor to "set her forward," as Mrs. Prague expressed it. That lady was exceedingly vexed and mortified at the turn matters were taking; but Kate, partaking largely of her father's easy nature, seemed as merry and well-pleased as though Sheldon had fallen in love with her, instead of Annie Evalyn; for it began to be whispered in the upper circles that "Dr. Prague's pretty governess had captivated the fascinating Sheldon." Many ugly grimaces distorted the proper faces of marriageable daughters; and captious, ill-natured remarks were indulged in by disappointed maidens, who had beggared their fathers' pockets to purchase silks and satins, jewels and diamonds, to carry by storm the heart of the elegant, accomplished Frank Sheldon.
Alas for human hopes and expectations! And what a perverse, capricious, wilful little fellow is this god of love, whom we all worship and make offerings to in one form or another! Why, he never goes where he should; that is, you may hang him a dome, with golden draperies, stud the walls with pearls and rubies, put a divinity there, beautiful as the fabled houris, and robed in eastern magnificence, with discretion's self to open the portal and invite his entrance; still, he goes not in. A humming-bird around a rose has caught his vagrant eye, and he is off to follow its roamings from flower to flower. Was ever such an improvident, self-willed creature as this boy, Cupid?
CHAPTER X.
"It is an era strange, yet sweet,Which every woman's heart hath known,When first her bosom learns to beatTo the soft music of a tone;That era, when she first beginsTo know what love alone can teach,That there are hidden depths withinWhich friendship never yet could reach."
"It is an era strange, yet sweet,Which every woman's heart hath known,When first her bosom learns to beatTo the soft music of a tone;That era, when she first beginsTo know what love alone can teach,That there are hidden depths withinWhich friendship never yet could reach."
"It is an era strange, yet sweet,
Which every woman's heart hath known,
When first her bosom learns to beat
To the soft music of a tone;
That era, when she first begins
To know what love alone can teach,
That there are hidden depths within
Which friendship never yet could reach."
Annie Evalyn was alone in her room, a second time, sitting down to answer her friend Netta's letter. It was the first leisure she had known in several weeks, and she would hardly have commanded it now, but that Sheldon was gone to conclude an extensive land contract, into which he was entering with Lawrence Hardin; allured by flattering representations of the immense emolument sure to result from these speculations, when emigration should raise to an untold value the worth of those extensive tracts, then lying wild and uncultivated through those western countries.
Dr. Prague had also advised him to the course, regarding it as the easiest method of keeping good the fortune of Sheldon, whose choice of literature as a profession tended rather to diminish than increase his coffers. And so he embarked his all with Hardin; and all thought him sure to succeed in the enterprise, with so far-seeing and judicious a partner to counsel and direct.
We return to Annie. She had opened her portfolio, and placed before her a pure, virgin page. Twirling the enamelled top from her inkstand, and fastening a gold pen to a pearl-wrought handle, she commenced her task.
"I scarcely know what to say, dear Netta; there are so many thoughts crowded on my brain for utterance, that I can scarcely decide what it is best to say, and what leave unsaid. One thing I feel sure of, that whatever is imparted in confidence, will remain safe in your trusty bosom; and O, how blessed am I, in the possession of such a friend! Would you were here beside me this evening, your arm clasped tenderly about my neck, your dear, earnest eyes looking in mine. But, alas! we are far asunder. Your sweet letter brought many vivid pictures before my mind of the happy hours passed in that study room, and, still further back, that childhood in the rocky cottage of Scraggiewood. Tell aunty, I still love to call her as in my childish days, and hope the time is not very far distant when I may run into her arms for a hearty kissing."But, Netta, I know you are all eagerness to hear what I'm doing here; how I speed on my aspiring way, and what is my progress toward the temple of fame it was e'er my proudest wish to enter."Alas, Netta! I'm ashamed to say the indefatigable Annie Evalyn has relapsed her energies, has faltered in her pursuit of glory, and surrendered herself to the enjoyment of the passing hour. And yet I was never so happy as now; no, never in my life. To love and to be loved; dear sis, do you know what it is? If not, no words of mine can tell you. Frank Sheldon has never told me his heart was mine, but it is a poor love that needs words to express it, I fancy. He is rich, handsome and honored; yet it is not for these I love him, but because his tastes and feelings are in unison with mine."But, Netta, I have to endure some ill will, and cold looks, which detract from my happiness. A share of that experience aunty declared 'better than books,' has been taught my hopeful nature, and often do I think of your kind father's tender admonitions."Adieu, dearest; I've told my tale in brief. I need not say, guard it well."You have seen some of my simple productions in the magazines, and are pleased to think well of them, for which I thank you kindly. I'm writing none at present. With love to all, I am,"Truly,"Annie."
"I scarcely know what to say, dear Netta; there are so many thoughts crowded on my brain for utterance, that I can scarcely decide what it is best to say, and what leave unsaid. One thing I feel sure of, that whatever is imparted in confidence, will remain safe in your trusty bosom; and O, how blessed am I, in the possession of such a friend! Would you were here beside me this evening, your arm clasped tenderly about my neck, your dear, earnest eyes looking in mine. But, alas! we are far asunder. Your sweet letter brought many vivid pictures before my mind of the happy hours passed in that study room, and, still further back, that childhood in the rocky cottage of Scraggiewood. Tell aunty, I still love to call her as in my childish days, and hope the time is not very far distant when I may run into her arms for a hearty kissing.
"But, Netta, I know you are all eagerness to hear what I'm doing here; how I speed on my aspiring way, and what is my progress toward the temple of fame it was e'er my proudest wish to enter.
"Alas, Netta! I'm ashamed to say the indefatigable Annie Evalyn has relapsed her energies, has faltered in her pursuit of glory, and surrendered herself to the enjoyment of the passing hour. And yet I was never so happy as now; no, never in my life. To love and to be loved; dear sis, do you know what it is? If not, no words of mine can tell you. Frank Sheldon has never told me his heart was mine, but it is a poor love that needs words to express it, I fancy. He is rich, handsome and honored; yet it is not for these I love him, but because his tastes and feelings are in unison with mine.
"But, Netta, I have to endure some ill will, and cold looks, which detract from my happiness. A share of that experience aunty declared 'better than books,' has been taught my hopeful nature, and often do I think of your kind father's tender admonitions.
"Adieu, dearest; I've told my tale in brief. I need not say, guard it well.
"You have seen some of my simple productions in the magazines, and are pleased to think well of them, for which I thank you kindly. I'm writing none at present. With love to all, I am,
"Truly,
"Annie."
The letter was folded and directed as she heard a voice in the hall calling her name. It was Sheldon's; and a bright smile irradiated her features, as, throwing aside the writing materials, she prepared to go down. He met her on the stairs.
"I couldn't find you anywhere," he said, "and the parlors were dark and cold as midnight. Where have you been and how occupied all the while I've been away winding up that tiresome contract with Hardin?"
"In my room, writing a letter to a friend," she answered, with a pleasant smile, as he was leading her through the several parlors, to fix on one exactly suited to his taste.
"Writing?" said he, reproachfully; "O, Annie!"
"Why, what of that?" she asked.
"O, nothing, I suppose; but I can't endure to think you can sit down, cold and calm, when I'm away, and indite your thoughts on paper. I can neither read, write, nor think, without you, Annie."
She blushed at these words.
"Come," he continued, drawing her close to his side; "I need not tell you I love you, Annie, for that you know already; but you can render me very happy, by speaking one little word in answer to a question I want to ask."
Still blushing and turning away her eyes, and he gazing so eloquently upon her downcast features.
"Will you speak it, Annie?"
"Let me hear the question," she said.
He inclined his head and whispered in her ear. She placed her hand in his, and he looked most happily answered as he wound his arm round her waist and pressed the little hand close to his heart.
There was a band of wandering musicians playing in the street, and he led her to the casement. She leaned lightly against his shoulder, and thus they stood there listening to the music. It was rough enough, and could hardly have pleased at any other time; but it sounded like the symphonies of angels to them now. O, what divine strains! But the melody was all in their own hearts. The screeching wheels of a dirt cart would have failed to strike a dissonance upon their ears; for all nature rolled on in linked harmony to them; they fancied they were very near heaven, and so they were; they thought they could not be much happier if they were really there, and it is doubtful if they could.
Thus wrapped in their new-found happiness, let us leave with prophetic good-night.
CHAPTER XI.