CHAPTER XXII.MARRIAGE.

Take her, and be faithful still,And may the marriage vowBe sacred kept in after years,And fondly breathed as now.—Old Song.

Take her, and be faithful still,

And may the marriage vow

Be sacred kept in after years,

And fondly breathed as now.

—Old Song.

The next morning, after General Garnet had left the house—for the whole day—Alice arose, still dizzy and weak, not only from the effects of the blow, but from fasting and anxiety. She was scarcely seated in her chair when a letter was brought to her that had come in the mail-bag from the post office. It was superscribed in the handwriting of Dr. Hardcastle. Alice tore it open, and read a much longer epistle than I can find space to transcribe here, reader, but the sum total of it was this: Magnus informed his friend Alice of what she already knew—General Garnet’s expressed determination to break the engagement existing between himself and Elsie, for mere mercenary motives; of his own and Elsie’s fixed resolution to abide by their betrothal, and his hopes that their decision would meet her—Alice’s—approval. He told her of his wish that their marriage should take place on Thursday, as had been first proposed; and of his intention to depart on the following Monday for his home, among the new settlements in the backwoods of Maryland. He told her, farther, that he had called the day before to see her and Elsie, but that he had been refused admittance at the very threshold, the servants adducing their master’s commands as their warrant. He had heard, he said, that Elsie was immured, but hoped and believed that this was not so. He concluded by entreating Alice to write and inform him of her own and Elsie’s state of health and spirits, and advise him how to proceed.

Alice folded the letter, clasped her hands, and closed her eyes a moment in intense thought and prayer. Then,bidding Milly wheel her writing table before her, she took pen and paper, and wrote the following short but important note:

“Dear Magnus:

“As soon as you see this, go to a locksmith and send him instantly to me. Then get a carriage, procure your license, call at Fig’s to take up the young Methodist minister who boards there, and come at once to Mount Calm. When you return, Elsie shall accompany you.

“Your friend,“Alice Garnet.”

“Your friend,

“Alice Garnet.”

She sealed this note, dispatched it, and then dropped her head into her hands, holding it tightly, as though to chain thought to its object. Then once more she drew her writing-desk nearer to her, took her pen, and wrote these hurried lines to Elsie:

“Within a very few hours from this, my own dear Elsie, you will be released and married. And now let me tell you, my own dear child, my reasons for advising and aiding you in this step. It is not only, my Elsie, that your heart has long been given to Magnus; that your hand has long been pledged to him with the approbation of both your parents; that your happiness is concerned in being united to him; that your honor is implicated in keeping faith with him; it is not, either, that it would be a heinous wickedness to forsake your betrothed at the very moment that fortune forsakes him, and in the hour of his greatest adversity; it is not that this very desertion of yours would shake his faith in all that is good and true in heaven or on earth, palsy his energy and enterprise, and thus do him a serious mortal and social injury. And, on the other hand, it is not that you do not love Lionel. No, Elsie, it is simply because Magnus is entirely the better man of the two,—better, incomparably better,—physically, mentally, morally, religiously. Magnus is healthful, strong, handsome, energetic, highly intellectual, purely moral, profoundly religious; and heloves you completely. Lionel is broken in constitution, evidently by excess; indolent, selfish, voluptuous, yet irritable and often violent. His interest in you is a low compound of vanity, cupidity, and sense—it would be false and profane to call it by the sacred name of love. Magnus would make you better and happier, in loving you greatly, in elevating your moral and religious nature, while Lionel would draw you down to the misery and degradation of his own low nature. My child, my one lone child, it is for this consideration that I bar you from wealth, luxury, ease, adulation, and give you to the stern but kindly discipline of poverty, toil, and privation—with love by your side, to lighten all your labors and God above you to reward them. May God love you, my only child! my little Elsie!”

No tear-drop blotted this paper, though her tears had fallen thick, and fast, and blindingly, while she wrote it. She had turned her head away; for no sign of sorrow should wound and weaken Elsie in the letter written to comfort and sustain her. She had turned her head away, and the tears had rained upon her lap. Many times she had arisen from her writing desk and fallen, overcome with grief, upon the bed. But it was done. She had succeeded. And there was nothing upon the paper or in the letter to betray the anguish of mind in which it was written.

Trying to steer as blamelessly as she could through her labyrinth of duties, Alice would not call one of the servants, all of whom had been expressly forbidden to approach the attic, but took the paper herself, went feebly up the stairs, and supporting herself by the balustrades, she reached the topmost landing, and went to the door of Elsie’s room.

“You are there, dear mother. I know your footstep so well, though it is weaker than usual. And if I did not know your footsteps, I should know your sigh. Dear mother, do not grieve for me. I am happy—reverently be it spoken—as Peter was in prison.”

“My darling Elsie, here is something I have writtenfor you. I will push it under the bottom of the door. Take it, darling, read it. Try to compose your mind, and be ready for me very soon. I must go now, dear, for when you begin to read that you will find I have a great deal to prepare. Good-by, for an hour, my dear.”

Alice then went down, entered her chamber, and rang for Milly; then she went to her drawers and caskets, and got together all the jewelry that she possessed, to the amount of several thousand dollars, and all Elsie’s, that amounted to several thousand more, and placed them in one strong casket. Then she searched her purse and pocketbook, and took out all the money she had in possession, a few hundred dollars, and put it in a strong packet. Then she sent Milly into Elsie’s vacant chamber, and had all her clothing collected and packed into two large, strong traveling trunks. Next, she sent for a man-servant to come and lock and strap them down before her face. Lastly, she received the keys from him, and told him to procure assistance, take the trunks down, put them into a cart, carry them over to Huttontown, and leave them at Mr. Fig’s, with a request from her that he would keep them until they were called for. When Alice had done this she was told that a man wished to see her in the hall.

She went out, and found the locksmith with his tools. She bade him to follow her, and led the way up into the attic, and to the door of Elsie’s prison. She stopped there, and turning to the locksmith, said:

“Pick this lock.”

No sooner said than done. The man put in his instrument and unlocked it with as much ease as though he had used a key.

“There, thank you, sir! you need not open the door. Please to retire now. Milly, my girl, will settle with you downstairs,” said Alice, who did not by any means wish to “reveal the secrets of that prison-house.”

The man bowed, gathered his tools, and went downstairs.

Alice opened the door, and was instantly locked in the arms of her daughter. Fearing to lose her courage andpresence of mind, perhaps trembling for the strength of her purpose, too, Alice did not venture to indulge these enervating endearments, but hastened to say:

“You read and understood my note, my dear Elsie?”

“Yes, mother.”

“You know, then, what is about to take place?”

“Yes, dear mother.”

“Come, then, my child, we must be quick. I expect Magnus here with the license and the minister every minute. Your trunks are already packed and sent off to Huttontown. Where are your diamonds, Elsie? I did not see them among your jewelry. They are the greatest portion of your dower now, my child. Where are they? I wish to put them into a casket that I have packed for you.”

“Here they are, mother, with the ball dress in which I came to prison.”

“Ah, that ball dress, put that on, it will do as well as another; or, no, you will perhaps have no time to change it afterward. Come down into my room, and put on your traveling dress at once. I have left it out with your bonnet; come, Elsie.”

“If you please, ma’am, Dr. Hardcastle and Parson Wilson are downstairs, inquiring for you,” said a servant from the foot of the interdicted stairs.

“Invite them into the back parlor, and say that I will be with them in a few minutes,” said Alice. “Come, Elsie, hasten, dear, and let me dress you.” She drew Elsie down.

She felt no weakness or dizziness now. She was upheld by a strange excitement. Her cheeks and lips seemed burning, and her eyes blazing as with a hectic fever.

Arrived in her own chamber, she quickly assisted Elsie to put on her traveling dress, smoothing her beautiful auburn ringlets, pressed her again fondly to her bosom, tied on her little beaver bonnet, and led her downstairs into the back parlor, where Dr. Hardcastle and the minister sat.

Both forward, bowed, and shook hands.

“Oh! for God’s sake have it over quickly, Magnus, lest my strength fail!” said Alice, trembling violently.

The minister drew the prayer-book from his pocket and opened it.

Elsie suddenly lost every vestige of color, and threw herself again into her mother’s arms. Alice pressed her passionately to her heart a moment, and then gave her up to Magnus, who took her hand, passed his arm around her waist to support her, and stood before the minister.

In ten more minutes Magnus Hardcastle had the joy of clasping his wife to his bosom.

“Thank Heaven that it is over! Oh-h-h! Ugh-gh-h! I felt my flesh creeping all the time, as if father were peeping over my shoulder,” exclaimed Elsie, shuddering, and burying her head under the arm of Magnus.

“Yes, thank Heaven, it is over! It was short. A few solemn words of exhortation, a brief prayer, a briefer benediction, and now I possess you, without a doubt, or dispute—entirely. The laws of God and man give you to me alike, and no power under heaven can tear you from me, my own Elsie! my own wife!” said Magnus fervently, and almost crushing her in his arms.

“Yes, thank Heaven it is over! The doubt, the struggle, and the fear is over. You are safe, Elsie. Your happiness, as far as human foresight can secure it, is insured,” said Alice, as she received Elsie once more from the arms of Magnus, and folded her in her own.

“But you! Oh, my dear mother! you will be left without your child!”

“Never regret me, my own darling. You go without your mother, but you go with your husband, and you are happy. Are you not, my Elsie?”

“Oh, yes, yes, mamma.”

“Well, I am left without my daughter, but I remain with my husband. Think that I am happy also,” said Alice, feeling thankful to Providence from the bottom of her heart, that Elsie was “innocent of the knowledge” of General Garnet’s tyranny over herself.

Yet Elsie half suspected, she knew not what. She looked deeply, searchingly, for an instant into her

mother’s dark blue eyes, as if to read the secret of the deep sorrow in them.

But Alice dropped her long lashes, and averted her head.

Then Elsie took her hand, and bending round to look into her troubled face, said, slowly, earnestly, tearfully:

“You love my father dearly, very dearly; don’t you, mamma? Say, don’t you, mamma? Oh! don’t you, mamma?”

“Yes, Elsie, I love him,” said Alice, in a very low voice, turning again to her daughter.

“Oh, mamma, you love him as well as I love Magnus! Don’t you, mamma? Don’t you? You love him better than you love me, and you will be very happy with him even when I am gone? Say, mamma! Oh, tell me before I go.”

For an answer Alice stooped and kissed her daughter on the forehead.

“But oh! tell me before I go! Tell me that you love my father better than you love me, and that you will be very happy with him when I am gone,” said Elsie, growing more anxious for an answer every instant.

Alice turned very pale.

And Magnus, who saw that she was fast losing her self-control, came to her relief, by saying, as he approached, took her hand, and drew her off:

“I have a word to say to you, if you please, Mrs. Garnet.”

They went to a window, leaving Elsie near the parson.

“Mrs. Garnet! Cousin Alice! Dearest friend! I have a proposal to make to you that must surprise and may shock and offend you. But nevertheless, I make it. Listen to me, Alice. I know too well what you have risked for us, and what you have incurred at the hands of your husband this day! Alice! I fear—I tremble at the thought of leaving you here alone, and exposed to his terrible wrath. You——”

But Alice raised her hand and gently arrested his speech.

“Magnus, forgive me for reminding you that you should not talk to me in that way. General Garnet’s displeasure, as far as I am implicated, will perhaps be just. You and Elsie were right. Your faith was pledged with his consent. You were right in redeeming your mutual pledge. But I, perhaps, was wrong in assisting you in it. I do not clearly know. Oh, Magnus, for many years my ideas of right and wrong have been very much confused. For many years I have lost sight of the exact line that divides good and evil. Oh, Magnus, when the eyes are dimmed with tears, the sight is not very clear—and when the soul is drowned in grief, Magnus, the moral vision may be very much obscured. But this I know—that General Garnet’s anger, just or unjust, moderate or violent, I must meet, and meet alone. By all means alone! The dignity of both is concerned in that.”

“Alice, you must not! Hear me! Listen to me! Do not turn away with that air of gentle self-respect, and wave me off! Don’t I know that your heart is breaking this moment—this moment, that your child is leaving you, and you are left desolate and exposed to danger! Desolate, wretched, in peril, though you would have her to believe otherwise? Oh, Alice, you may deceive the child of your bosom, but you will not deceive the boy who sat at your feet and loved you, and studied the mystery of the sorrow on your brow when you came home a bride, and everybody called you happy. I was not deceived then; I have not been deceived since. Oh, Alice, my love for Elsie, my love for you, my relation toward both, give me the right to feel, the right to speak and advise. Hear me: You must not remain here to meet the anger of your husband. Your life—your life will be endangered. Nay! do not lift your hand to stop my speech; hear my plan; hear me out—I will be very brief. Listen! You love Elsie and me. Go with us when we leave here. Go with us to our backwoods home. Our home will be humble, but full of peace and love, and the repose you so much need. We shall be poor, but you shall not feel it. Respectful and loving hands will wait on you all daylong. You will be happy with us. Remain with us till the storm blows over. There need be—there would be—no exposure, no gossip, no scandal. To the neighbors who knew of our betrothal, our marriage and departure will seem perfectly natural, only rather unsocial because we did not give a wedding. And I can answer for the discretion and fidelity of Wilson. Your accompanying us, for a visit, will seem nothing unusual. General Garnet, if I mistake not, is too much a man of the world not to keep his own secret, and too much of a despot not to enforce silence upon his people, in regard to this matter. General Garnet will be very anxious to get you back before your visit is prolonged to a suspicious extent. And then, Alice, while you are safe with us, you can make your own conditions with him for your return. You can secure for yourself——”

“Stop! Magnus, I do not wish to mar the harmony of this sad hour by one dissonant word or thought or feeling. But let me hear no more of this. Not one breath more, dearest Magnus. What! I leave my home! leave my husband, and remain away to make conditions with him! I, who unconditionally pledged myself to him ‘for better or worse’—I, who vowed love, honor and obedience to him ‘until death’! No Magnus. That marriage vow, in all its details, is not to be tampered with. It is not a question of happiness, or of peace, or of expedience, or of repose, or of affection, but simply of duty. No, Magnus. When I hastened to bestow my daughter upon you, it was for the reason that I believed you to be one toward whom it would be a happiness as well as duty to keep sacred, in all its minutiæ, that marriage vow.”

“Alice, dearest Alice, your heart is very mournful, and, forgive me for saying it, very morbid.”

“It is? Call Elsie, then. Her feelings are all singularly healthful. Call her, and in her presence just invite me to go with you, simply to go with you—that will be the mildest form of your proposal—and see what Elsie will say. Come, do so.”

Magnus turned with a smile, and beckoned Elsie toapproach. Elsie came, with her bright face beaming with interest and inquiry.

“Elsie, my love,” said Magnus, “I have been trying to persuade your mother to accompany us to our new home, and remain there for a few weeks.”

“And leave father so suddenly, when I am leaving him, too! Oh, don’t press her to do any such a thing, dear Magnus. Oh, don’t think of leaving father just now, dearest mother,” said Elsie earnestly; then throwing herself in her mother’s arms, whispered anxiously: “Mother, don’t you love father? Oh, mother, tell me, before I go, that you love father.”

“Yes, Elsie, I do love him. No, Magnus, I cannot leave him. I have helped to bereave him of his child for a season—I cannot leave him.”

“But, oh, Alice!” said Magnus, drawing her apart, “think again! think what you will meet. How can you brave his anger?”

“I shall not brave it, Magnus. It may be just, coming from him. At least I must bear it—patiently, too.”

Just then the door was burst open by a servant, who exclaimed, in affright:

“Madam!—mistress!—doctor!—Miss Elsie! Marster is a riding down the road, post-haste, to the house!”

“Oh, my God! there is not a moment to spare. Good-by, my beloved child. God bless you!” said Alice, straining her daughter to her bosom.

“Oh, mother, don’t you love father dearly? Tell me once more.”

“Yes, yes, Elsie.”

“Oh, mother, if you love him so dearly, get my pardon from him. Tell him how I grieve to be under the necessity of offending him. Get my pardon for me, beloved mother.”

“I will do my very best. God bless you, my darling child! Good-by! Oh, Magnus, be good to her, be merciful, be loving, be tender. Oh, Magnus, I have torn the heart from my bosom and given it to you. Be good to her.”

“May God deal by my soul as I deal by her heart!”said Magnus, folding his mother-in-law in a fervent embrace.

Then they hurried out, hastened into the carriage, the blinds were let down, the doors closed, the whip cracked, and the vehicle rolled away.

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