"Then I cannot bear to hear of them; for anything in this world I despise is a dude," exclaimed Josie with an expression of disgust upon her face that was in accord with her speech.
"Anything in moderation is tolerable," returned Helen, "I cannot say that I admire the extremely fashionable young man but I must say that I cannot appreciate the young man of antediluvian aspect."
The latter then settled down to a lengthy detail of her visit in particular, the different characters she met and the pleasant hours enjoyed in their company.
"How different your visit has been to some who have gone there. Why, I have heard the girls say all you could do was go up and down Queen street for a few times, hear remarks passed upon you by the loungers at the hotel doors, and then stow yourself away to be scorched to powder in summer or be converted into a tolerable sized iceberg if it happened to be winter."
"Like all other places, Josie, one's impressions are always formed according to circumstances and I must say I never will forget the happy hours in Fredericton."
"But you never told us of the 'head of the family,' Helen?"
"That thought was uppermost when you spoke, Josie. I never can fully express my gratitude to the esteemed couple who so kindly invited me to their house.
"Marian's father is fat, fair, and slightly over forty, with the most happy and frank countenance that you ever met. He has a good story always on hand, can entertain clergy or laity, and never wearies in contributing his store of amusing anecdotes, which oftentimes are at the expense of his nearest relatives."
"How I should like to listen to them; it does me so much good to laugh," cried Josie, her eyes beaming with fond satisfaction. "Kingsnook" (for such we will name this happy professional's abode) is of all others the place for a good hearty laugh. No simpering, silly affectation is allowed much reception within the neat and tastefully arranged parlors, or tempted to display itself on the shady verandah, cool, leafy shrubberies, or spacious garden.
"Did you see much military life there, Helen?" asked Marguerite, who had been for some moments apparently engaged in deep study.
"That is the beauty of it, my dear. The study, the drawing-room, and in fact, every inch of 'Kingsnook' reminded one of the true spirit of patriotism which ruled its master, who could look with pride back to the sturdy and high-spirited ancestors who wore the uniform of the British army. I am not the daughter nor grand-daughter of a British officer, but I could look with pride upon the arms and accoutrements adorning the study walls, and feel a wave of emotion break over me and fire my soul with a pride that can only be experienced by one of Britannia's children."
"Hear, hear," cried Josie Jordan, springing to her feet, and seizing the speaker by the hand. "Helen, I am with you heart and soul. Remember, we New Brunswickers are true loyalists. I am proud to belong to that good old stock which gives our Province so much of its prestige."
The bright romping girl had now changed into a whole-souled woman.There was a dignity in her bearing worthy the mother of the Gracchi.
But an unlooked-for event put an unceremonious end to the conversation and Helen Rushton took leave promising to tell them much of the friends she made during her late visit.
The unlooked-for event was the arrival of Cousin Jennie Montgomery.
"I thought it best to surprise you, Madge!" cried the bright sunny-faced maiden as she was folded in the arms of the outwitted Marguerite.
"I suppose it is best to forgive you," cried the latter and putting an arm around Cousin Jennie led her into the family parlor to receive greetings from the rest of the family.
It is needless to say that Cousin Jennie was a welcome visitor at "Sunnybank." Her bright presence shone everywhere from the drawing-room to that particular spot dedicated to the sports of the romping, noisy boys.
"We will have the jolly times," was the password of the latter;"Cousin Jennie is the girl to help us fellers along."
And there was the usual stir and bustle necessary for the equipment of Evelyn Verne's trousseau. The beauty had scarce time to think of anything but the different styles of dresses, pretty bonnets, delicate laces, and the most costly trifles, from the gorgeous fan to the delicate tiny slippers.
"Dearest Eve, I should think you would be tired looking over such a lot of things," exclaimed Cousin Jennie in her cheery tone, "really my eyes would get sore in less than no time."
"What a speech, Cousin Jennie. Indeed, you are not so unsophisticated as you confess to be," said the dark-eyed fiancee, with a tinge of sarcasm accompanying the words.
"Well, fair cousin, much as I may lose caste by my confession, I cannot help it,—you know the country folks never see grand weddings, and I may say truthfully that I never expect to see so much finery again."
"Then you ought to make good use of your eyes now," was the rather ungracious reply.
As Evelyn stood amid the heap of boxes, arranging and rearranging the delicate fabrics to her heart's content, she was not an object of envy. She was flattering, herself that she was moving a grand marriage and she never let her thoughts wander beyond that well-defined boundary line. Hers was a nature seemingly devoid of feeling and incapable of fine thought, and when she artfully feigned such in the presence of her lover, it was only from a desire to make him more completely her slave.
Jennie Montgomery was not many days at "Sunnybank" ere she saw a glimpse of the world from a fashionable society standpoint.
"Oh, Madge, how can Eve marry that man? You surely do not like him either?"
Jennie Montgomery had favorable opportunity of passing judgment upon Montague Arnold the previous evening, and now she had directed her appeal to her favorite cousin.
"I will be candid, Jennie. You know I never could admire, much less respect, an unprincipled man—I mean a man who lives for his own sordid pleasure—and my sister will have cause to repent the rash step. Poor Evelyn; she has faults, but really she has many good traits of character if her pride would not stand in the way."
Sweet, confiding Marguerite. She fain would shield her sister from censure, and hoped for her a brighter future than she durst picture.
While at "Sunnybank" Jennie Montgomery saw much to like and dislike. She met many kind-hearted women whose mission on earth was to do good. With the keen, discriminating acuteness peculiar to this maiden, she could sift the wheat from the chaff—she inherited this gift from her far-sighted mother, and was happy in such possession.
But there was one who claimed due attention from Cousin Jennie.
Phillip Lawson of late had made several calls at the Verne mansion and had received a more than hearty welcome from Mr. Verne.
The latter held young Lawson in high respect and took no pains to conceal the fact—which was not lost upon the deliberating Mrs. Verne; but she was cautious, knowing well that moderation was the surest way to overcome opposition.
Within a short time the young barrister and Cousin Jennie became the best of friends. They chatted together without interruption and to the evident delight of Mrs. Verne seemed happy in each other's company.
Jennie was of a quick, decided turn of mind and had a dash of sentiment in her nature that might have been considered dangerous on this occasion; but her whole-souled sense of honor would have saved her from taking a step from the path of right.
"It is the best thing that ever happened, mamma," exclaimed Evelyn Verne as she stood arrayed in an elegant velvet reception dress which she was admiring before the large plate-mirror in her dressing-room.
"I will forgive Jennie of all her rudeness and country ways if she will only rid us of this importunate suitor," said Mrs. Verne, giving the lengthy train a few more touches to add to its effect.
"He seems very much in love with her at present," replied Evelyn,"and indeed they are just suited for each other. It is to be hopedMr. Lawson will find one more congenial to his rustic manner thanMadge."
"Of course, my dear, you don't think Jennie very rustic in her ideas, but she has a certain odd way about her that is not the highest mark of good breeding."
"Common sense, as her wise-headed mother terms it," remarked Evelyn, with a scornful curl upon the otherwise pretty lips.
On the following evening Mr. Verne entered the small back parlor adjoining the library. Mrs. Verne was seated at a daintily-carved ebony work-table. A piece of silk lay upon her knee and many shades of crewel were spread out before her.
"Busy, my dear?" queried the husband, greeting his wife in a pleasant, quiet way.
"Really, Stephen [Note: hand-written, 'Richard' inked out], have you found time to venture in here? Surely there must have been a mistake somewhere," returned Mrs. Verne, in an affected and patronizing manner, that from a quick-tempered man would have forced a hasty and perhaps disagreeable speech.
But Mr. Verne sat down and commenced asking such stray questions as came into his mind.
"Where have the girls gone to-night, Matilda?"
"Jennie and Marguerite, you mean?" queried Mrs. Verne, dexterously weaving the bright silks into a pretty many-hued flower.
"It is the night of the concert, and they have accepted Mr. Lawson as escort." A slight frown accompanies the speech.
"Indeed," said Mr. Verne, with a knowing look upon his face, then turning abruptly towards his wife, added, "It seems to me that Jennie has made an impression upon Mr. Lawson."
"I hope so," was the only reply.
Mr. Verne was bent upon forcing from his wife the true state of her feelings towards his young favorite.
"Jennie will be a lucky girl if she can win such a prize," said he, with considerable warmth of expression.
"He is, indeed, a very suitable husband for Jennie," replied Mrs.Verne in icy chilling tones.
"He is a fit husband for any young lady in St. John, my dear. If he were to look with favor upon Marguerite I should say she, sweet child that she is, would be honored by the proposal of marriage from such a man."
This was too much for Mrs. Verne. It aroused her temper and gave opportunity for many harsh, bitter sayings. Then she found relief in sarcasm.
"I am pleased to know that Mr. Lawson occupies such a proud place in your esteem. No doubt you have been making a few encouraging suggestions to this second Gladstone." Then changing her tones to a higher key exclaimed, "Remember, I will not oppose you in this step, but If will never sanction my child's encouragement of that upsetting, half-starved lawyer."
"Please bear in mind, Matilda, that Mr. Lawson has never once spoken to me upon the subject and it is very foolish to suppose that he wishes to pay any attention to Marguerite otherwise than any young gentleman might."
"You need not think to hoodwink me, I can see for myself, and it seems too bad that when a mother expects her children to become well settled in life that she is sure to be disappointed."
Mrs. Verne within a few moments entirely changed her course of action. She was almost moved to tears and her manner seemed to say, "Well, I suppose it is all for the best, come what will I am prepared for it." But might we not quote the words of the Psalmist, "The words of his mouth were sweeter than butter but war was in his heart."
A clever thought had entered Mrs. Verne's mind. She is already armed for the occasion hoping that she will come off victor.
"Well, my dear, we will not quarrel over this matter. It seems so foolish, knowing it is only conceit on our part, for I believe that Mr. Lawson is very much interested in Jennie Montgomery."
"Jennie has grown to be a fine girl," remarked Mr. Verne, in a matter-of-fact way.
But the fact did not change his opinion as regards the preference for Marguerite.
"It would perhaps be better that such would be the case," exclaimed the parent, as he was once more closeted in his private apartments looking ever the list of bills and documents awaiting his signature.
In the meantime Mrs. Verne had found her way into the drawing-room, where she was soon after joined by Evelyn and her distinguished betrothed. What a smile greeted the seemingly happy pair! In languid, drawling tones the beauty was relating her adventures of the previous afternoon—the calls made, and the making of a new acquaintance.
"A gentleman from England, did you say, my dear? How delightful! I shall be most happy to meet him."
"And so you shall, dear mamma, for he intends calling upon us very soon."
Mr. Arnold seemed not to notice the radiant smile which illuminated the countenance of his betrothed. Yet it gave him annoyance.
He bit his upper lip and bent closer over the new song that lay open before the piano. "She will sing a different tune before long," was his comment.
In truth Montague Arnold possessed not that feeling which can only be cherished by true, unselfish love. He openly admired Evelyn Verne for her beauty. His sole desire was to make her his, and bend her to his will. His nature was too superficial to harbor jealousy, but his stubborn vanity answered the purpose.
Ah, my peerless Evelyn! you may blush and smile at the well-timed compliments of your admirers now, but your reign seems nearly at an end!
"What a grand opportunity to give a party," exclaimed Mrs. Verne, glancing at her daughter for approval.
"It would be just the thing, mamma," said Evelyn, in her nonchalant and dreamy sort of air.
"You are already settled my dear and now I must try to do my duty towards Marguerite. Really, dearest, you have no idea of the anxiety I have about that girl. She is so much like her father that I am at a loss how to act. You know that she secretly adores that good-for-nothing lawyer and if it were only on her part I would not care, but I am certain that he is head and ears in love with her. Dear me! What a world of trouble we poor mothers have to endure. Why do not our children see as we do?"
Poor Mrs. Verne! She seemed in much distress and assumed a woebegone appearance.
Dear mamma—I think you ought to feel less uneasiness just now for I verily believe that Cousin Jennie has designs upon our unfortunate visitor."
"God grant that she may be successful," was the reply.
"You must encourage it in every way, dear mamma," said Evelyn, with more earnestness than usual.
"Yes; I was just thinking of a plan which doubtless by clever management, will succeed."
"Let me hear it, mamma," said Evelyn, raising her jewelled fingers, cautiously.
Mrs. Verne glanced in the direction of the smoking-room, (whither her future son-in-law had retired to enjoy the delightful weed,) and finding that there was no fear of interruption for the next ten minutes, cleverly sketched out her plan of action.
We will not give the outline of this cleverly devised speech, but merely say that from this time Cousin Jennie was honored to her heart's content, and was induced to remain much longer than she intended.
Mr. Lawson was a frequent visitor, and to the great delight of Mrs.Verne signified his intention of accepting the invitation of Mrs.Montgomery to spend part of his summer vacation at "Gladswood."
"That will certainly put an end to all your fears, mamma," said Evelyn, standing before the bronze mantel shelf admiring a pretty and rare vase which had arrived from England as a wedding present from an old school mate. And so matters went quietly along.
Mr. Verne kept his counsel and worked away amidst his folios, And when his pet daughter shed a ray of sunshine over the matter-of-fact apartment, he felt a tinge of sadness and fondly hoped that no darkening clouds should burst over this idolized treasure.
"What a pity that such a being should ever know the meaning of the word sorrow. In one way, my darling, I can save you, in another I cannot."
Mr. Verne was almost convinced that Cousin Jennie had supplantedMarguerite, and he well knew the proud nature of the latter.
"Perhaps it is all for the best. My pearl could never outweigh all difficulties like the self-reliant Jennie." Such murmurs escaped the lips of the fond parent as he glanced up and down the long row of figures balancing his accounts with a rapidity only acquired by long experience and constant practice. But what of Marguerite?
The girl was not unhappy. She lived on cheered by her happy, dreamy nature, and as it was far above that allotted to ordinary mortals, it sustained her and kept her mind above all sordid thoughts.
"Time has laid his handUpon my heart, gently, not smiting it,But as a harper lays his open palmUpon his harp to deaden its vibrations."
. . . "To the nuptial bowerI led her blushing like the moon, all heaven,And happy constellations on that hourShed their selectest influence, the earthGave sign of gratulation, and each hill,Joyous the birds;" —Milton
Such is the glowing description of the appearance of nature on the morn when, in the presence of God and the host of white-robed angels, was celebrated the nuptials of our common ancestors— nuptials whence sprang the ills of our humanity.
Could the fair and beautiful Eve have foreseen the future that to her seemed so promising, would she not have given up to despair and remained aloof from sound of tempting voice?
But God's decree willed it otherwise, and the fair Eve, whose beauty and submissive charms had power to influence her lord and master, became the mother of mankind.
It would be unjust, uncharitable, to intrude upon the feelings of the pair to participate in the present festive ceremony at "Sunnybank."
Evelyn Verne emerges from her boudoir "a thing of beauty." Was ever bride more enchanting, radiant or beautiful? Were ever bridal robes more graceful? Perfect beauty, queenly beauty, dazzling beauty. It is needless to expatiate upon the shimmering train, mist-like veil or conventional orange blossoms. Reader, we will allow your imagination full scope. Let it rest upon the radiant bride until the eye becomes familiar with the minutest arrangement of the elegant costume.
And then the bridesmaids! Five lovely maidens—St. John's fairest daughters. Five bewitching forms with grace in all their movements, claim our attention; and on all sides—"How pretty!" "How sweet!" "How beautiful!"
Two sisters are exquisitely dressed in India muslin and antique lace—one in pale-blue and the other in pink.
Marguerite Verne is radiant in pearl-colored satin and ruchings of delicate pink azaleas.
Two younger girls are becomingly attired in cream lace and soft filmy crepe of the same shade.
Each maiden carries a bewitching basket of flowers, and imparts to the senses the most delightful effect. Indeed, it is seldom that historic Trinity ever witnessed a grander pageant within its sacred walls.
As the handsome and distinguished-looking bridegroom stood before the altar awaiting the entrance of his bride, it were almost sacrilege to utter a word deprecatory or otherwise.
Hubert Tracy supports his friend with an air of interest. He seems more impatient than the other, and has a look of ill-concealed uneasiness upon his slightly furrowed brow. He hears not the remarks of pretty maidens or dignified matrons, else the slight frown would have given place to a smile.
"Mr. Tracy is as handsome as the groom, mamma."
"Handsomer, my dear."
There was still a chance to ensnare the uncaged bird, and this fact was alone in the mind of the anxious mamma. But the entrance of the bridal party put an end to all talk concerning the sterner sex.
"Isn't she lovely?" "What a magnificent dress?" "She is so composed." "Really, Marguerite is as pretty as the bride." "Oh, indeed; fine feathers make fine birds." "If our girls could have all the money they want and nothing to do I bet you they would look better than any one of them." "Well, well. The world is ill divided." "Isn't Miss —— gorgeous in that lovely lace." "If we had some of the money that has been spent upon them dresses we wouldn't have to work any this summer."
Such was a brief outline of the speeches made upon this important event, but they were lost upon the wedding party.
The guests comprised the wealth and beauty of St. John and as each guest was ushered in one could not fail to exclaim: "St. John has wealth, beauty and refinement."
The scene was an imposing one. While the choir sang,
"The voice that breathed o'er Eden,"
a young man entered and took his place among the guests. He had been detained but arrived in time to tender his congratulations to one more important to him than the radiant bride.
Why does Hubert Tracy instinctively cast a glance towards the new comer, and feel a slight shudder through his frame?
It matters not at present. Let him enjoy the benefit of his thoughts while we turn to our old friend.
"Mr. Lawson is growing better looking every day," is our verdict, as with genial warmth we grasp him by the hand.
An intelligent face can never remain long in obscurity, and when a generous soul and kind, true heart are also accompanying graces there is a beauty that is unfading. But it is only the higher side of humanity which can discover this beauty. And perhaps on this festive morn many of the worldly minded would fail to recognize this superior style of beauty.
But proudly Phillip Lawson stands with the consciousness of having tried to act well his part and live in obedience to the dictates of his God.
It was only when the guests had assembled in the spacious drawing- room at "Sunnybank" that our friend found opportunity to have a short conversation with Marguerite, who with sunlit face took no pains to conceal her delight. She chatted with Phillip Lawson with a familiarity that led the calculating mother to think that she had no further troubles from that source.
And Cousin Jennie's presence heightened the effect of this illusion.
Clad in draperies of soft nun's veiling Jennie Montgomery was, if not pretty, quite interesting, and her bright, fresh face was refreshing as the air of her native vales.
As in truth every wedding boasts of the time-honored conventionalities, toasts and speeches, that of "Sunnybank" formed no exception, and we will not weary you with the endless list of compliments and amount-to-nothing-in-the-end talk which is current at such times.
It was only when the hour for departure had arrived that a sense of loneliness crept over Marguerite.
The elegant presents had been inspected, luncheon served, and the bride, attired in a superb travelling costume, stood in the doorway awaiting the carriage.
Montague Arnold wears all the necessary smiles that are expected of him, and as he takes his place beside his bride a new responsibility dawns upon him.
A large number of the party accompany the newly-wedded pair to theFairville Station, and Marguerite is assigned to Mr. Lawson andCousin Jennie.
The latter is cheerful and witty and strives, under cover of her remarks, to divert her cousin from the sadness that is common to such occasions.
Phillip Lawson sees with gratitude the girl's kindness and thanks her in a way that is tenfold more valued than the counterfeit everyday thanks passed around in common life. If the young barrister could have seen the true state of Cousin Jennie's feelings towards him he would have fallen on his knees and thanked God for such a friend.
But Phillip Lawson was not a mind reader. He could not divine the thoughts that were passing through Jennie Montgomery's ready and active brain. But one thing he did know, that in this warm-hearted girl he had a true friend.
When Marguerite returned to her home a vague, undefined feeling took possession of her, and gladly would she have given herself up to this feeling, and indulged in a good, old-fashioned, time-honored cry.
She felt a sudden pang of remorse. She thought of the lost opportunities when she might have had a stronger hold upon the sympathies of her elder sister.
"Poor Eve," murmured the girl, "she was less to blame than I. We have never had each other's confidence. I hope she will try to love Montague as a woman should love her husband. How I should like to ask mamma what she thinks; but what is the use. She will say it is one of the best matches of the season, and no doubt she will end by advising me as to her anxiety—on my behalf. Oh, dear! why cannot we live in a state of blissful oblivion?"
The miniature bronzed clock on the mantel-shelf caused Marguerite to look up.
"Four o'clock—dear me; I wish this afternoon was over. The house seems as if a funeral had left it. Poor Evelyn."
"You naughty Madge, where are you?"
The speaker was Jennie Montgomery. She had been busy over the arrangement of a number of bouquets for the dinner-table, and assisting Mrs. Verne in many ways, and now made a hasty transit towards Madge's favorite retreat—a pretty boudoir adjoining her mamma's dressing-room.
"Just as auntie said, you old offender. A pretty time for day-dreams when everybody is head over ears in business."
"I have not been here an hour, Jennie," said Madge, in an apologetic manner, putting her arms caressingly around her cousin's waist.
The latter, though apparently preoccupied, could not fail to admire this quaint and pretty nook—just such a spot as one could sit in and dream their life away; a sort of lotus bed, where one inhaled the beguiling odors, and cast all worldly cares to the shores left behind.
And little wonder cousin Jennie gazed in admiration.
The walls were of the most delicate rose color, tinged with gold; the carpet, a ground of white velvet pile bestrewed with delicate roses; the furniture of delicate pink satin, with setting of quaintly carved ebony.
But the "seat of state," as Jennie termed it, was the crowning feature in this pretty retreat.
This seat of state was a raised dais, curtained with costly lace and surmounted by a canopy of pretty workmanship. In this alcove was an antique chair or fauteuil, and beside it a small cabinet, inlaid with mother of pearl, while opposite stood an ebony writing desk, strewed with fragments of exquisitely perfumed note paper.
It was evident that Marguerite had been penning down some stray thoughts, for the pen stood in the inkstand, and traces of ink were to be seen on her fingers.
This seat of state was just such a place as our sweet-faced Marguerite looked to advantage, not as a queen upon her throne, but as a type of thespirituelles—of the pure-minded maiden with a slight shade of melancholy, giving interest to the soft, fair face.
"You remind me of a madonna, my saint-like cousin," said Jennie, placing her bright red cheek against the purely transparent and more delicate one of her companion.
"What a contrast, Madge. Just look at your country cousin—a blooming peony, and you, my most delicate blush rose. Ha! ha! ha!"
Cousin Jennie's laugh was one of the genuine ring—untrammelled by affectation or repressed by pain or languor. She gave vent to her feelings and exercised such influence upon Cousin Madge who now joined in with a clear silvery peal of laughter, sweeter than the most bewitching music. Nor was this "sweetness lost upon a desert air."
Mr. Verne had been engaged in his apartments for some minutes. He had entered unobserved in company with a friend and a few minutes later a gentleman bearing some legal looking documents entered and without ceremony was ushered in. It was while the latter was taking leave that the well-known tones of Marguerite Verne's voice rang out its silvery sweetness and caused the listener to start. But it matters not who the latter was—suffice, a man
"of soul sincere,In action faithful, and in honour clear;Who broke no promise, served no private end,Who gained no title, and who lost no friend."
"Come with me Madge and see what I have done. Indeed, I am not going to put my light under a bushel. Everyone must see my good works," exclaimed Jennie, drawing her arm through that of her cousin and leading her out to the supper room where a sight worth seeing presented itself.
The tables were arranged with an eye to the beautiful. Everything that art and taste could suggest was there.
Epergnes costly and rare almost overpowered the senses with the exhalations of their gorgeous exotics. It was a difficult matter to determine from what source came the most assistance, the caterer or the decorater, but all harmonized and all made up one perfect adaptation.
"Jennie I am ashamed of myself," cried Marguerite, standing before an exquisite combination of roses, heliotrope, lilies and smilax which occupied a central place on the supper-table, "you can do anything. How I envy you."
"Beware my little coz, I have read a little line somewhere throughout the course of my extensive reading—
'Praise undeserved is scandal in disguise.'
Now be governed accordingly and escape the fearful condemnation."
Marguerite smiled at the bright cheery girl and wondered if it were possible that such a life might ever feel the weight of care. She was thinking might it be possible that the girl would give her heart to the whole-souled friend who always seemed brighter in her presence.
Is it possible that jealousy finds a lurking place within so fair a soul—that it may take root and grow and bloom and scatter the noxious weeds peculiar to its growth?
Ah no, pure minded Marguerite. We accord thee a higher mission upon earth. Thy nature is too exalted, too ethereal, too much of the divine.
"I verily believe if I were not here to arouse you, Madge, that you would be off in another dream in less than no time. I believe some day in the not very far future if one happened to stray as far as Boston that on looking over theHeraldthe first notice that will greet us is:—
"Madame Marguerite DeCoeur—Clarivoyant. Predicts past, present and future. Much attention given to maidens seeking a husband. For particulars see circular. Advice sent on receipt of postage stamps. No. —— Court Street, Boston, Mass."
"What's all the fun about, I'd like to know?" chimed in none other than Master Fred. Verne with an eager curiosity common to his youth.
"Some time you may feel interested my young man, then you may consult your big sister," was the reply of Cousin Jennie.
Four hours later Marguerite Verne was, as Cousin Jeanie said a perfect picture—a being born to be admired and loved. Never had she appeared more bewitching and as the clear-headed Jennie watched the effect produced upon a pair of thoughtful grey eyes she felt a sudden relief, murmuring "he will love but one 'my Marguerite.'"
Reader, another glimpse of life at "Gladswood," and in this invitingretreat imagine Marguerite. Great indeed, was the delight of JennieMontgomery, when, on a shining, bright May morn, she set forth from"Sunnybank," accompanied by her favorite cousin.
"Take good care of my Madge, Jennie. You see she is of two-fold value now. I cannot afford to lose my second daughter for a very long time."
Mr. Verne had arrived at the railway station in time to see the girls off, and his parting injunction to Jennie was playful, and partook more of the nature of a brother than that of a parent.
In the companionship of sympathetic natures he was warmhearted, affectionate and familiar, but in ordinary moods thoughtful and reserved, and at times gloomy.
"Jennie, do you think it possible for any girl to love her father as much as I do mine," asked Marguerite, as she leaned forward and waved adieu, then throwing a kiss sat down beside her companion.
"What a question," cried Jennie. "I hope you don't imagine I care one straw less for my dear old man than you do for yours, my sweet, saucy coz. You really must be punished."
Cousin Jennie gave her companion a hearty shake and the subject dropped.
Friends and acquaintances coming in at Torryburn claimed their attention and when they arrived at Rothesay a greater reinforcement came—a party of pic-nickers going to Hampton to feast upon the beauties of that pretty rural town, and divide the remainder of the day between the delicacies of the luncheon baskets and the more delicious bits of gossip common to such gatherings.
"Miss Verne, I really did not expect to see you to-day!" cried a sprightly miss, springing towards her at no gentle rate.
The girl was Lottie Lawson, her bright young face beaming with excitement and happiness.
"I have been at Rothesay for a week, and just think, Miss Verne,Phillip has not found time to come and see me."
Lottie's manner expressed that of a deeply-wronged maiden, andMarguerite broke forth in a ripple of silvery laughter. CousinJennie also joined, and the infection spread to the aggrievedsister, whose child-like, musical tones were refreshing to all.
"How I should like to go as far as Sussex! but my visit ends to-morrow, and Phillip will expect me," said Lottie, in a half regretful tone.
"But you can come with Mr. Lawson during his vacation. He has promised me to come to 'Gladswood' then."
"How funny that everything seems to come contrary! I have promised to go to Woodstock."
Having reached the Hampton station Marguerite glanced out of the window.
It was fortunate that Cousin Jennie was at that moment deeply engaged in conversation with a lady in the next seat. A blush mantled a maiden's cheek, then left her a shade paler than before.
"Brother Phillip—" In another instant the child was in her brother's arms. "You bad brother, you did not come to see me, I was just telling Miss Verne."
The young barrister then espied the latter and holding his sister by the hand walked to the front of the platform.
"I must soon steal her away for a few days, Mr. Lawson. If business did not interfere, I should feel like making a second raid and secure another citizen."
Cousin Jennie spoke in a way that one seldom hears. Her artless, heartfelt manner, was acceptable to our friend, and with true gentlemanly grace, he bowed acknowledgment.
One of the picnic party—a vinegar-faced woman of forty-five, with two eligibles at her side—declared to a very intimate friend that she thought it very queer that Miss Verne should be following at Mr. Lawson's heels all the time. "For the life of me I can't see why girls will make themselves so ridiculous. Why, I often see her cutting across the Square to overtake him."
"Oh, indeed; the girls now-a-days don't have much modesty. Just see how she is laughing and talking now," exclaimed the confederate.
"Yes," retorted the first speaker "and that country-looking cousin is just a cloak for them. She is watching a chance to catch some others of the firm."
"Nice looking, did you say? Not a bit of it. For my part, I think she is homely; her face is too round and red."
The last remark was made by a saucy-looking maiden of sixteen, who owned to nothing being good that did not belong to herself.
Marguerite was utterly unconscious of the comments made upon herself and companion.
In the minutes that Mr. Lawson remained they found much to say, and there was an absence of coquetry that was gracious to see. The thoughtful, yet bright, expression of Marguerite's eyes had power to magnetize the most callous-hearted, and on this morn they were truly dangerous. The graceful form, attired in pretty travelling costume, could not fail to attract notice, and we see her repeatedly acknowledge the recognitions of many of the sterner sex with her quaint rare smile.
Just as the train was starting a voice exclaimed, "Miss Verne here are some violets, I brought them purposely to match your eyes." The fairy-like child placed the treasures in Marguerite's hand and bounded away without further comment.
"She is a good child," said Phillip, waving adieu to his companion and hurrying towards the carriage awaiting him.
Cousin Jennie now came forward demanding a share of the violets.
"Mr. Lawson thinks so much of her that I almost love him!" cried she vehemently. "And she is so cute, I'm sure her brother cannot pay such pretty compliments, Madge!"
Marguerite smiled and glanced far away over the distant hills, crowned with trees and foliage already flaunting themselves in holiday attire.
At that moment Phillip Lawson was thinking over a host of compliments, which if repeated would have caused Marguerite Verne'sspirituelleface to glow with maiden blushes.
But let us believe—
"One truth is dear, whatever is, is right,"
and leave each to the free range of thought indulged in at the self-same moment.
The lovely views of nature on this lonely morn soon claimedMarguerite's attention.
"If the world were all so fair! Oh, how charming!" exclaimed the latter rising from her seat and drinking deep of the glowing beauty of hill and dale, beautifully undulating expanse of green carpeted fields lying in the distance, the purple mountain tops glowing with regal splendour and above all the ethereal dome of heavenly blue with fleecy clouds in fantastic shapes and trooping along in gay and festive march across the boundless field.
As the spire of Apohaqui Church gleamed in the distance Jennie caught her companion by the arm exclaiming, "Madge, I cannot realize that we are going to have your dear old self for three long weeks. I hope papa will be at the station to meet us."
"If not what matter; I love to take good long walks."
"And so do I, my pretty coz; just wait until I trot you out over the hills and far away," said Jennie, giving her companion a pinch on the ear that caused it to assume a crimson dye. Sussex Vale, in all its loveliness now came within sight.
"My own, my native land," cried Jennie, in high glee, as she eagerly looked for the guard of honor that would be awaiting the arrival.
"I thought so. Look Madge."
The latter saw a group of merry children, a respectable-looking man, whose good-natured face could belong to none other than Uncle William Montgomery.
"Wasn't it lucky that you came on a Saturday, Cousin Marguerite; it is just lovely in the fields now."
The bright-eyed urchin had claimed a seat beside the delighted maiden with all the airs of a gallant, and jealously guarded all access from the other unfortunates.
"Hal is not going to ride beside Cousin Marguerite to-morrow, for I will get in first," whispered a younger lad to his confidante— Jennie.
"Yes, Jimmie, you shall have fair play. Count on me as your champion," whispered the former in conciliatory tones.
It is needless to speak of the beauty of Sussex Vale. Did ever passenger travel along the Intercolonial "with soul so dead" as not to be stirred with a sense of the beautiful as he neared this delightful spot.
On this golden May morn Marguerite was indeed intoxicated with delight. But she could not remain in silent admiration, for Master Hal's attentions demanded recognition, and after chatting gaily for half an hour the phaeton deposited its smiling load upon the terrace at "Gladswood."
Truly "Gladswood," for upon every side arose some sight to make glad the heart.
There stood the warm-hearted and energetic mistress, her genuine soul stamped upon every lineament of the plain but inviting face.
"And you did make out to come, Marguerite!" exclaimed Mrs.Montgomery giving the girl a warm, hearty kiss.
"Yes, we've got her now and the city folks can do without her until we are ready."
At this ambiguous declaration the gallant Hal gave his head a defiant toss and gathering up an array of sundry feminine indispensibles made towards a side entrance where he deposited the said articles.
"Cousin Marguerite come out and see the calves." We have two of the loveliest little creatures with large eyes and such pretty white spots! And you would think they had their foreheads banged!"
"Well, they must be very pretty, Jimmie," said Marguerite, laughing heartily at the lad's description.
"Now children do let Cousin Marguerite have time to draw her breath before you tease her to death about your stock," said Aunt Hester with an amused look upon her face.
"Cousin Marguerite will excuse herself to the company," cried Jennie, motioning Marguerite to follow her and the latter was soon snugly ensconced in the cosiest and most inviting chamber that one ever beheld.
It was not the spare room but a smaller one adjoining that of CousinJennie.
The walls, contrary to fashion, were covered with a delicate paper, a white ground sprigged with pale lavender, the paints were pure white and the hangings and draperies were transparent in their whiteness.
The neat furniture was also of a dazzling white relieved by stripes of gold and pale lavender. The old fashioned window was formed in a kind of recess which was filled with pots of the choicest flowers, while just within reach stood a large lilac bush which on the least provocation forced its branches into the room.
"Cousin Jennie, the grandeur of St. John cannot boast of a spot like this. Can it be reality." cried Marguerite, pushing aside the lilac branches and glancing out upon the enchanting landscape, which gave such effect to the pretty room.
"It is so cool," broke from the girl in rapturous tones as she eyed the bare floor with its coat of soft tinted lavender and deeper shaded border. "You know it would be such a disgraceful thing to have an uncarpeted floor in the city."
The last remark was in tones slightly ironical, and showed that Marguerite Verne held views not in accordance with good form and fearlessly regarded the consequence.
"Of course, mother would not have a carpeted chamber in the summer season, and now, I really like it, but I fear that some of our guests are very often surprised."
It being past the noon dinner-hour a luncheon was prepared and the girls were interrupted by the indefatigable Hal knocking lustily on the chamber door.
"Really, Jennie, I would rather sit here than eat," said Marguerite, going to the mirror to re-arrange the mass of silken hair that crowned her prettily shaped head.
"I am going to take Cousin Marguerite down to luncheon," cried a voice from without.
This set both girls in a fit of laughter.
"You can't say that you did not raise a beau while in the Vale," cried Jennie, with a roguish twinkle of her eye.
"Indeed, Cousin Marguerite will hare no city chaps skulkin' 'round while I am here," cried our twelve-year old with all the airs of a dude of twenty.
Next in turn came a tramp around the proud old domain of"Gladswood."
The stately elms seemed to extend a kindly welcome. All nature seemed to say "welcome, to Gladswood." The birds seemed to have been practising some of their latest melodies, for never did grander strains issue from their sylvan orchestra.
How pleasantly the hours glided by in this charming abode. Truly it hath been said—
"How noiseless falls the foot of timeThat only treads on flowers."
"It is a fortnight to-day since I came to Gladswood," said Marguerite, one bright, sunny afternoon, as she came up the broad avenue, crowned with lovely wild flowers and such trophies as the neighboring wood afforded.
Cousin Jennie had remained at home to assist in some extra duties, and as she greeted the "spirit of the woods," as she playfully dubbed Marguerite, she was worthy of notice.
A neatly fitting light colored print wrapper, spotless in its purity; a linen collar, fastened by a silver horse shoe pin; a long, plain, white muslin apron; a neat and substantial shoe, tied with black ribbon, and high over all a crowning mass of purplish black hair, in beautiful and striking contrast.
"You radiant country maid," cried Marguerite, "stand until I admire you awhile."
Jennie was playfully turned around as an automaton in a shop window, and at length breaking forth into a merry laugh, exclaimed, "You saucy minx, please turn your wit upon some other object."
And thus amid fun, frolic and gaiety, Marguerite's visit came to an end, and on the last eve to be spent at Gladswood, the girls are seated in the old summer house enjoying an uninterrupted chat—that blissful recreation peculiar to each and every maiden.
"Madge, I am almost sorry that you came," said Jennie, taking the pretty white hand within her own. "Promise me that you will come while Mr. Lawson is here," cried the girl in a vehement and almost determined manner, while the large, brown eyes had a far-off look that she tried hard to conceal.
"It is impossible, Jennie; besides, you must not mention the matter again."
Marguerite's voice was clear and bird-like, but Jennie Montgomery fancied she felt a slight tremor in the last words uttered, and with that intuitive caution characteristic of her mother pressed the subject no further, and the warm-hearted maiden felt keenly her utter helplessness to render her companion any sympathy.
"Let us go in, Cousin Jennie," said Marguerite, in tender tones that seemed as reproach to the high-minded girl, but she heeded not, and playfully putting her arm around her companion's waist, led her into the parlor, where the rest of the family were seated around awaiting their appearance.
"Marguerite is too proud," murmured Jennie, as she sought her own room on returning from seeing her fair cousin aboard the down accommodation train which was to carry her homewards.
"Oh, my loving Marguerite, I know more than you think. I could indeed tell you much that you little dream of, but why is it thus?" and humming an old-fashioned air Jennie mechanically went back to her household duties, as if all the world were sunshine and brightness, and not a troubled thought had ever found a resting-place within her mind.
The scene is changed; and we find ourselves transported beyond a doubt to the far-famed city of Winnipeg—that emporium of wealth, enterprise and industry which arose from its prairie surroundings as by the magic of the enchanter's wand.
It is a bright, cheerful day in leafy June, and as one jogs leisurely adown Main street, there are to be seen many happy smiling faces.
But we are bent upon important business, and yield not to the more leisurely inclined side of our nature. A large four-story building is our destination. Its door posts, windows and available space are decorated with the inevitable shingle that sooner or later ushers the professional into the notice of his victims. And this building was not alone in such style of decoration.
"Dear me, I believe every other man in this place is a lawyer! Sakes alive—it's worse than being among a nest of hornets." Such was the exclamation of an elderly lady who had recently arrived, and was out taking a survey of the town.
And the old lady was not far astray, as Winnipeg has proportionately more of the legal fraternity than any other city of the Dominion.
But to our subject. Having arrived at the end of a spacious corridor we stop directly opposite a door bearing a placard—the letters are of gilt upon a black ground:
N. H. SHARPLEY,Attorney-at-Law,Notary Public, etc.
A medium-sized man is seated at the desk busily engaged over a lengthy looking document which he has just received from the young copyist at the further end of the office.
"All right, Ned, you are at liberty for the next hour. Wait: You can in the meantime run up for the ink," said Mr. Sharpley, Attorney-at-Law, in an impatient tone, as though he wished to enjoy the delightful communion of his own thoughts.
And while the scion of the law was wending his steps towards the Hudson Bay Company store—that mammoth collection of goods from every clime—the father, yea rather grandfather, of variety stores— the disciple of Coke and Blackstone takes out of his breast pocket a letter, which, judging from its crumpled state, must have claimed the reader's attention more than once.
"Five thousand dollars—not bad, by Jove," muttered Mr. Sharpley, in firm set tones, then began whistling the air accompanying the words:
"Never kick a man when he's going down the hill."
Before going further let us take a survey at Nicholas Sharpley, Esq., Attorney-at-Law, as he sits with his right arm resting on the desk and his left supporting his very important head. He is about thirty-five years of age, or perhaps less. His face is long and his chin sharp, so that his name is no misnomer. A pair of glittering, steel-like eyes, play a prominent part in the expression of his face. A sinister smile plays hide-and-seek around the thin, pale lips, while the movement betray a flexibility of mind that is not nattering to the possessor.
There is about the man a striking combination of Uriah Heap and Mr. Pecksniff; which, to an honest-minded man, rendered him intolerable.
But Nicholas Sharpley had his followers, and thrived and shone bright among the legal luminaries, and was always ready to do the most unprincipled jobs to be met with.
A cunning leer passed over the greyish countenance as the dazzling vision protruded itself before Mr. Sharpley. He drew his fingers convulsively through the mass of bristling hair (which might be designated by that color known as iron grey), and then suppressing a yawn, muttered: "It's worth the trying. The fellow's good for another five—that's a bonanza these devilish hard times."
The attorney then glanced over the contents of the prized letter once more and evidently experienced a fresh sensation of delight.
"Tracy beats the devil—all for the sake of a girl too; bet my life she's no better than the rest of them. Well, Mr. Tracy, my humble client, you will pay a good price for the enchanting dearie, who has caught you body and soul—fools—fools—men are fools."
Poor Nicholas made the last assertion with much force of manner, betraying his own feelings more than he would have dared to acknowledge.
Dame Rumor had not been sparing in circulating the love affairs of our attorney-at-law, and when she fearlessly came forward and declared that a certain maiden with more pin money than beauty, rejected his suit, there went forth from the four walls of the bachelor's apartments an edict ruthlessly vowing vengeance upon the whole sex, and comforting himself with the thought that he loved a good horse better than anything in this fluctuating world.
"Ten thousand out of it; not a bad speck—and that in the eight per cent—a thousand times better than the other side of the bargain. Eh, Moll?" The latter part of the sentence was addressed to the pretty animal that was reined up before the court-yard just as the speaker rose to his feet.
It was four o'clock and Mr. Sharpley, taking the ribbons from the boy with all the importance of his position, rode down Main street towards the old fort, and afterwards through the different streets lined with the most imposing and stately residence so characteristic of the southern portion of the city.
Have patience, reader, while we give another thought to the crumpled letter. Its pages make mention of one very dear to us. Phillip Lawson is on the eve of being the dupe of two unprincipled schemers.
Hubert Tracy knew well where to look for an accomplice. He possessed money or the means of getting it, and he knew that for the precious dust the high handed and unscrupulous soul of Nicholas Sharpley was his only help.
"Ten thousand—not bad—and more to follow," were the words that rose to Mr. Sharpley's lips and which he muttered incoherently as he sat over a rubber of whist in a private apartment of the hotel on the self-same evening, and as the many-sided character of the attorney-at-law presented itself, we can see in bold relief a placard bearing the mark "$10,000—not bad—and more to follow."
And there is another on the eve of happiness—a rival is to be set aside—that other is Hubert Tracy, and the rival is Phillip Lawson.
Within a few hours from the time that Mr. Sharpley had made up his mind, there lay on the office desk a letter addressed:
W. CLARKE CONNOR, ESQ.,Barrister,Portage, La Prarie.
Barrister at Portage La Prarie. Yes, my friend; barristers at the northermost corner of the earth.
Mr. Connor was a man of fifty years or upwards. He had formerly practised in Winnipeg and in his office Nicholas Sharpley first entered as a law student. Doubtless the quick-sighted lawyer saw in the former much in common with his own sordid nature and liked communion with kindred spirits, for Nicholas Sharpley rose high in Mr. Connor's esteem, and when the latter started out for "greener fields and pastures new," he was in full confidence of the affairs of the younger lawyer.
Mr. Connor was a man whom few liked but very many dreaded. He had the power of ingratiating himself in favor when he was least sought, and his bland oily manner could scarcely be disconcerted.
"That old nuisance of a Connor is always poking his nose where he is not wanted," was often heard from any outspoken Miss who had the audacity to express her honest thoughts.
Mr. Connor always appeared to take a very great interest in church affairs and from his indefatigable labor generally strove to be at the head of all measures advanced in the interest of his own church. Whether or no the congregation of the pretty Presbyterian Church on the outskirts of the town appreciated such labor we will not say but let the reader judge for himself.
But to the subject in question. Mr. Sharpley had no hesitation in disclosing his mind on the present burning question.
A great inducement was to be held out to Mr. Lawson to enter into partnership with the said Mr. Connor, Barrister. Nothing was to be left undone in order to accomplish this scheme. The wide field, large practice, wealth of the country; its future greatness was pictured in a wonderfully clever manner.
Mr. Sharpley had been made acquainted with the affairs of the St.John barrister in every particular.
Hubert Tracy had carefully noted the average salary of the latter and found that it was only by dint of perseverance and up-hill work that he could meet all his demands.
"The stronger the inducements the easier the job," was Tracy's advice to the Winnipeg lawyer and it is needless to say that such advice was carried out to the letter.
Portage La Prarie was indeed an enterprising little town and possessing many of the characteristics of earlier settled districts.
On Main street are to be seen several fine buildings, fine stores and fine residences, while Pacific and Belliveau hotels are quite imposing.
And the education of the youth is not forgotten. On an elevated position commanding a fine view of the town stands the new schoolhouse, a pretty and imposing structure with surroundings in keeping with such an institution.
And to this habitation the young lawyer was to be consigned. He could not see his way out of the arrangement to which he had partially given his consent. And when Mr. Sharpley's letters were read and re-read, Phillip Lawson was in no enviable state of mind. To do or not to do—to do was invariably the answer. Then there arose another side to the question, which the young man hardly durst think of.
"I may stay here until my hair is gray, and what matters it? I have no reason to think that there ever will be any hope for me in that respect."
Here Phillip fell to musing, and what his musings were, we may divine from the foregoing speech. He considered Mr. Tracy in several ways, and though he felt a little uneasiness in the matter attributed it to the morbid state of his own mind.
"With a wider field I can do something," murmured the lawyer, as he gathered up the loose sheets of paper lying around and threw them into the waste basket.
But Phillip Lawson only saw one side of the proceeding—the alluring, tempting side.
There was, indeed, a complication of schemes already concocted, and each one was to follow in a well conceived and nicely arranged order—"a wheel within a wheel," as Hubert Tracy coolly expressed himself.
Perhaps no more diabolical scheme could have been more cleverly planned to ruin the character of a fellow-being. But it is ever thus, and shall be until the arch fiend, who first plotted in the Amaranthine bowers of Eden, shall be cast out forever beyond the reach of mortal ear.
Had Phillip Lawson now received the timely warning of one kind friend—but there was none to warn. If he asked the advice of some older members of the profession, the answer invariably was: "Try it, my boy, if you think you will succeed." So the outcome of it all was that the young man had made up his mind to try it, and, after a long conversation with Hubert Tracy, resolved to inform Mr. Sharpley of his intention at the earliest opportunity.
But Tracy was not so deeply enthusiastic as might be expected. He seemed quite indifferent as to the result, and the change would have puzzled as wise a head as Mr. Lawson's. Great was the surprise of the latter when a few mornings earlier Mr. Tracy called to bid good-bye. He was ready to take the train for Halifax, whence he was to sail for England.
"I may never see you again, Lawson, so think of me as you will," cried the young man, with a sudden outburst of energy quite foreign to his nature.
"You may not go to the North-West?"
"I certainly shall," answered the lawyer, determinedly.
"Well may God prosper you, old boy," cried Hubert Tracy with a choking sensation in his throat, and rushing madly out Phillip Lawson caught the peculiar glance in his eye which he many a time called to mind years afterwards when he could interpret it with all clearness—the look which seemed to plead for forgiveness—which seemed to say, "I was desperate and the devil tempted me, I was indeed brought up by a good, pious mother."
But it matters not that Hubert Tracy had been early trained in the paths of right, he was possessed of a weak many-sided nature and fell a prey to vice on the first opportunity.
Worse still, he appeared in good society and was looked upon alike by maidens and mothers as a most desirable acquisition by way of alliance, notwithstanding the fact that many had doubts concerning the tone of morality set up as his standard.
Let us, however, earnestly hope that the pure heart of Marguerite Verne shall never come in contact with such deadly poisonous influence. May she ever remain the guileless, sweet creature that she now is.